The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 19, Pages 350-351
THE GRAVES OF MARTYRS.
The Kings of old have shrine and tomb,
In many a minster's haughty gloom;
And green, along the ocean-side,
The mounds arise where Heroes died;
But show me, on thy flowery breast,
Earth! where thy nameless Martyrs rest!
The thousands, that uncheer'd by praise,
Have made one offering of their days;
For Truth, for Heaven, for Freedom's sake,
Resign'd the bitter cup to take,
And silently, in fearless faith,
Bowing their noble souls to death.
Where sleep they, Earth?—by no proud stone
Their narrow couch of rest is known,
