Mardi: and A Voyage Thither, Vol. II | Page 7

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!"
"It is because I am young and in health," said the boy, "that I more nourish the thoughts, that are born of my youth and my health. I am fresh from my Maker, soul and body unwrinkled. On thy sick couch, old man, they took thee at advantage."
"Turn from the blasphemer," cried Pani. "Hence! thou evil one, to the perdition in store."
"I will go my ways," said the boy, "but Oro will shape the end."
And he quitted the Morai.
After conducting the party round the sacred inclosure, assisting his way with his staff, for his child had left him, Pani seated himself on a low, mossy stone, grimly surrounded by idols; and directed the pilgrims to return to his habitation; where, ere long he would rejoin them.
The pilgrims departed, he remained in profound meditation; while, backward and forward, an invisible ploughshare turned up the long furrows on his brow.
Long he was silent; then muttered to himself, "That boy, that wild, wise boy, has stabbed me to the heart. His thoughts are my suspicions. But he is honest. Yet I harm none. Multitudes must have unspoken meditations as well as I. Do we then mutually deceive? Off masks, mankind, that I may know what warranty of fellowship with others, my own thoughts possess. Why, upon this one theme, oh Oro! must all dissemble? Our thoughts are not our own. Whate'er it be, an honest thought must have some germ of truth. But we must set, as flows the general stream; I blindly follow, where I seem to lead; the crowd of pilgrims is so great, they see not there is none to guide.--It hinges upon this: Have we angelic spirits? But in vain, in vain, oh Oro! I essay to live