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It standeth now, though overgrown with moss;
Scarce might I view it, hidden thus in green.
I tore the herb off, watered it with tears.
That grassy seat, where, through the summer noon,
Thou didst among the maples love to rest;
That spring, whose waters then I sought for thee—
I found them all, looked on them, passed around.
And even thy little arbour still remains.
As with dry willow-twigs I fenced it in;
And those dry twigs, a wonder, my Aldona,
That once I planted in the barren sand,
To-day thou wouldst not know them—lovely trees,
And the light leaves of spring upon them wave,
And on them grows the youthful catkin's down.
Oh! seeing these, a blessing all unknown.
Foreshadowing of joy, revived my heart;
The trees embracing, on my knees I fell
God! I cried, grant all may be fulfilled!
Oh! may we, to our Fatherland restored,
When dwelling in our Litwa's native fields.
Again revive to life; may leaves of hope
Again o'erdeck with green our destiny.
Let us return! consent! I rule the Order;
I will bid open. But what need commands?
For were this door a thousand times more hard