Light-giving, and of all the beacon-fires,
If they be true; or if, as 'twere a dream,
This sweet light coming hath beguiled our minds.
I see a herald coming from the shore,
With olive boughs o'ershadowed, and the dust,[[306]]
Dry sister-twin of mire,[[307]] announces this,
That neither without voice, nor kindling blaze
Of wood upon the mountains, he will signal
480
With smoke from fire, but either he will come,