Ah, what a wilderness of floral beauty was hidden, or was suddenly
revealed, upon the tropic islands through which the pinnace moved! And
upon her deck what a bevy of human flowers: young women how lovely,
young men how noble, that were dancing together, and slowly drifting
towards _us_ amidst music and incense, amidst blossoms from forests
and gorgeous corymbi from vintages, amidst natural carolling, and the
echoes of sweet girlish laughter. Slowly the pinnace nears us, gaily
she hails us, and silently she disappears beneath the shadow of our
mighty bows. But then, as at some signal from heaven, the music, and
the carols, and the sweet echoing of girlish laughter--all are hushed.
What evil has smitten the pinnace, meeting or overtaking her? Did ruin
to our friends couch within our own dreadful shadow? Was our shadow the
shadow of death? I looked over the bow for an answer, and, behold! the
pinnace was dismantled; the revel and the revellers were found no more;
the glory of the vintage was dust; and the forests with their beauty
were left without a witness upon the seas. "But where," and I turned to
our crew--"where are the lovely women that danced beneath the awning of
flowers and clustering corymbi? Whither have fled the noble young men
that danced with _them_?" Answer there was none. But suddenly the
man at the mast-head, whose countenance darkened with alarm, cried out,
"Sail on the weather beam! Down she comes upon us: in seventy seconds
she also will founder.
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