sk their souls. 'In _me_,' he cried, 'is that heart of
mild content, which in vain ye seek in rank and title. I am Love: love
ye then me.'"

"Cease, cease, old man!" cried Media; "thou movest me beyond my
seeming. What thoughts are these? Have done! Wouldst thou unking me?"

"Alma is for all; for high and low. Like heaven's own breeze, he lifts
the lily from its lowly stem, and sweeps, reviving, through the palmy
groves. High thoughts he gives the sage, and humble trust the simple.
Be the measure what it may, his grace doth fill it to the brim. He
lays the lashings of the soul's wild aspirations after things unseen;
oil he poureth on the waters; and stars come out of night's black
concave at his great command. In him is hope for all; for all,
unbounded joys. Fast locked in his loved clasp, no doubts dismay. He
opes the eye of faith and shuts the eye of fear. He is all we pray
for, and beyond; all, that in the wildest hour of ecstasy, rapt fancy
paints in bright Auroras upon the soul's wide, boundless Orient!"

"Oh, Alma, Alma! prince divine!" cried Babbalanja, sinking on his
knees--"in _thee_, at last, I find repose. Hope perches in my heart a
dove;--a thousand rays illume;--all Heaven's a sun. Gone, gone! are
all distracting doubts. Love and Alma now prevail. I see with other
eyes:--Are these my hands? What wild, wild dreams were mine;--I have
been mad. Some things there are, we must not think of. Beyond one
obvious mark, all human lore is vain. Where have I lived till now? Had
dark Maramma's zealot tribe but murmured to me as this old man, long
since had I, been wise! Reason no longer domineers; but still doth
speak. All I have said ere this, that wars with Alma's precepts, I
here recant. Here I kneel, and own great Oro and his sovereign son."

"And here another kneels and prays," cried Yoomy.

"In Alma all my dreams are found, my inner longings for the Love
supreme, that prompts my every verse. Summer is in my soul."

"Nor now, too late for these gray hairs," cried Mohi, with devotion.
"Alma, thy breath is on my soul. I see bright light."

"No more a demigod," cried Media, "but a subject to our common chief.
No more shall dismal cries be heard from Odo's groves. Alma, I am
thine."

With swimming eyes the old man kneeled; and round him grouped king,
sage, gray hairs, and youth.

There, as they kneeled, and as the old man blessed them, the setting
sun burst forth from mists, gilded the island round about, she