Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/44



And he sprung upon the son of Kublay—

What a fearful, what a bloody struggle!

couching spear 'gainst spear—then eager thrusting,

Each, as if to crush in dust the other.

Then Jaroslaw on his valiant war-horse,

Bath'd in blood, turn'd on the son of Kublay,

And with dextrous push, his lance he planted

In his shoulder till it reached his haunches,

Lifeless on the grass he fell—his quiver

Made a hollow sound which told his story:

Then dismay'd they fled, the savage tatars,

Threw away their long-long pikes, and hurried—

Hurried where they might, in search of safety;

Hurried where the sun just starts at morning.

So was Hana freed from tatar-terrors.

o'er forest, field, and hill,

Wander'd at his capricious will,

Now up, now down the mountain side,

And shook his branching antlers wide,