LXXVI

5 0 00

LXXVI

“Five minutes thirteen seconds after three,

Far in the west a mighty fire broke out,

Conjectured, on the instant, it might be

The city of Balk⁠—’twas Balk beyond all doubt:

A griffin, wheeling here and there about,

Kept reconnoitering us⁠—doubled our guard⁠—

Lighted our torches, and kept up a shout,

Till he sheer’d off⁠—the Princess very scared⁠—

And many on their marrow-bones for death prepared.