LXXVIII.
Mark in the throng’d Ceramicus, the train
Of mourners weeping o’er the martyr’d brave:
Proud be the tears devoted to the slain,
Holy the amaranth strew’d upon their grave![45]
And hark! unrivall’d eloquence proclaims
Their deeds, their trophies, with triumphant voice!
Hark! Pericles records their honour’d names![46]
Sons of the fallen, in their lot rejoice:
What hath life brighter than so bright a doom?
What power hath fate to soil the garlands of the tomb?