not the soul of some one glorious song? Babbalanja, speak.--Mohi! Yoomy!"

"What is it, my lord? thou dost but dream."

Staring wildly; then calmly gazing round, Media smiled. "Ha! how we
royalties ramble in our dreams! I've told no secrets?"

"While he seemed to sleep, my lord spoke much," said Mohi.

"I knew it not, old man; nor would now; but that ye tell me."

"We dream not ourselves," said Babbalanja, "but the thing within us."

"Ay?--good-morrow Azzageddi!--But come; no more dreams: Vee-Vee! wine."

And straight through that livelong night, immortal Media plied the can.



CHAPTER LXIX
After A Long Interval, By Night They Are Becalmed


Now suns rose, and set; moons grew, and waned; till, at last, the star
that erewhile heralded the dawn, presaged the eve; to us, sad token!--
while deep within the deepest heart of Mardi's circle, we sailed from
sea to sea; and isle to isle; and group to group;--vast empires
explored, and inland valleys, to their utmost heads; and for every ray
in heaven, beheld a king.