Page:Iracéma, the honey-lips (1886).djvu/78

"The fisherman says well; thy brother, like him, is happy when he sees the mountain of sand."

Martim and Poty ascended the head of Mocoribe. Iraçéma followed, with her eyes, her spouse, wandering like the Jaçanan^[1] round the beautiful bay, which earth formed to receive the sea. On her way she collected the sweet Cajús, which appease the warriors՚ thirst, and gathered delicate shells to ornament her neck.

The travellers dwelt in Mocoribe three suns. Then Martim directed his steps beyond it. The wife and friend followed him to the bank of a river, whose banks were overflowed and covered with mangrove. The sea entering into it formed a basin of clear crystalline water, which appeared almost scooped out of the stone like a vase of pottery.

Whilst reconnoitring this place the Christian warrior began to reflect. To the present time he had marched without any object, and he had allowed his steps to guide him where they would. He had no other thought except to absent himself from the Taba of the Pytiguáras, that he might the better soothe the sorrow in Iraçéma՚s heart. The Christian knew by experience that travel cures a Saudade, because the soul rests whilst the body moves. But now seated on the beach he pondered.

Poty came.

"The white warrior thinks; the breast of his brother is open to receive his thought."

"Poty՚s brother thinks that this is a better place than the margins of Jaguaribe for the Taba of the warriors of his race. In these waters the big Igáras that come from the far-off land may lie sheltered from wind and

sea: hence they can fall upon Mearim and destroy