"Ah, Taji! I had shrank from you," cried Yoomy, "but for the mark upon
your brow. That undoes the tenor of your words. But look, the stars
come forth, and who are these? A waving Iris! ay, again they come:--
Hautia's heralds!"

They brought a black thorn, buried in withered rose-balm blossoms, red
and blue.

Said Yoomy, "For that which stings, there is no cure,"

"Who, who is Hautia, that she stabs me thus?"

"And this wild sardony mocks your misery."

"Away! ye fiends."

"Again a Venus car; and lo! a wreath of strawberries!--Yet fly to me,
and be garlanded with joys."

"Let the wild witch laugh. She moves me not. Neither hurtling arrows
nor Circe flowers appall."

Said Yoomy, "They wait reply."

"Tell your Hautia, that I know her not; nor care to know. I defy her
incantations; she lures in vain. Yillah! Yillah! still I hope!"

Slowly they departed; heeding not my cries no more to follow.