—24—
That strikes for honor or for shame? …
Francisco, it is fear you feel!—
And such a miserable fear
That you, my boy, will call it pride;—
But you will grope from year to year
Until at last the clouds divide,
And all at once you meet the truth,
And curse yourself, with helpless rage,
For something you have lost with youth
And found again, too late, with age.
The truth, my brother, is just this:—
Your title here is nothing more
Or less than what your courage is:
The man must put himself before
The name, and once the master stay
Forever—or forever fall.—
Good-bye!—Remember what I say …
Good-bye!—Good-bye! … And that was all.
The lips were still: the man was dead.—
Francisco, with a weird surprise,
Stood like stranger by the bed,
And there were no tears in his eyes.
But in his heart there was a grief
Too strong for human tears to free,—
And in his hand a written leaf
For Calderon across the sea.
JOHN EVERELDOWN
Where are you going to-night, to-night,—
Where are you going, John Evereldown?
There's never the sign of a star in sight,
Nor a lamp that's nearer than Tilbury Town.
Why do you stare as a dead man might?
Where are you pointing away from the light?
And where are you going to-night, to-night,—
Where are you going, John Evereldown?
