moment fresh
tidings overwhelm them, reverberating from Poland like a graveyard bell;
if their jailers wish them an early doom and their enemies beckon them
from afar like grave-diggers; if even in Heaven they see no hope--then it
is no marvel that they loathe men, the world, themselves; that, losing
their reason from their long tortures, they spit upon themselves and
consume one another.

* * * * * *

"I longed to pass by in my flight, bird of feeble wing--to pass by regions
of storm and thunder, and to search out only pleasant shade and fair
weather--the days of my childhood, and my home gardens.

* * * * * *

"One happiness remains: when in a grey hour you sit by the fireside with a
few of your friends and lock the door against the uproar of Europe, and
escape in thought to happier times, and muse and dream of your own land.

"But of that blood that was shed so lately, of the tears which have
flooded the face of all Poland, of the glory that not yet has ceased
resounding: of these to think we had never the heart! For the nation is in
such anguish that even Valour, when he turns his gaze on its torture, can
do naught but wring the hands.

* * * * * *

"Those generations black with mourning--that air heavy with so many
curses--there--thought dared not turn its flight to a sphere dreadful even
to the birds of thunder.

* * * * * *

"O Mother Poland! Thou wast so lately laid in the grave. No man has the
strength to speak of thee!

* * * * * *

"Ah! whose lips can dare to fancy that to-day they will at last find the
magic word that will soften marble-like despair, that will lift the stony
lid from men's hearts, and will open eyes heavy with so many tears?

"Some time--when the lions of vengeance shall cease to roar, when the blare
of the trumpet shall be stilled, when the ranks shall be broken, when our
eagles with a flight like lightning shall settle on the ancient boundaries
of Boleslaw the Brave, and, eating their fill of corpses, shall be
drenched with blood, and finally fold their wings to rest; when the last
enemy shall give forth a cry of pain, become silent, and proclaim liberty
to the world: then, crowned with oak leaves, throwing aside their swords,
our knights will seat themselves unarmed and deign to hear songs. When the
world envies their pres