O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after.—Romeo and Juliet.
He has chosen the death that is easy
And left me the life that is hard.
He has emptied the cup to the lees, he
Has left me alone to keep guard.
Remains not a drop in the beaker
Of the bitter-sweet cordial he quaffed:
The strong has forsaken his weaker
And stolen his anodyne draught.
The cause that he taught me to cherish,
The weapons he trained me to wield,
He has given it over to perish
And thrown down the sword and the shield.
O how shall the coward persever
When the hero slinks out of the fight;
Or weakness keep up the endeavor
Abandoned by desperate might?
The hour of stern trial has found me:
The sentinel fires are burnt low,
And I hear in the shadows around me
The stealthy approach of the foe.
Be it so then, my master, my leader:
These helpless ones, dear to you, these
Will I fend while I may, though I bleed, or
Am beaten with blows to my knees.
Lo here, where your body lies fallen,
I draw from its scabbard the sword
And raise it—how feebly!—and call on
Your spirit, my captain, my lord.
The watch-fire is sunken to embers,
With signals the darkness is starred.
Let them come! There is one who remembers—
There is one who will stand upon guard.