Martina celebri plaudite nomini (Part II)

The agonizing hooks, the rending scourge,
Shook not the dauntless spirit in her breast;
With torments rack’d, she tastes from angel hands
A sweet celestial feast.

In vain they cast her to the ravening beasts;
Calm at her feet the lion crouches down:
Smit by the sword, at length she passes on
To her immortal crown.

Now with the Saints, Martina sits in bliss;
To her the Church below its tribute pours.
And from her consecrated altars, prayer
With odorous incense soars.