THE THREE FRIENDS 



We buckled to the doubtful fray, 

 At first, with some remorse ; 



But he, who must be slain — or slay, 

 Soon strikes with vengeful force. 



He fell ; I left him where he lay. 

 Among the trampled gorse. 



Did passion warp my heart and head 



To madness ? And, if so, 

 Can madness palliate bloodshed ? — 



It may be — I shall know 

 When God shall gather up the dead 



From where the four winds blow. 



We met at sunset, he and I — 



My second comrade true ; 

 Two cups with wine were brimming high, 



And one was drugg'd — we knew 

 Not which, nor sought we to descry ; 



Our choice by lot we drew. 



And there I sat with him to sup : 



I heard him blithely speak 



Of bygone days — the fatal cup 



Forgotten seem'd — his cheek 

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