{"id":"01KG8AKMFJMZDSDE6NV4XA0XW4","cid":"bafkreiesfqgiq7gecgc46qz6tvxlcjlqg7q746fwqefpaxf3fj7cpbdswi","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":8672,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":8595,"text":"“Are all our dreams, then, vain?” sighed Yoomy. “Is this no dawn of day\r\nthat streaks the crimson East! Naught but the false and flickering\r\nlights which sometimes mock Aurora in the north! Ah, man, my brother!\r\nhave all martyrs for thee bled in vain; in vain we poets sang, and\r\nprophets spoken? Nay, nay; great Mardi, helmed and mailed, strikes at\r\nOppression’s shield, and challenges to battle! Oro will defend the\r\nright, and royal crests must roll.”\r\n\r\n“Thus, Yoomy, ages since, you mortal poets sang; but the world may not\r\nbe moved from out the orbit in which first it rolled. On the map that\r\ncharts the spheres, Mardi is marked ‘the world of kings.’ Round\r\ncenturies on centuries have wheeled by:—has all this been its nonage?\r\nNow, when the rocks grow gray, does man first sprout his beard? Or, is\r\nyour golden time, your equinoctial year, at hand, that your race fast\r\npresses toward perfection; and every hand grasps at a scepter, that\r\nkings may be no more?”\r\n\r\n“But free Vivenza! Is she not the star, that must, ere long, lead up\r\nthe constellations, though now unrisen? No kings are in Vivenza; yet,\r\nspite her thralls, in that land seems more of good than elsewhere. Our\r\nhopes are not wild dreams: Vivenza cheers our hearts. She is a rainbow\r\nto the isles!”\r\n\r\n“Ay, truth it is, that in Vivenza they have prospered. But thence it\r\ncomes not, that all men may be as they. Are all men of one heart and\r\nbrain; one bone and sinew? Are all nations sprung of Dominora’s loins?\r\nOr, has Vivenza yet proved her creed? Yoomy! the years that prove a\r\nman, prove not a nation. But two kings’-reigns have passed since\r\nVivenza was a monarch’s. Her climacteric is not come; hers is not yet a\r\nnation’s manhood even; though now in childhood, she anticipates her\r\nyouth, and lusts for empire like any czar. Yoomy! judge not yet. Time\r\nhath tales to tell. Many books, and many long, long chapters, are\r\nwanting to Vivenza’s history; and whet history but is full of blood?”\r\n\r\n“There stop, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “nor aught predict. Fate laughs\r\nat prophets; and of all birds, the raven is a liar!”\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER LXI.\r\nThey Round The Stormy Cape Of Capes\r\n\r\n\r\nLong leagues, for weary days, we voyaged along that coast, till we came\r\nto regions where we multiplied our mantles.\r\n\r\nThe sky grew overcast. Each a night, black storm-clouds swept the\r\nwintry sea; and like Sahara caravans, which leave their sandy wakes—\r\nso, thick and fleet, slanted the scud behind. Through all this rack and\r\nmist, ten thousand foam-flaked dromedary-humps uprose.\r\n\r\nDeep among those panting, moaning fugitives, the three canoes raced on.\r\n\r\nAnd now, the air grew nipping cold. The clouds shed off their fleeces;\r\na snow-hillock, each canoe; our beards, white-frosted.\r\n\r\nAnd so, as seated in our shrouds, we sailed in among great mountain\r\npasses of ice-isles; from icy ledges scaring shivering seals, and white\r\nbears, musical with icicles, jingling from their shaggy ermine.\r\n\r\nFar and near, in towering ridges, stretched the glassy Andes; with\r\ntheir own frost, shuddering through all their domes and pinnacles.\r\nIce-splinters rattled down the cliffs, and seethed into the sea.\r\n\r\nBroad away, in amphitheaters undermined by currents, whole cities of\r\nice-towers, in crashes, toward one center, fell.—In their earthquakes,\r\nLisbon and Lima never saw the like. Churned and broken in the boiling\r\ntide, they swept off amain;—over and over rolling; like porpoises to\r\nvessels tranced in calms, bringing down the gale.\r\n\r\nAt last, rounding an antlered headland, that seemed a moose at bay—ere\r\nlong, we launched upon blue lake-like waters, serene as Windermere, or\r\nHoricon. Thus, from the boisterous storms of youth, we glide upon\r\nsenility.\r\n\r\nBut as we northward voyaged, another aspect wore the sea.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJVBMF0M3PVJ9JF0CFPA8","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMFJ91S2M2X2M738DPE7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMFJ9PGX6Z5S1QAX24CJ","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:10.738Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:26.375Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}