Divided by no act of thine or mine,
Forever parted by a fatal deed,
A fatal feud. Alas! when fathers bleed,
The children shall fulfil the wild design.
A Montague hath killed a Capulet,
A Capulet hath slain a Montague,--
Twin graves, twin sorrows, and oh, mad to-do
Of vengeance! oh, dread entail of regret!
There lie they in their dark, self-chosen graves,
And from them cries Hate’s everlasting ghost,--
“Blood hath been shed, and Love and ye are slaves,
Time wrecks, and freedom drifts upon life’s coast.”
Yet not for us the relish of that doom
Which found a throne upon a Juliet’s tomb.