If a man laughed at him, he must turn away: his sword could no longer protect him.

How his lips thirsted for the wine-cup, for one mad night, and then.

.

.

oblivion! An outcast! What would be his end?
O the long years! For him there should be no wifely lips to kiss away the penciled lines of care; the happy voices of children would never make music in his ears.