pression's shield, and challenges to battle! Oro will defend the
right, and royal crests must roll."

"Thus, Yoomy, ages since, you mortal poets sang; but the world may not
be moved from out the orbit in which first it rolled. On the map that
charts the spheres, Mardi is marked 'the world of kings.' Round
centuries on centuries have wheeled by:--has all this been its
nonage? Now, when the rocks grow gray, does man first sprout his
beard? Or, is your golden time, your equinoctial year, at hand, that
your race fast presses toward perfection; and every hand grasps at a
scepter, that kings may be no more?"

"But free Vivenza! Is she not the star, that must, ere long, lead up
the constellations, though now unrisen? No kings are in Vivenza; yet,
spite her thralls, in that land seems more of good than elsewhere. Our
hopes are not wild dreams: Vivenza cheers our hearts. She is a rainbow
to the isles!"

"Ay, truth it is, that in Vivenza they have prospered. But thence it
comes not, that all men may be as they. Are all men of one heart and
brain; one bone and sinew? Are all nations sprung of Dominora's loins?
Or, has Vivenza yet proved her creed? Yoomy! the years that prove a
man, prove not a nation. But two kings'-reigns have passed since
Vivenza was a monarch's. Her climacteric is not come; hers is not yet
a nation's manhood even; though now in childhood, she anticipates her
youth, and lusts for empire like any czar. Yoomy! judge not yet. Time
hath tales to tell. Many books, and many long, long chapters, are
wanting to Vivenza's history; and whet history but is full of blood?"

"There stop, my lord," said Babbalanja, "nor aught predict. Fate
laughs at prophets; and of all birds, the raven is a liar!"

CHAPTER LXI
They Round The Stormy Cape Of Capes

Long leagues, for weary days, we voyaged along that coast, till we
came to regions where we multiplied our mantles.

The sky grew overcast. Each a night, black storm-clouds swept the
wintry sea; and like Sahara caravans, which leave their sandy wakes--
so, thick and fleet, slanted the scud behind. Through all this rack
and mist, ten thousand foam-flaked dromedary-humps uprose.

Deep among those panting, moaning fugitives, the three canoes raced on.

And now, the air grew nipping cold. The clouds shed off their fleeces;
a snow-hillock, each canoe; our beards, white-frosted.

And so, as seated in our shrouds, we sailed in among great mountain
passes of ice-isles; fro