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.
'Well then, that on the fort,' said the gentleman, 'if my memory serves me, goes thus: SONNET 'Up from this wasted soil, this shattered shell, Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie, Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high, In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell.
The onslaught of the foeman to repel By might of arm all vainly did they try, And when at length ’twas left them but to die, Wearied and few the last defenders fell.
And this same arid soil hath ever been A haunt of countless mournful memories, As well in our day as in days of yore. But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween, From its hard bosom purer souls than these, Or braver bodies on its surface bore.
' The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the tidings they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went on to say: The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave orders to dismantle the Goletta—for the fort was