n," said Babbalanja, "when that day dawns, 'twill dawn
serene. Be calm, be calm, my potent lord."

"Talk not of calm brows in storm-time!" cried Media fiercely. "See!
how the flames blow over upon Dominora!"

"Yet the fires they kindle there are soon extinguished," said
Babbalanja. "No, no; Dominora ne'er can burn with Franko's fires; only
those of her own kindling may consume her."

"Away! Away!" cried Media. "We may not touch Porpheero now.--Up sails!
and westward be our course."

So dead before the blast, we scudded.

Morning broke, showing no sign of land.

"Hard must it go with Franko's king," said Media, "when his people
rise against him with the red volcanoes. Oh, for a foot to crush them!
Hard, too, with all who rule in broad Porpheero. And may she we seek,
survive this conflagration!"

"My lord," said Babbalanja, "where'ere she hide, ne'er yet did Yillah
lurk in this Porpheero; nor have we missed the maiden, noble Taji! in
not touching at its shores."

"This fire must make a desert of the land," said Mohi; "burn up and
bury all her tilth."

"Yet, Mohi, vineyards flourish over buried villages," murmured Yoomy.

"True, minstrel," said Babbalanja, "and prairies are purified by fire.
Ashes breed loam. Nor can any skill make the same surface forever
fruitful. In all times past, things have been overlaid; and though the
first fruits of the marl are wild and poisonous, the palms at last
spring forth; and once again the tribes repose in shade. My lord, if
calms breed storms, so storms calms; and all this dire commotion must
eventuate in peace. It may be, that Perpheero's future has been
cheaply won."

CHAPTER L
Wherein King Media Celebrates The Glories Of Autumn, The Minstrel, The
Promise Of Spring

"Ho, now!" cried Media, "across the wide waters, for that New Mardi,
Vivenza! Let us indeed see, whether she who eludes us elsewhere, he at
last found in Vivenza's vales."

"There or nowhere, noble Taji," said Yoomy.

"Be not too sanguine, gentle Yoomy," said Babbalanja.

"Does Yillah choose rather to bower in the wild wilderness of Vivenza,
than in the old vineyards of Porpheero?" said Braid-Beard.

Sang Yoomy:--
Her bower is not of the vine,
But the wild, wild eglantine!
Not climbing a moldering arch,
But upheld by the fir-green larch.
Old ruins she flies:
To new valleys she hies:--
Not the hoar, moss-wood,
Ivied trees each a rood--
Not in Mara