“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.”