none he lifteth up."

At length we gained the sunny side, and shoreward tended. Vee-Vee's
horn was sonorous; and issuing from his golden groves, my lord
Abrazza, like a host that greets you on the threshold, met us, as we
keeled the beach.

"Welcome! fellow demi-god, and king! Media, my pleasant guest!"

His servitors salamed; his chieftains bowed; his yeoman-guard, in
meadow-green, presented palm-stalks,--royal tokens; and hand in hand,
the nodding, jovial, regal friends, went up a lane of salutations;
dragging behind, a train of envyings.

Much we marked Abrazza's jeweled crown; that shot no honest blaze of
ruddy rubies; nor looked stern-white like Media's pearls; but cast a
green and yellow glare; rays from emeralds, crossing rays from many a
topaz. In those beams, so sinister, all present looked cadaverous:
Abrazza's cheek alone beamed bright, but hectic.

Upon its fragrant mats a spacious hall received the kings; and
gathering courtiers blandly bowed; and gushing with soft flatteries,
breathed idol-incense round them.

The hall was terraced thrice; its elevated end was curtained; and
thence, at every chime of words, there burst a girl, gay scarfed, with
naked bosom, and poured forth wild and hollow laughter, as she raced
down all the terraces, and passed their merry kingships.

Wide round the hall, in avenues, waved almond-woods; their whiteness
frosted into bloom. But every vine-clad trunk was hollow-hearted;
hollow sounds came from the grottos: hollow broke the billows on the
shore: and hollow pauses filled the air, following the hollow
laughter.

Guards, with spears, paced the groves, and in the inner shadows, oft
were seen to lift their weapons, and backward press some ugly phantom,
saying, "Subjects! haunt him not; Abrazza would be merry; Abrazza
feasts his guests."

So, banished from our sight seemed all things uncongenial; and
pleasant times were ours, in these dominions. Not a face passed by,
but smiled; mocking-birds perched on the boughs; and singing, made us
vow the woods were warbling forth thanksgiving, with a thousand
throats! The stalwart yeomen grinned beneath their trenchers, heaped
with citrons pomegrantes, grapes; the pages tittered, pouring out the
wine; and all the lords loud laughed, smote their gilded spears, and
swore the isle was glad.

Such the isle, in which we tarried; but in our rambles, found no
Yillah.

CHAPTER LXXVI
Some Pleasant, Shady Talk In The Groves, Betwee