And panthers, to the brink came down to lave,
But drew back as they saw the oar-blades quiver.
Along the burnished water meadow flowers
Floated, and buds with berries, which the scours
Of melted torrents, moons ago, had shred
From Afric's inland mountain range of snows,
And torn up with the rich mould from its bed
And brought to Egypt when the waters rose
To pour into her lap full harvest dowers.
The cortege passed the swamp of crocodiles,