d much. With what delight
He from her lips the half-forgotten words
Heard of Litvanian speech. New feelings rose
With each new-risen word like sparks from ashes.
Sweet were the names of family, of friendship,
And sweeter yet than all the name of love,
Which no word equals here on earth, but--country.

"Whence," Kiejstut thought, "my daughters sudden change?
Where is her former mirth, her childish sports?
On holidays all maidens join in dance;
She sits alone, or converse holds with Walter.
On other days the needle or the loom
Engage the damsels; from her hands the needle
Falls, and the threads are tangled in the loom.
She sees not what she does; all tell me so.
And yesterday, I marked she sewed a rose,
The flowers with green, the leaves with rosy silk.
How could she know this, when her eyes and thoughts
Seek only Walter's eyes, seek his discourse?
Oft as I ask, 'Where goes she?' 'To the valley.'
'Whence comes she?' 'From the valley.' 'What is there?'
'The youth has made in it a garden for her.'
What! is that garden fairer than my orchards?
(For Kiejstut owned proud orchards full of apples
And pears, allurement of the Kowno damsels.)
'Tis not the garden lures her. I have marked
Her windows in the winter; all the panes
Which look on Niemen clear are as in May;
The frost has not obscured the crystal glass.
Thence Walter comes. She sat beside the window,
And with her burning sighs did melt the ice.
I thought, he teaches her to read and write,
Hearing all princes now instruct their children,--
A good lad, valiant, skilled like priest in books.
Shall I expel him from my house? He is
So needful to our Litwa; he can rank
The troops as can no other; rampart mounds
He best can heap; the thunder-arms direct.
I have one behind my army.--Walter, come,
And be my son-in-law, and fight for Litwa."

So Walter wed Aldona. Germans! you
No doubt will think this is the story's end;
For in your love romances when the knights
Are married, then the minstrel ends his song,
And only adds, "They lived long and were happy."
Well Walter loved his wife; his noble soul
Yet found no happiness in heart or home,
For in the country was there blessing none.

The snows scarce vanished, scarce the first lark sung;--
The lark to other lands sings love and joy,
But unto hapless Litwa he proclaims
With every year carnage and fire;--on march
Crusading armies in unnumbered crowds.
Now from the hills beyond the Niemen echo
To Kowno bears a migh