- end_line
- 721
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 627
- text
- hollow cheeks, and hollow eyes. Wistfully he eyed the offerings; but
retreated; knowing it was sacrilege to touch them. There, they must
decay, in honor of the god Ananna; for so this dead tree was
denominated by Mohi.
Now, as we were thus strolling about the Morai, the old chronicler
elucidating its mysteries, we suddenly spied Pani and the pilgrims
approaching the image of Doleema; his child leading the guide.
“This,” began Pani, pointing to the idol of stone, “is the holy god
Ananna who lives in the sap of this green and flourishing tree.”
“Thou meanest not, surely, this stone image we behold?” said Divino.
“I mean the tree,” said the guide. “It is no stone image.”
“Strange,” muttered the chief; “were it not a guide that spoke, I would
deny it. As it is, I hold my peace.”
“Mystery of mysteries!” cried the blind old pilgrim; “is it, then, a
stone image that Pani calls a tree? Oh, Oro, that I had eyes to see,
that I might verily behold it, and then believe it to be what it is
not; that so I might prove the largeness of my faith; and so merit the
blessing of Alma.”
“Thrice sacred Ananna,” murmured the sad-eyed maiden, falling upon her
knees before Doleema, “receive my adoration. Of thee, I know nothing,
but what the guide has spoken. I am but a poor, weak-minded maiden,
judging not for myself, but leaning upon others that are wiser. These
things are above me. I am afraid to think. In Alma’s name, receive my
homage.”
And she flung flowers before the god.
But Fauna, the hale matron, turning upon Pani, exclaimed, “Receive more
gifts, oh guide.” And again she showered them upon him.
Upon this, the willful boy who would not have Pani for his guide,
entered the Morai; and perceiving the group before the image, walked
rapidly to where they were. And beholding the idol, he regarded it
attentively, and said:—“This must be the image of Doleema; but I am not
sure.”
“Nay,” cried the blind pilgrim, “it is the holy tree Ananna, thou
wayward boy.”
“A tree? whatever it may be, it is not that; thou art blind, old man.”
“But though blind, I have that which thou lackest.”
Then said Pani, turning upon the boy, “Depart from the holy Morai, and
corrupt not the hearts of these pilgrims. Depart, I say; and, in the
sacred name of Alma, perish in thy endeavors to climb the Peak.”
“I may perish there in truth,” said the boy, with sadness; “but it
shall be in the path revealed to me in my dream. And think not, oh
guide, that I perfectly rely upon gaining that lofty summit. I will
climb high Ofo with hope, not faith; Oh, mighty Oro, help me!”
“Be not impious,” said Pani; “pronounce not Oro’s sacred name too
lightly.”
“Oro is but a sound,” said the boy. “They call the supreme god, Ati, in
my native isle; it is the soundless thought of him, oh guide, that is
in me.”
“Hark to his rhapsodies! Hark, how he prates of mysteries, that not
even Hivohitee can fathom.”
“Nor he, nor thou, nor I, nor any; Oro, to all, is Oro the unknown.”
“Why claim to know Oro, then, better than others?”
“I am not so vain; and I have little to substitute for what I can not
receive. I but feel Oro in me, yet can not declare the thought.”
“Proud boy! thy humility is a pretense; at heart, thou deemest thyself
wiser than Mardi.”
“Not near so wise. To believe is a haughty thing; my very doubts
humiliate me. I weep and doubt; all Mardi may be light; and I too
simple to discern.”
“He is mad,” said the chief Divino; “never before heard I such words.”
“They are thoughts,” muttered the guide.
“Poor fool!” cried Fauna.
“Lost youth!” sighed the maiden.
“He is but a child,” said the beggar. These whims will soon depart;
once I was like him; but, praise be to Alma, in the hour of sickness I
repented, feeble old man that I am!”
- title
- Chunk 2