20
On, on they hurry, scatt’ring high the spray, and lash with silvern trains the spumy White: Doto’s soft bosom breasts the briny way with hotter pressure than her wonted plight. Springs Nisé, while Neríne seeks the fray clearing the crystal wavelets nimble light: The bending billows open wide a path, fearing to rouse the hurrying Nereids’ wrath.