These safely navigated, I rowed the great creature straight
forward across the sea, my face towards dwindling land, my prow to
Scorpio.
XVI
_Art thou pale for weariness._
--PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
The constellations of summer wheeled above me; and thus between water
and starry sky I tossed solitary in my boat. The faint lustre of the
sultry night hung like a mist from heaven to earth. Far away above the
countries I had left perhaps for ever, the quiet lightnings played
innocently in the heights.
I rowed steadily on, guiding myself by some much ruddier star on the
horizon. The pale phosphorescence on the wave, the simple sounds as of
fish stirring in the water--the beauty and wonder of Night's
dwelling-place seemed beyond content of mortality.
I leaned on my oars in the midst of the deep sea, and seemed to hear,
as it were, the mighty shout of Space. Faint and enormous beams of
light trembled through the sky. And once I surprised a shadow as of
wings sweeping darkly across, star on to glittering star, shaking the
air, stilling the sea with the cold dews of night.
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