Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
28. The Casterbridge Captains
T
And only one returned:
Their mate of yore, he singly wore
The laurels all had earned.
Wherein, untrumped of fame,
The three had sat in pupilage,
And each had carved his name.
Stood on the panel still;
Unequal since.—“’Twas theirs to aim,
Mine was it to fulfil!”
Outspake the preacher then,
Unweeting he his listener, who
Looked at the names again.
’Twas but the chance of war:
Another chance, and they’d sat here,
And he had lain afar.
Of those who’d ceased to live
That rounded them with majesty
Which living failed to give.
No longer lit his brain;
Transcendence rayed the distant urn
Where slept the fallen twain.