Oh, for a foot to crush them! Hard, too, with all who rule in broad Porpheero.

And may she we seek, survive this conflagration!" "My lord," said Babbalanja, "where'ere she hide, ne'er yet did Yillah lurk in this Porpheero; nor have we missed the maiden, noble Taji! in not touching at its shores." "This fire must make a desert of the land," said Mohi; "burn up and bury all her tilth." "Yet, Mohi, vineyards flourish over buried villages," murmured Yoomy.
"True, minstrel," said Babbalanja, "and prairies are purified by fire.
Ashes breed loam.

Nor can any skill make the same surface forever fruitful.

In all times past, things have been overlaid; and though the first fruits of the marl are wild and poisonous, the palms at last spring forth; and once again the tribes repose in shade.

My lord, if calms breed storms, so storms calms; and all this dire commotion must eventuate in peace.