In a canoe-fight, after performing prodigies of valor; he was wounded in the head, and sunk to the bottom of the lagoon.
"There is a noble monody upon the death of Adondo," said Yoomy.

"Shall I sing it, my lord?
It.

is very beautiful; nor could I ever repeat it without a tear." "We will dispense with your tears, minstrel," said Media, "but sing it, if you will." And Yoomy sang:-- Departed the pride and the glory of Mardi: The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, That rolls o'er his corpse with a hush.
His warriors bend over their spears, His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
Weep, weep, for Adondo, is dead! The sun has gone down in a shower; Buried in clouds in the face of the moon; Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, And stand in the eyes of the flowers; And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, Coursing adown the mountains .-- Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.
Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs .-- Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.
"A dismal time it must have been," yawned Media, "not a dry brook then in Mardi, not a lake that was not moist.

Lachrymose rivulets, and inconsolable lagoons! Call you this poetry, minstrel ?" "Mohi has something like a tear in his eye," said Yoomy.
"False!" cried Mohi, brushing it aside.
"Who composed that monody ?" said Babbalanja.

"I have often heard it before." "None know, Babbalanja but the poet must be still singing to himself; his songs bursting through the turf in the flowers over his grave." "But gentle Yoomy, Adondo is a legendary hero, indefinitely dating back.