Like spectres melting from a cloudy wrack,
Melted from view in our dissolving track.
Kaposia’s village, clustered on the shore,
With sound of snapping poles and tipis riven,
Vanished like swan’s-down by a tempest driven.
Stung by our flight, the keen air smote us sore
As ragged hailstones; on, still on, we strained,
And fast and faster on the chase we gained,
But neck and neck the fierce pursuit remained,
Till close ahead we saw the rocky walls