Herald.
How sweet? I cannot read thy parable.
Leader.
To pine again for them that loved you true.
Herald.
Did ye then pine for us, as we for you?
Leader.
The whole land's heart was dark, and groaned for thee.
Herald.
Dark? For what cause? Why should such darkness be?
Leader.
Silence in wrong is our best medicine here.
Herald.
Your kings were gone. What others need you fear?
Leader.
'Tis past! Like thee now, I could gladly die.
Herald.
Even so! 'Tis past, and all is victory.
And, for our life in those long years, there were
Doubtless some grievous days, and some were fair.
Who but a god goes woundless all his way? . . .
Oh, could I tell the sick toil of the day,
The evil nights, scant decks ill-blanketed;
The rage and cursing when our daily bread
Came not! And then on land 'twas worse than all.
