They lie all around me, countless in their number, Each martyr with his palm. No torture now can rack them: safe they slumber, Hushed in eternal calm! I read the rude inscriptions, written weeping, At night with hurried tears. Yet what a tale they tell! their secret keeping Through all these thousand years. "In Pace." Yes, at peace. By sword, or fire, Or cross, or lictor's rod— Virgin, or matron; youth, or gray-haired sire: For... more...