Page:Adama Mickiewicza Konrad Wallenrod i Grazyna.djvu/75

Rh Ah! who my tears will number, or my sighs? Have I, then, wept away so many years— Or is the woe so bitter in mine eyes, And breast, the grate is rusted with my tears? Where fall my burning drops, they pierce the stone, Which drinks them as with pity of my moan.

There burns a fire in Swentorog's dark walls, Its sacred flame is fed by pious priests. On Mendog's hill a fount for ever falls, Its source is fed by snows and mountain mists. None оf my sorrow feeds the ceaseless store, But yet my heart and eyes grieve evermore.