"Oh Neeva! good Neeva! kind Neeva! thy sweet breath, dear Neeva!"

So from his shark's-mouth prayed little Vee-Vee to the god of Fair
Breezes. And along they swept; till the three prows neighed to the
blast; and pranced on their path, like steeds of Crusaders.

Now, that this fine wind had sprung up; the sun riding joyously in the
heavens; and the Lagoon all tossed with white, flying manes; Media
called upon Yoomy to ransack his whole assortment of songs:--warlike,
amorous, and sentimental,--and regale us with something inspiring for
too long the company had been gloomy.

"Thy best,", he cried.

Then will I e'en sing you a song, my lord, which is a song-full of
songs. I composed it long, long since, when Yillah yet bowered in Odo.
Ere now, some fragments have been heard. Ah, Taji! in this my lay,
live over again your happy hours. Some joys have thousand lives; can
never die; for when they droop, sweet memories bind them up.--My lord,
I deem these verses good; they came bubbling out of me, like live
waters from a spring in a silver mine. And by your good leave, my
lord, I have much faith in inspiration. Whoso sings is a seer."

"Tingling is the test," said Babbalanja, "Yoomy, did you tingle, when
that song was composing?"

"All over, Babbalanja."

"From sole to crown?"