Classic Poem

With the hills of their fathers around them —
The heaven of their country above, —
They stood, in the strength of their manhood;
They went in the light of our love.
In the pride of their power they departed,
Down by the path of the sea:
Dark eyes of the desolate-hearted
Were watching for them — and for thee!

Who comes from the banquet of blood,
Where the guests are as still as a stone?
Who dares to return by the road
Where the steps of his joy are alone?
They were bound by the oath of the free, —
They were true as the steel that they bare, —
They were true to themselves, and to thee!
Behold! thou hast left them — and where!

Oh! well has their triumph been told,
In the time of its terrible crowning;
Poor recreant! — kingly, though cold,
Is the sleep that thou durst not lie down in!
The swords of the restless are rusted
In the rest that thou shrankest to share:
False helot! — to whom hast thou trusted
The pride of the peaceful — and where?

For thee, — who wast not of the number
That sank in the red battle shade, —
Thy name shall be cursed in the slumber
Of the life that thy baseness betrayed!
The strength of the tremorless tread
Of our bravest, our love can resign, —
But tears, as of blood, shall be shed
For the dastard returning of thine.

But, what! when thy soul hath not hearkened
To the charge of our love, or our fear,
Shall the soft eyes of Hellas be darkened
By the thought of thy birth, or thy bier?
The strength of thy shame shall requite thee, —
The souls of the lost shall not see, —
Mother nor maid of the mighty
Shed tear for a dastard like thee!