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He looked upon the old man, stayed his steps;
The clouds of anger hanging o'er his brow
Fell sudden in a rapid flood of tears;
He turned, sat down, with cloak he veiled his face,
And into secret meditation plunged
The Germans whispered, "Shall we to our feasts
Admit old beggars? Who will hear the song.
And who will understand?" Such voices were
Among the crowd of revellers, and broken
By constant peals of ever-growing laughter.
The pages cry, whistling on nuts, "Behold!
This is the tune of the Litvanian song."

Upon that Konrad rose. "Ye valiant knights!
To-day the Order, by a solemn custom,
Receiveth gifts from princes and from towns,
As homage from a conquered country due.
The beggar brings a song as offering
To you: forbid we not the old man's homage.
Take we the song; 'twill be the widow's mite.

"Among us we behold the Litwin prince;
His captains are the Order's guests: to him
Sweet will it be to list the memory