1From seaward now came a breeze so blithesome and fresh, that it made us impatient of Babbalanja’s philosophy, and Mohi’s incredible legends. One and all, we called upon the minstrel Yoomy to give us something in unison with the spirited waves wide-foaming around us.

2“If my lord will permit, we will give Taji the Paddle-Chant of the warriors of King Bello.”

3“By all means,” said Media.

4So the three canoes were brought side to side; their sails rolled up; and paddles in hand, our paddlers seated themselves sideways on the gunwales; Yoomy, as leader, occupying the place of the foremast, or Bow-Paddler of the royal barge.

5Whereupon the six rows of paddle-blades being uplifted, and every eye on the minstrel, this song was sung, with actions corresponding; the canoes at last shooting through the water, with a violent roll.

6(All.)

7Thrice waved on high,

8Our paddles fly:

9Thrice round the head, thrice dropt to feet:

10And then well timed,

11Of one stout mind,

12All fall, and back the waters heap!

13(Bow-Paddler.)

14Who lifts this chant?

15Who sounds this vaunt?

16(All.)

17The wild sea song, to the billows’ throng,

18Rising, falling,

19Hoarsely calling,

20Now high, now low, as fast we go,

21Fast on our flying foe!

22(Bow-Paddler.)

23Who lifts this chant?

24Who sounds this vaunt?

25(All.)

26Dip, dip, in the brine our paddles dip,

27Dip, dip, the fins of our swimming ship!

28How the waters part,

29As on we dart;

30Our sharp prows fly,

31And curl on high,

32As the upright fin of the rushing shark,

33Rushing fast and far on his flying mark!

34Like him we prey;

35Like him we slay;

36Swim on the fog,

37Our prow a blow!

38(Bow-Paddler.)

39Who lifts this chant?

40Who sounds this vaunt?

41(All.)

42Heap back; heap back; the waters back!

43Pile them high astern, in billows black;

44Till we leave our wake,

45In the slope we make;

46And rush and ride,

47On the torrent’s tide!

48Here we were overtaken by a swift gliding canoe, which, bearing down upon us before the wind, lowered its sail when close by: its occupants signing our paddlers to desist.

49I started.

50The strangers were three hooded damsels the enigmatical Queen Hautia’s heralds.

51Their pursuit surprised and perplexed me. Nor was there wanting a vague feeling of alarm to heighten these emotions. But perhaps I was mistaken, and this time they meant not me.

52Seated in the prow, the foremost waved her Iris flag. Cried Yoomy, “Some message! Taji, that Iris points to you.”

53It was then, I first divined, that some meaning must have lurked in those flowers they had twice brought me before.

54The second damsel now flung over to me Circe flowers; then, a faded jonquil, buried in a tuft of wormwood leaves.

55The third sat in the shallop’s stern, and as it glided from us, thrice waved oleanders.

56“What dumb show is this?” cried Media. “But it looks like poetry: minstrel, you should know.”

57“Interpret then,” said I.

58“Shall I, then, be your Flora’s flute, and Hautia’s dragoman? Held aloft, the Iris signified a message. These purple-woven Circe flowers mean that some spell is weaving. That golden, pining jonquil, which you hold, buried in those wormwood leaves, says plainly to you—Bitter love in absence.”

59Said Media, “Well done, Taji, you have killed a queen.” “Yet no Queen Hautia have these eyes beheld.”

60Said Babbalanja, “The thrice waved oleanders, Yoomy; what meant they?”

61“Beware—beware—beware.”

62“Then that, at least, seems kindly meant,” said Babbalanja; “Taji, beware of Hautia.”