The precious incense of each odorous pyre,
Heap’d with the richest balms of spicy vales,
And aromatic woods that scent the Arabian gales.
XXII.
Yet not with Saba’s fragrant wealth alone,
Balsam and myrrh, the votive pile was strew’d;
For the dark children of the burning zone
Drew frenzy from thy fervours, and bedew’d
With their own blood thy shrine; while that wild scene,
Haply with pitying eye, thine angel view’d,