Whose days are number’d, shall for ever rise—
For ever wander through th’ unbounded skies!
Two hours, or nearly, Horus had to march,
Ere he could reach the buttress of the arch
Which spans the ocean of ethereal air:
There, cloudlings waited for the golden fare—
That unmatch’d crimson, to edge round the robes—
The night apparel of the king of globes.
IV.
When Arnold gain’d the summit of the hill