O’erawed, shrank back before them? Ay, the earth
Doth call them martyrs; but their agonies
Were of a moment, tortures whose brief aim
Was to destroy, within whose powers and scope
Lay naught but dust. And earth doth call them martyrs!
Why, heaven but claim’d their blood, their lives, and not
The things which grew as tendrils round their hearts;
No, not their children!
Elm. Mean’st thou? know’st thou aught?—
I cannot utter it—my sons! my sons!