"Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold. * * * In Thy book record their groans Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold, Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, That roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven."
A poem of lament by Milton.
