These are our martyrs, and their blood the seed
Of nobler futures. ’Twas for us they died.
Keep we their memory green.
This be their epitaph. “Traveller, south or west,
Go, say at home we heard the trumpet call,
And answered. Now beside the sea we rest.
Our end was happy if our country thrives:
Much was demanded. Lo! our store was small—
That which we had we gave—it was our lives.”
L.L.