Under the solitary moon: he flow’d
Right for the Polar star, past Orgunjè,
Brimming, and bright, and huge: there sands begin
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,
And split his currents; that for many a league
The shorn and parcell’d Oxus strains along
Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles—
Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere,
A foil’d circuitous wanderer:—till at last