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4 Yes, some have told me, and I well believe, There are four fountains clear and deep as day, Welling unfathomable, perennial Among low hills as yet unseen, the last Subsiding roll, it may be, of one range Named of old Rumour, Mountains of the Moon. Behold the shrine of living waters! Here From one immense rock-temple stream the Souls Of many lands and nations, whispering In dim enchanted caverns; East and North, And West emerging, sunny wings unfold: Shouting they plunge in joyous waterfalls, To roll a priceless silver all abroad, Each to his Ocean, whose illustrious names Are Congo, Nile, and long Leeambayee! Whom Mother Ocean, in her awful arms Absorbing, ever engendereth anew, Gendering a holy Cycle evermore.

When royal Sun his Oriental bride, India's Ocean, fiercely fervent woos,