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And from their foamy throat cast streams of sand,
'Thou seest,' the old man then was used to say,
'The grassy carpet of this seaboard meadow.
The sand blows over it. These fragrant herbs,
Thou seest, would pierce the deadly covering,
By their brow's strength. In vain, alas! for now
Another hydra comes of gravel-dust,
Spreads its white fins, subdues the living lands,
Stretching its kingdom of wild desert round.
My son! the gifts of spring are living cast
Into the grave. Behold! they are conquered
peoples,
Our brothers the Litwini! Son, this sand
Storm-driven from the sea, it is the Order.'
My heart did pain me hearing, and I longed
To murder all Crusaders, or to fly
To Litwa; but the old man checked my zeal.
'To free knights,' said he, 'it is free to choose
Their weapon, and with equal strength to fight
In open field. Thou art a slave; the only
Weapon that slaves may use is treachery.
Remain awhile and learn the Germans' war-craft;
Try thou to gain their confidence; we later
Shall see what thing to do.' I was obedient
Unto the old man's words—went with the Germans.