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, Between My Lords Abrazza And Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, And Yoomy Abrazza had a cool retreat—a grove of dates; where we were used to lounge of noons, and mix our converse with the babble of the rills; and mix our punches in goblets chased with grapes. And as ever, King Abrazza was the prince of hosts. “Your crown,” he said to Media; and with his own, he hung it on a bough. “Be not ceremonious:” and stretched his royal legs upon the turf. “Wine!” and his pages poured it out. So on the grass we lounged; and King Abrazza, who loved his antique ancestors; and loved old times; and would not talk of moderns;—bade Yoomy sing old songs; bade Mohi rehearse old histories; bade Babbalanja tell of old ontologies; and commanded all, meanwhile, to drink his old, old wine. So, all round we quaffed and quoted. At last, we talked of old Homeric bards:—those who, ages back, harped, and begged, and groped their blinded way through all this charitable Mardi; receiving coppers then, and immortal glory now. ABRAZZA—How came it, that they all were blind? BABBALANJA—It was endemical, your Highness. Few grand poets have good eyes; for they needs blind must be, who ever gaze upon the sun. Vavona himself was blind: when, in the silence of his secret bower, he said—“I will build another world. Therein, let there be kings and slaves, philosophers and wits; whose checkered actions—strange, grotesque, and merry-sad, will entertain my idle moods.” So, my lord, Vavona played at kings and crowns, and men and manners; and loved that lonely game to play. ABRAZZA—Vavona seemed a solitary Mardian; who seldom went abroad; had few friends; and shunning others, was shunned by them. BABBALANJA—But shunned not himself, my lord; like gods, great poets dwell alone; while round them, roll the worlds they build. MEDIA—You seem to know all authors:—you must have heard of Lombardo, Babbalanja; he who flourished many ages since. BABBALANJA—I have; and his grand Kortanza know by heart. MEDIA (_to Abrazza._)—A very curious work, that, my lord.