THREE captains went to Indian wars, <br /> And only one returned: <br /> Their mate of yore, he singly wore <br /> The laurels all had earned. <br /> <br /> At home he sought the ancient aisle <br /> Wherein, untrumped of fame, <br /> The three had sat in pupilage, <br /> And each had carved his name. <br /> <br /> The names, rough-hewn, of equal size, <br /> Stood on the panel still; <br /> Unequal since.--"'Twas theirs to aim, <br /> Mine was it to fulfil!" <br /> <br /> --"Who saves his life shall lose it, friends!" <br /> Outspake the preacher then, <br /> Unweeting he his listener, who <br /> Looked at the names again. <br /> <br /> That he had come and they'd been stayed, <br /> 'Twas but the chance of war: <br /> Another chance, and they'd sat here, <br /> And he had lain afar. <br /> <br /> Yet saw he something in the lives <br /> Of those who'd ceased to live <br /> That rounded them with majesty <br /> Which living failed to give. <br /> <br /> Transcendent triumph in return <br /> No longer lit his brain; <br /> Transcendence rayed the distant urn <br /> Where slept the fallen twain.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-casterbridge-captains/
