LXXVIII.

Mark in the throng’d Ceramicus, the train Of mourners weeping o’er the martyr’d brave: Proud be the tears devoted to the slain, Holy the amaranth strew’d upon their grave![45] And hark! unrivall’d eloquence proclaims Their deeds, their trophies, with triumphant voice! Hark! Pericles records their honour’d names![46] Sons of the fallen, in their lot rejoice: What hath life brighter than so bright a doom? What power hath fate to soil the garlands of the tomb?