{"id":"01KG8AKTV149Y711FE65H2P7ZG","cid":"bafkreiacurgz7nhkguitumjvtnihfiacbc6sawusqscle4gbpey56k7i2u","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":11920,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":11816,"text":"CHAPTER LXXXII.\r\nThey Sail From Night To Day\r\n\r\n\r\nEre long the three canoes lurched heavily in a violent swell. Like\r\npalls, the clouds swept to and fro, hooding the gibbering winds. At\r\nevery head-beat wave, our arching prows reared up, and shuddered; the\r\nnight ran out in rain.\r\n\r\nWhither to turn we knew not; nor what haven to gain; so dense the\r\ndarkness.\r\n\r\nBut at last, the storm was over. Our shattered prows seemed gilded. Day\r\ndawned; and from his golden vases poured red wine upon the waters.\r\n\r\nThat flushed tide rippled toward us; floating from the east, a lone\r\ncanoe; in which, there sat a mild, old man; a palm-bough in his hand: a\r\nbird’s beak, holding amaranth and myrtles, his slender prow.\r\n\r\n“Alma’s blessing upon ye, voyagers! ye look storm-worn.”\r\n\r\n“The storm we have survived, old man; and many more, we yet must ride,”\r\nsaid Babbalanja.\r\n\r\n“The sun is risen; and all is well again. We but need to repair our\r\nprows,” said Media.\r\n\r\n“Then, turn aside to Serenia, a pleasant isle, where all are welcome;\r\nwhere many storm-worn rovers land at last to dwell.”\r\n\r\n“Serenia?” said Babbalanja; “methinks Serenia is that land of\r\nenthusiasts, of which we hear, my lord; where Mardians pretend to the\r\nunnatural conjunction of reason with things revealed; where Alma, they\r\nsay, is restored to his divine original; where, deriving their\r\nprinciples from the same sources whence flow the persecutions of\r\nMaramma,—men strive to live together in gentle bonds of peace and\r\ncharity;—folly! folly!”\r\n\r\n“Ay,” said Media; “much is said of those people of Serenia; but their\r\nsocial fabric must soon fall to pieces; it is based upon the idlest of\r\ntheories. Thanks for thy courtesy, old man, but we care not to visit\r\nthy isle. Our voyage has an object, which, something tells me, will not\r\nbe gained by touching at thy shores. Elsewhere we may refit. Farewell!\r\n’Tis breezing; set the sails! Farewell, old man.”\r\n\r\n“Nay, nay! think again; the distance is but small; the wind fair,—but\r\n’tis ever so, thither;—come: we, people of Serenia, are most anxious to\r\nbe seen of Mardi; so that if our manner of life seem good, all Mardi\r\nmay live as we. In blessed Alma’s name, I pray ye, come!”\r\n\r\n“Shall we then, my lord?”\r\n\r\n“Lead on, old man! We will e’en see this wondrous isle.”\r\n\r\nSo, guided by the venerable stranger, by noon we descried an island\r\nblooming with bright savannas, and pensive with peaceful groves.\r\n\r\nWafted from this shore, came balm of flowers, and melody of birds: a\r\nthousand summer sounds and odors. The dimpled tide sang round our\r\nsplintered prows; the sun was high in heaven, and the waters were deep\r\nbelow.\r\n\r\n“The land of Love!” the old man murmured, as we neared the beach, where\r\ninnumerable shells were gently rolling in the playful surf, and\r\nmurmuring from their tuneful valves. Behind, another, and a verdant\r\nsurf played against lofty banks of leaves; where the breeze, likewise,\r\nfound its shore.\r\n\r\nAnd now, emerging from beneath the trees, there came a goodly multitude\r\nin flowing robes; palm-branches in their hands; and as they came, they\r\nsang:—\r\n\r\n        Hail! voyagers, hail!\r\nWhence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove,\r\n    No calmer strand,\r\n    No sweeter land,\r\nWill e’er ye view, than the Land of Love!\r\n\r\n    Hail! voyagers, hail!\r\nTo these, our shores, soft gales invite:\r\n    The palm plumes wave,\r\n    The billows lave,\r\nAnd hither point fix’d stars of light!\r\n\r\n    Hail! voyagers, hail!\r\nThink not our groves wide brood with gloom;\r\n    In this, our isle,\r\n    Bright flowers smile:\r\nFull urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.\r\n\r\n    Hail! voyagers, hail!\r\nBe not deceived; renounce vain things;\r\n    Ye may not find\r\n    A tranquil mind,\r\nThough hence ye sail with swiftest wings.\r\n\r\n    Hail! voyagers, hail!\r\nTime flies full fast; life soon is o’er;\r\n    And ye may mourn,\r\n    That hither borne,\r\nYe left behind our pleasant shore.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJWKBZA64C30KJSGAWWKE","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKTV14MHYK3CCYY34NY7R","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:17.249Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:29.055Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}