Into the valley where the cedars grew.
VI.
And what a scene, O God! and what repose,
And what sad splendour in the burning west:
A languid sun low-dropping to his rest,
And incense rising, as of old it rose,
To do him honour at the daylight's close,—
The birds entranced, and all the winds repress'd.
VII.
I followed thee. I came to where a shrine