Flows from the cold stars of the northern pole
None e’er can doubt; while rolls the Nile adverse
Full from the south, from realms of torrid heat,
Haunts of the Ethiop tribes; yet far beyond
First bubbling, distant, o’er the burning line.
Then ocean, haply, by th’ undevious breeze
Blown up the channel, heaves with every wave
Heaps of high sand, and dams its wonted course;
Whence, narrower, too, its exit to the main,
And with less force the tardy stream descends.