Still onward gliding, the lagoon a calm.
Hours pass; and full before us, round and green, a Moslem turban by us floats-Nora-Bamma, Isle of Nods.
Noon-tide rolls its flood. Vibrates the air, and trembles. And by illusion optical, thin-draped in azure haze, drift here and there the brilliant lands: swans, peacock-plumaged, sailing through the s
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