Whence from the Bybline heights the sacred Nile
Pours his salubrious flood.[n46] The winding wave
Thence to triangled Egypt guides thee, where
A distant home awaits thee, fated mother
Of no unstoried race. And now, if aught
That I have spoken doubtful seem or dark,
Repeat the question, and in plainer speech
Expect reply. I feel no lack of leisure.
Chorus.
If thou hast more to speak to her, speak on;