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“ Art thou a Knight elected,
And have three Maidens thee bedight;
For all the Maidens' honour!"
They put their steeds to the test;
They proved their manhood best;
Neither of them would yield;
They both fell on the field.
And their blood runs unto death;
The youngest sorrows till death.
When my whole frame was but an ell in height, Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,
And therefore I recall it with delight. I sported in my tender mother's arms,
And rode a-horseback on best father's knee; Alike were sorrows, passions, and alarms,
And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me. Then seemed to me this world far less in size,
Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far; Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,
And longed for wings that I might catch a star. I saw the moon behind the island fade,
And thought, “O, were I on that island there, I could find out of what the moon is made,
Find out how large it is, how round, how fair !" Wondering, I saw God's sun through western skies,
Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night, And yet upon the morrow early rise,
And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light; And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,
Who made me, and that lovely sun on high, And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,
Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.
With childish reverence, my young lips did say
The prayer my pious mother taught to me: “O Gentle God! 0, let me strive alway
Still to be wise, and good, and follow thee!”
So prayed I for my father and my mother,
And for my sister, and for all the town; The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,
Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down. They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,
And all the gladness, all the peace I knew! Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished ;
God! may I never, never, lose that too!
TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO.
I can see the shining mane
“ Cone back, rebellious one!
Let thy proud heart relent;
Come back, my only son!
Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks,
“I will give thee leave to stray
And pasture thy hunting steeds
“I will give thee my coat of mail,
Of softest leather made,
“ This hand no longer shall
Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal. “I will no longer stray
And pasture my hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday. “ Though thou give me thy coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid,
All this cannot prevail.
To me, who am mine own,
And not to any man? “God will appoint the day When I again shall be By the blue, shallow sea, Where the steel-bright sturgeons play. “God, who doth care for me,
In the barren wilderness,
Will my companion be.
In the wind; when I watch at night
In the yellow desert sands,