SONNET

"Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free, In guerdon of brave deeds beatified, Above this lowly orb of ours abide Made heirs of heaven and immortality, With noble rage and ardour glowing ye Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied, And with your own blood and the foeman's dyed The sandy soil and the encircling sea. It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed. Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor's crown: Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall For there ye won, between the sword and wall, In Heaven glory and on earth renown."

"That is it exactly, according to my recollection," said the captive.

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