Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/46



And his freed spirit hasten'd to its rest.

Thro' his fair neck life's franchis'd spirit roves,

Thro' his fair neck and thro' his lovely lips.

Lo! there he lies—the warm blood flies

After his spirit,—but that spirit's fled,

And in the sanguine stream the green grass dips;

The cold earth drinks that rivulet of red.

Sadness o'erpower'd the heart of every maid;

The youth upon the frigid turf lay dead,

And o'er him grew an oak, whose branches spread

Widely around and proudly overhead.

wild deer with his antlers high

Oft the tall oak tree hastened by,

And stretch'd his graceful neck the leaves among:

Of sparrow-hawks a throng

Came from the neighbouring woods to bide

Upon that oak, and screaming cried—

"The youth beneath a foeman's fury fell,"

And an the maidens wept, the tale remembering well.