Chapter XXVIII

by Herman Melville

　　It was night. But the moon was brilliant, far and near illuminating the lagoon.

　　Over silvery billows we glided.

　　"Come Yoomy," said Media, "moonlight and music for aye—a song! a song! my bird of paradise."

　　And folding his arms, and watching the sparkling waters, thus Yoomy sang:—

　　    A ray of the moon on the dancing waves

　　      Is the step, light step of that beautiful maid:

　　    Mardi, with music, her footfall paves,

　　      And her voice, no voice, but a song in the glade.