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All the fruits of earth to smite and scatter—

Far you heard the buz of tatars—swarming—

Then the hungarian squadrons all assembled

And attack’d the tatars—but the struggle,

Spite of all their art, of all their valor—

Spite of all their manliness avail'd not;

On their ranks the tatars fiercely press'd them,

Broke their ranks—and all their valiant army

Was dispers'd—and waste and desolation

All the land despoil'd. And hope deserted

All the christians—sorrow and dejection

Now possess'd their sinking souls as never;

And to God they pray'd in hitter anguish,

To relieve them from the tatar's fury.

"Lord! arouse thee—in thy terror rouse thee—

Save us, save us, Lord! or else we perish:

Save us from this terrible oppression!

They would bring our spirits to perdition—

They, a troop of wolves, our folds surrounding."

So one fight was lost, and so another,

And the tatars hous'd themselves in Poland;

Nearer, nearer drew they, all destroying,