Mixed with the altar’s incense, smite with fear
The suppliant worshipper—nor cities frown
Ghastly with sculptured skeletons—while leaped
Young mothers from their sleep in wild affright,
Shielding their helpless babes with feeble arm,
And listening for the groans of wandering ghosts,
Imploring vainly from their impious heirs
Their gold bought masses.—But in living green
Cypress and stately cedar spread their shade
O’er unforgotten graves, scattering in air