“So it seems,” said Mohi, whisking away a fly with his beard. “Babbalanja,” said Media, “you did right in selecting this ebon night for discussing the theme you did; and truly, you mortals are but too apt to talk in the dark.” “Ay, my lord, and we mortals may prate still more in the dark, when we are dead; for methinks, that if we then prate at all, ’twill be in our sleep. Ah! my lord, think not that in aught I’ve said this night, I would assert any wisdom of my own. I but fight against the armed and crested Lies of Mardi, that like a host, assail me. I am stuck full of darts; but, tearing them from out me, gasping, I discharge them whence they come.” So saying, Babbalanja slowly drooped, and fell reclining; then lay motionless as the marble Gladiator, that for centuries has been dying. CHAPTER XXXII. My Lord Media Summons Mohi To The Stand While slowly the night wore on, and the now scudding clouds flown past, revealed again the hosts in heaven, few words were uttered save by Media; who, when all others were most sad and silent, seemed but little moved, or not stirred a jot. But that night, he filled his flagon fuller than his wont, and drank, and drank, and pledged the stars. “Here’s to thee, old Arcturus! To thee, old Aldebaran! who ever poise your wine-red, fiery spheres on high. A health to _thee_, my regal friend, Alphacca, in the constellation of the Crown: Lo! crown to crown, I pledge thee! I drink to _ye_, too, Alphard! Markab! Denebola! Capella!—to _ye_, too, sailing Cygnus! Aquila soaring!—All round, a health to all your diadems! May they never fade! nor mine!” At last, in the shadowy east, the Dawn, like a gray, distant sail before the wind, was descried; drawing nearer and nearer, till her gilded prow was perceived. And as in tropic gales, the winds blow fierce, and more fierce, with the advent of the sun; so with King Media; whose mirth now breezed up afresh. But, as at sunrise, the sea-storm only blows harder, to settle down at last into a steady wind; even so, in good time, my lord Media came to be more decorous of mood. And Babbalanja abated his reveries. For who might withstand such a morn! As on the night-banks of the far-rolling Ganges, the royal bridegroom sets forth for his bride, preceded by nymphs, now this side, now that, lighting up all the flowery flambeaux held on high as they pass; so came the Sun, to his nuptials with Mardi:—the Hours going on before, touching all the peaks, till they glowed rosy-red. By reflex, the lagoon, here and there, seemed on fire; each curling wave-crest a flame. Noon came as we sailed.