They who fell for Hungary and Rome

They are gone!
When on earthquake-edge they slumbered,
Who have man accurst;
And Hope's blossoms, many-numbered,
Into flower burst;
When our hearts, like throbbing drums,
Beat for Freedom; sang, She comes!
God! they stumbled among tombs.

They are gone!
Freedom's strong ones, young and hoary,
Beautiful in faith!
And her first dawn-blush of glory
Gilds their camp of death!
There they lie in shrouds of blood;
Murder'd, where for Right they stood —
Murder d, Christ-like, doing good.

They are gone!
Yet 'tis good to die up-giving
Valour's vengeful breath,
To make Heroes of the living, —
Thus divine is death.
One by one, dear hearts! they've left us
Yet Hope hath not all bereft us:
Still we man the breach they cleft us.

They are here!
Here, where life ran ruddy rain,
When power from God seem'd wrencht;
Here, where tears fall — molten brain!
And hands are agony-clencht!
Look, Love lifts the veil; ah! now
There's a glory, where the glow
Of their fire-crown seam'd each brow.

They are here!
In the Etna of each heart,
Where Vengeance makes hell-mirth!
In the silent tears that start
O'er their glorious worth!
Tears! ay, tears of fire, proud Weepers!
For these soul-sepultured sleepers:
Fire! to smite Death's blood-seed reapers.

They are here!
With us in the march of time,
Beating at our side!
Let us live their lives sublime,
Die as they have died!
Wait: these Martyrs yet shall come,
Myriad-fold, from their heart-tomb!
In the Tyrants' day of doom.