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- of Cheops masoned in a month; though, once built, the sands left by the
deluge might not have submerged such a pile. Nor were the broad boughs
of Charles’ Oak grown in a spring; though they outlived the royal
dynasties of Tudor and Stuart. Nor were the parts of the great Iliad
put together in haste; though old Homer’s temple shall lift up its
dome, when St. Peter’s is a legend. Even man himself lives months ere
his Maker deems him fit to be born; and ere his proud shaft gains its
full stature, twenty-one long Julian years must elapse. And his whole
mortal life brings not his immortal soul to maturity; nor will all
eternity perfect him. Yea, with uttermost reverence, as to human
understanding, increase of dominion seems increase of power; and day by
day new planets are being added to elder-born Saturn, even as six
thousand years ago our own Earth made one more in this system; so, in
incident, not in essence, may the Infinite himself be not less than
more infinite now, than when old Aldebaran rolled forth from his hand.
And if time was, when this round Earth, which to innumerable mortals
has seemed an empire never to be wholly explored; which, in its seas,
concealed all the Indies over four thousand five hundred years; if time
was, when this great quarry of Assyrias and Romes was not extant; then,
time may have been, when the whole material universe lived its Dark
Ages; yea, when the Ineffable Silence, proceeding from its unimaginable
remoteness, espied it as an isle in the sea. And herein is no
derogation. For the Immeasurable’s altitude is not heightened by the
arches of Mahomet’s heavens; and were all space a vacuum, yet would it
be a fullness; for to Himself His own universe is He.
Thus deeper and deeper into Time’s endless tunnel, does the winged
soul, like a night-hawk, wend her wild way; and finds eternities before
and behind; and her last limit is her everlasting beginning.
But sent over the broad flooded sphere, even Noah’s dove came back, and
perched on his hand. So comes back my spirit to me, and folds up her
wings.
Thus, then, though Time be the mightiest of Alarics, yet is he the
mightiest mason of all. And a tutor, and a counselor, and a physician,
and a scribe, and a poet, and a sage, and a king.
Yea, and a gardener, as ere long will be shown.
But first must we return to the glen.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
A Pleasant Place For A Lounge
Whether the hard condition of their kingly state, very naturally
demanding some luxurious requital, prevailed upon the monarchs of Juam
to house themselves so delightfully as they did; whether buried alive
in their glen, they sought to center therein a secret world of
enjoyment; however it may have been, throughout the Archipelago this
saying was a proverb—“You are lodged like the king in Willamilla.”
Hereby was expressed the utmost sumptuousness of a palace.
A well warranted saying; for of all the bright places, where my soul
loves to linger, the haunts of Donjalolo are most delicious.
In the eastern quarter of the glen was the House of the Morning. This
fanciful palace was raised upon a natural mound, many rods square,
almost completely filling up a deep recess between deep-green and
projecting cliffs, overlooking many abodes distributed in the shadows
of the groves beyond.
Now, if it indeed be, that from the time employed in its construction,
any just notion may be formed of the stateliness of an edifice, it must
needs be determined, that this retreat of Donjalolo could not be
otherwise than imposing.
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