“Who then art thou?” I cried. “Dread being, tell
Each sense thus bending in amazement’s spell!”
—With fearful shriek, far echoing o’er the tide,
Writhing his lips and eyes, he thus replied:
“Behold the genius of that secret shore
Where the wind rages and the billows roar—
That stormy Cape, for ages mine alone,
To Pompey, Strabo, Pliny, all unknown!
Far to the southern pole my throne extends,
That hidden rock, which Afric’s region ends.