This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,
With honey-combs and milk of life is fed.
Or with the Bethlem babes—whom Herod's rage
Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age—
Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make
Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take.
With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd,
A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd.
Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given,
Was taken back—on the eighth day—to heaven
To whom at Alcala I sadly gave
Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave.
He now with yours—gone both the blessed way—
Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play;
And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be
A light for my Therasia, and for me.