On our right, Hamora's northern shore gleamed thick with crescents;
numerous as the crosses along the opposing strand.

"How vain to say, that progress is the test of truth, my lord," said
Babbalanja, "when, after many centuries, those crescents yet unwaning
shine, and count a devotee for every worshiper of yonder crosses.
Truth and Merit have other symbols than success; and in this mortal
race, all competitors may enter; and the field is clear for all. Side
by side, Lies run with Truths, and fools with wise; but, like
geometric lines, though they pierce infinity, never may they join."

Over that tideless sea we sailed; and landed right, and landed left;
but the maiden never found; till, at last, we gained the water's
limit; and inland saw great pointed masses, crowned with halos.

"Granite continents," cried Babbalanja, "that seem created like the
planets, not built with human hands. Lo, Landmarks! upon whose flanks
Time leaves its traces, like old tide-rips of diluvian seas."

As, after wandering round and round some purple dell, deep in a
boundless prairie's heart, the baffled hunter plunges in; then,
despairing, turns once more to gain the open plain; even so we seekers
now curved round our keels; and from that inland sea emerged. The
universe again before us; our quest, as wide.



CHAPTER LXV
Sailing On