My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:--

"Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,--
Sweet shelter from all Mardi's harms!"

"Whose arms?" cried Mohi.

Sang Yoomy:--

Diving deep in the sea,
She takes sunshine along:
Down flames in the sea,
As of dolphins a throng.

"What mermaid is this?" cried Mohi.

Sang Yoomy:--

Her foot, a falling sound,
That all day long might bound.
Over the beach,
The soft sand beach,
And none would find
A trace behind.

"And why not?" demanded Media, "why could no trace be found?"

Said Braid-Beard, "Perhaps owing, my lord, to the flatness of the
mermaid's foot. But no; that can not be; for mermaids are all