Whether he comes of god or monster kind. This Glaucus soon perceived, and, “Oh, forbear!” His hand supporting on a rock lay near, “Forbear,” he cried, “fond maid, this needless fear; Nor fish am I, nor monster of the main, But equal with the watery gods I reign; Nor Proteus, nor Palaemon me excel, Nor he whose breath inspires the sounding shell. My birth, ’tis true, I owe to mortal race, And I myself but late a mortal was: Ev’n then, in seas, and seas alone, I joy’d, The seas my hours and all my cares employ’d. In meshes now the twinkling prey I drew; Now skilfully the slender line I threw, And silent sat the moving float to view. Not far from shore there lies a verdant mead, With herbage half, and half with water spread: There nor the horned heifers browsing stray, Nor shaggy kids, nor wanton lambkins play: There nor the sounding bees their nectar cull, Nor rural swains their genial chaplets pull, Nor flocks, nor herds, nor mowers, haunt the place, To crop the flowers, or cut the bushy grass: Thither sure first of living race came I,