[EK] {213}
With human ordure is it now defiled,
As if the peasant's scorn this mode invented
To show his loathing of the thing he soiled.—[MS.]
[EL] Those sufferings once reserved for Hell alone.—[MS.]
Its fumes are frankincense; and were there nought
Even of this vapour, still the chilling yoke
Of silence would not long be borne by Thought.—[MS.]