Or have the fugitive particles of light,
The Sun’s lost emanations, which all night
Lay hid in hollows of the earth, or slept
In vegetable cells, come forth to greet
Their monarch’s coming? Are they pioneers
Sent to prepare his way, and raise his bright
Victorious banner, that their sovereign’s eye
From his serene pavilion may behold
No lingering shadow from the gloomy host
Of hateful Darkness, who hast westward borne