With thy hoof against it thunder,
Out shall come a Dame that moaneth,
Whom thy lord for mother owneth;
I will tell thee, my brave prancer,
When she speaks thee what to answer.

"O thou steed, than lightning faster,
Tell me where's thy youthful master!
Him in fight thou hast forsaken,
Or has cast him down, I reckon."

"Nor in fight I've him forsaken,
Nor have cast him down, I reckon,
The lone field with blood bedewing,
There the damsel Death he's wooing."




THE THREE SONS OF BUDRYS.


A Lithuanian Ballad.
From the Polish of Mickiewicz.

With his three mighty sons, tall as Ledwin's were once,
To the court-yard old Budrys advances;
"Your best steeds forth lead ye, to saddle them speed ye,
And sharpen your swords and your lances.