For theirs it was by more than blood allied,
Alike they worshipp'd, and alike they died!
Nor minded how the Pagan nipp'd their youth—
They are not dead who suffer for the Truth!
The skies receive them, and the earth's warm heart
In grateful duty ever plays its part,
Embalms their memory to all future time,
And thus, in love, still punishes the crime;
Sees, though the corse be trampled to the dust,
The murder'd dead have retribution just!