on our legs; no plant flourishes over its dead root:--dead in the
grave, man lives no longer above ground; plants die without
food:--so we. And now for the difference. Plants elegantly inhale
nourishment, without looking it up: like lords, they stand still and
are served; and though green, never suffer from the colic:--whereas,
we mortals must forage all round for our food: we cram our insides;
and are loaded down with odious sacks and intestines. Plants make love
and multiply; but excel us in all amorous enticements, wooing and
winning by soft pollens and essences. Plants abide in one place, and
live: we must travel or die. Plants flourish without us: we must
perish without them."

"Enough Azzageddi!" cried Media. "Open not thy lips till to-morrow."'



CHAPTER LII
The Charming Yoomy Sings


The morrow came; and three abreast, with snorting prows, we raced
along; our mat-sails panting to the breeze. All present partook of the
life of the air; and unanimously Yoomy was called upon for a song. The
canoes were passing a long, white reef, sparkling with shells, like a
jeweler's case: and thus Yoomy sang in the same old strain as of yore;
beginning aloud, where he had left off in his soul:--

Her sweet, sweet mouth!
The peach-pearl shell:--
Red edged its lips,