blasts.

"Off shore! off shore!" cried Media; and with all haste we gained a
place of safety.

Down the valley now poured Rhines and Rhones of lava, a fire-freshet,
flooding the forests from their fastnesses, and leaping with them into
the seething sea.

The shore was lined with multitudes pushing off wildly in canoes.

Meantime, the fiery storm from Franko, kindled new flames in the
distant valleys of Porpheero; while driven over from Verdanna came
frantic shouts, and direful jubilees. Upon Dominora a baleful glare
was resting.

"Thrice cursed flames!" cried Media. "Is Mardi to be one
conflagration? How it crackles, forks, and roars!--Is this our funeral
pyre?"

"Recline, recline, my lord," said Babbalanja. "Fierce flames are ever
brief--a song, sweet Yoomy! Your pipe, old Mohi! Greater fires than
this have ere now blazed in Mardi. Let us be calm;--the isles were
made to burn;--Braid-Beard! hereafter, in some quiet cell, of this
whole scene you will but make one chapter;--come, digest it now."

"My face is scorched," cried Media.

"The last, last day!" cried Mohi.