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.