Chapter XXII

by Herman Melville

　　Authors Right And Left

　　Sailing from Padulla, after many pleasant things had been said concerning the sights there beheld; Babbalanja thus addressed Yoomy— "Warbler, the last song you sung was about moonlight, and paradise, and fabulous pleasures evermore: now, have you any hymns about earthly felicity?"

　　"If so, minstrel," said Media, "jet it forth, my fountain, forthwith."

　　"Just now, my lord," replied Yoomy, "I was singing to myself, as I often do, and by your leave, I will continue aloud."

　　"Better begin at the beginning, I should think," said the chronicler, both hands to his chin, beginning at the top to new braid his beard.

　　"No: like the roots of your beard, old Mohi, all beginnings are stiff," cried Babbalanja. "We are lucky in living midway in eternity. So sing away, Yoomy, where you left off," and thus saying he unloosed his girdle for the song, as Apicius would for a banquet.

　　"Shall I continue aloud, then, my lord?"

　　My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:—

　　    "Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,—

　　     Sweet shelter from all Mardi's harms!"