Others more shamefully in forests hide;
Others, like Witold, dwell among you here.
"But after death?—Germans! ye know full well.
Ask of the wicked traitors to their land
What they shall do when, in that further world,
Condemned to burning of eternal fires,
They would their ancestors invoke from paradise?
What language shall entreat them for their aid?
If in their German, their barbaric speech.
The forefathers will know their children's voice.
"O children ! what a foul disgrace for Litwa,
That none of you, aye, none, defended me.
When from the shrine, the hoary Wajdelote,[1]
Away they dragged me into German chains!
Alone in foreign lands have I grown old.
A singer!—alas! to no one can I sing!
On Litwa looking, I wept out mine eyes.
To-day, if I would sigh towards my home,
I know not where that home beloved lies,
If here, or there, or in another place.
"Here only, in my heart, have I preserved
That in my Fatherland my best possession;
- ↑ Bard.
