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A messenger from Rome came yesterday.
From the world's every quarter, clouds unnumbered
A pious zeal hath gathered in the field,
And all call out to me to lead them on
With sword and cross upon the walls of Wilna.
And yet—with shame I must confess—ev'n now,
While destinies of mighty nations pend,
I think of thee, and still invent delays.
That we may pass together one more day.
O youth! how fearful was thy sacrifice!
When young, love, happiness, a very heaven,
I for a nation's cause could sacrifice
With grief, but courage;—and to-day, grown old,—
To-day despair, my duty, and God's will
Compel me to the field, and still I dare not
Tear my grey head from these walls' pedestal,
That I may not forego thy sweet conversing.

He ceased. Groans only issued from the tower.
Long hours flowed by in silence. Now the night
Reddened, and now the water's stilly face
Blushed with the ray of dawn. Among the leaves
Of sleeping bushes with a rustling murmur
The morning freshness flew. The birds awoke