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.