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And when unto the castle we returned,
He dried my tears to waken no suspicion:
He dried my tears, but kindled in me vengeance
Against the Germans. I remember well
How, when we came again into the castle,
I sharpened secretly a knife, with what
Delight of vengeance cut I Winrych's carpets,
Or broke his mirrors, on his shining shield
Flung sand, or spit upon it. Later on.
When grown near manhood, from Klajpedo's port
I sailed with the old man to view the shores
Of Litwa. There I plucked my country's flowers;
Their magic fragrance woke within my soul
Some ancient, dark remembrance. With the fragrance
Intoxicated, seemed me that a child
Once more I grew, and in my parents' garden,
Played with my little brothers. The old man
Assisted memory with his words, more lovely
Than herbs and flowers,—painted the happy past.
How sweet in native land 'mid friends and kin
To pass one's youth, how many Litwin children
Knew not such bliss, in the Order's fetters weeping.
I heard this on the plains, but on the beach.
Where the white billows break with roaring breasts,