Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/39



Long and furious was the fierce encounter,

Till the night upon their heads descended.

of mercy! God! the brave Wenéslaw,

Brave Wenéslaw by an arrow wounded

From the rampart falls!—Heart-breaking sorrow!

Dreadful thirst burns up the christians' bowels,

With parch'd palate, ah ! they lick the dew-drops

From the grass—and now the quiet evening

Comes—and chilling night the evening follows,

And the night slow-dawns into the morning—

In the tatar camp is solemn silence,

And the day awaken, and mid-day scorches,

And all, agonized with thirst, the christians

Sink upon the face of earth exhausted—

Choked, they open their dry lips, and hoarsely

Pour a prayer to God's most holy mother;

Up to her they turn their feeble eyelids,

Up to her their weary arms outstretching,

Plaints of anguish pour they out to heaven:

"Ah! we can endure this thirst no longer,

With a thirst like this we cannot combat;