The thronging sons of Nile;
Nor dared to approach this thing of human face,[n38]
Portentous-mingled with the lowing race,
Treading the Libyan soil.
Who then was he, the brize-stung Io’s friend,
With charms of soothing virtue strong to end
Her weary-wandering toil?
STROPHE IV.
Jove, mighty Jove, Heaven’s everlasting king,
He soft-inspiring came,