Stamp’d the cursed soil; and with humanity
(Denied Narcissa) wish’d them all a grave.
Glows my resentment into guilt? What guilt
Can equal violations of the dead?
The dead how sacred! Sacred is the dust
Of this heaven-labour’d form, erect, divine! 192
This heaven-assumed majestic robe of earth,
He deign’d to wear, who hung the vast expanse
With azure bright, and clothed the sun in gold.
When every passion sleeps that can offend;