{"id":"01KG8AKVMZNJ64T9SPTTX7JEXR","cid":"bafkreib7i7z6wmq2mjynrm3fqjkxmgeqaew5cqsm3t72cuptd4s6d6zyui","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":12531,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":12443,"text":"CHAPTER LXXXV.\r\nThey Depart From Serenia\r\n\r\n\r\nAt sunrise, we stood upon the beach.\r\n\r\nBabbalanja thus:—“My voyage is ended. Not because what we sought is\r\nfound; but that I now possess all which may be had of what I sought in\r\nMardi. Here, tarry to grow wiser still:—then I am Alma’s and the\r\nworld’s. Taji! for Yillah thou wilt hunt in vain; she is a phantom that\r\nbut mocks thee; and while for her thou madly huntest, the sin thou\r\ndidst cries out, and its avengers still will follow. But here they may\r\nnot come: nor those, who, tempting, track thy path. Wise counsel take.\r\nWithin our hearts is all we seek: though in that search many need a\r\nprompter. Him I have found in blessed Alma. Then rove no more. Gain\r\nnow, in flush of youth, that last wise thought, too often purchased, by\r\na life of woe. Be wise: be wise.\r\n\r\n“Media! thy station calls thee home. Yet from this isle, thou earnest\r\nthat, wherewith to bless thy own. These flowers, that round us spring,\r\nmay be transplanted: and Odo made to bloom with amaranths and myrtles,\r\nlike this Serenia. Before thy people act the things, thou here hast\r\nheard. Let no man weep, that thou may’st laugh; no man toil too hard,\r\nthat thou may’st idle be. Abdicate thy throne: but still retain the\r\nscepter. None need a king; but many need a ruler.\r\n\r\n“Mohi! Yoomy! do we part? then bury in forgetfulness much that hitherto\r\nI’ve spoken. But let not one syllable of this old man’s words be lost.\r\n\r\n“Mohi! Age leads thee by the hand. Live out thy life; and die, calm-\r\nbrowed.\r\n\r\n“But Yoomy! many days are thine. And in one life’s span, great circles\r\nmay be traversed, eternal good be done. Take all Mardi for thy home.\r\nNations are but names; and continents but shifting sands.\r\n\r\n“Once more: Taji! be sure thy Yillah never will be found; or found,\r\nwill not avail thee. Yet search, if so thou wilt; more isles, thou\r\nsay’st, are still unvisited; and when all is seen, return, and find thy\r\nYillah here.\r\n\r\n“Companions all! adieu.”\r\n\r\nAnd from the beach, he wended through the woods.\r\n\r\nOur shallops now refitted, we silently embarked; and as we sailed away,\r\nthe old man blessed us.\r\n\r\nFor a time, each prow’s ripplings were distinctly heard: ripple after\r\nripple.\r\n\r\nWith silent, steadfast eyes, Media still preserved his noble mien; Mohi\r\nhis reverend repose; Yoomy his musing mood.\r\n\r\nBut as a summer hurricane leaves all nature still, and smiling to the\r\neye; yet, in deep woods, there lie concealed some anguished roots torn\r\nup:—so, with these.\r\n\r\nMuch they longed, to point our prows for Odo’s isle; saying our search\r\nwas over.\r\n\r\nBut I was fixed as fate.\r\n\r\nOn we sailed, as when we first embarked; the air was bracing as before.\r\nMore isles we visited:—thrice encountered the avengers: but unharmed;\r\nthrice Hautia’s heralds but turned not aside;—saw many checkered\r\nscenes—wandered through groves, and open fields—traversed many\r\nvales—climbed hill-tops whence broad views were gained—tarried in\r\ntowns—broke into solitudes—sought far, sought near:—Still Yillah there\r\nwas none.\r\n\r\nThen again they all would fain dissuade me.\r\n\r\n“Closed is the deep blue eye,” said Yoomy.\r\n\r\n“Fate’s last leaves are turning, let me home and die,” said Mohi.\r\n\r\n“So nigh the circuit’s done,” said Media, “our morrow’s sun must rise\r\no’er Odo; Taji! renounce the hunt.”\r\n\r\n“I am the hunter, that never rests! the hunter without a home! She I\r\nseek, still flies before; and I will follow, though she lead me beyond\r\nthe reef; through sunless seas; and into night and death. Her, will I\r\nseek, through all the isles and stars; and find her, whate’er betide!”\r\n\r\nAgain they yielded; and again we glided on;—our storm-worn prows, now\r\npointed here, now there;—beckoned, repulsed;—their half-rent sails,\r\nstill courting every breeze.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJWK4T9347MS7GRD0S47B","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKVMSHWQ9N8FZQ57211XP","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.079Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:29.574Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}