We too have had our Martyrs. Such wert Thou,

Illustrious Woman! though the starry crown

Of martyrdom have sate on many a brow,

In the World's eye, of far more wide renown.

Yet the same spirit grac’d thy fameless end;

Which shone in Latimer, and his compeers,

Upon whose hallow’d memories still attend

Manhood's warm reverence, Childhood's guileless tears.

Well did they win them: may they keep them long!

Their names require not praise obscure as mine;

Nor does my Muse their cherish’d memories wrong,

By this imperfect aim to honour thine.

Heroic Martyr of a sect despis’d!

Thy name and memory to my heart are dear:

Thy fearless zeal, in artless childhood priz’d,

The lapse of years has taught me to revere.

Thy Christian worth demands no Poet's lay,

Historian's pen, nor Sculptor's boasted art:

What could the proudest tribute these can pay

To thy immortal spirit now impart?

Yet seems it like a sacred debt to give

The brief memorial thou mayst well supply;

Whose life display’d how Christians ought to live;

Whose death—how Christian Martyrs calmly die.