The two old kings

In ruling well what guerdon? Life runs low,

As yonder lamp upon the hour-glass lies,

Waning and wasted. We are great and wise,

But Love is gone; and Silence seems to grow

Along the misty road where we must go.

From summits near the morning star's uprise,

Death comes, a shadow from the norhtern skies,

As, when all leaves are down, thence comes the snow.

Brother and king, we hold our last carouse.

One loving cup we drain and then farewell.

The night is spent. The crystal morning ray

Calls us, as soldiers laurelled on our brows,

To march undaunted, while the clarions swell,

Heroic hearts, upon our lonely way.