In heavy sighs, the night-winds from shore came over us.

"Ah, vain to seek sweet Yillah here," cried Yoomy.--"Poor land! curst
of man, not Oro! how thou faintest for thy children, torn from thy
soil, to till a stranger's. Vivenza! did these winds not spend their
plaints, ere reaching thee, thy every vale would echo them. Oh, tribe
of Hamo! thy cup of woe so brims, that soon it must overflow upon the
land which holds ye thralls. No misery born of crime, but
spreads and poisons wide. Suffering hunteth sin, as the gaunt hound
the hare, and tears it in the greenest brakes."

Still on we sailed: and after many tranquil days and nights, a storm
came down, and burst its thousand bombs. The lightnings forked and
flashed; the waters boiled; our three prows lifted themselves in
supplication; but the billows smote them as they reared.

Said Babbalanja, bowing to the blast: "Thus, oh Vivenza! retribution
works! Though long delayed, it comes at last--Judgment, with all her
bolts."

Now, a current seized us, and like three darts, our keels sped
eastward, through a narrow strait, far in, upon a smooth expanse, an
inland ocean, without a throb.

On our left, Porpheero's southwest point, a mighty rock, long tiers of
galleries within, deck on deck; and flag-staffs, like an admiral's
masts: a line-of-battle-ship, all purple stone, and anchored in the
sea. Here Bello's lion crouched; and, through a thousand port-holes,
eyed the world.