THE PLAINS OF BESSARABIA.
Here the white cattle graze that feed
The Austrian Kaiser's towns,
Close-watched by dogs alert to leap
If but the herder frowns,—
Close-watched when, at the sunset hour,
With bellowings deep and loud,
To quench their thirst in the cooling stream,
Wild-eyed and fierce they crowd.
And here the shepherd tends his flock
While the long days go by—
Now couched beside them in the plain,
Now on the khourgans high;—
The plover calls across the steppe;
The stork, with snowy breast,
Flies northward to the kindly roof
That holds her summer nest;
But nothing stirs his drowsy blood
Unless a lamb should stray,—
Then woe to wolf or Gypsy thief
That lurks beside the way.
The Austrian Kaiser's towns,
Close-watched by dogs alert to leap
If but the herder frowns,—
Close-watched when, at the sunset hour,
With bellowings deep and loud,
To quench their thirst in the cooling stream,
Wild-eyed and fierce they crowd.
And here the shepherd tends his flock
While the long days go by—
Now couched beside them in the plain,
Now on the khourgans high;—
The plover calls across the steppe;
The stork, with snowy breast,
Flies northward to the kindly roof
That holds her summer nest;
But nothing stirs his drowsy blood
Unless a lamb should stray,—
Then woe to wolf or Gypsy thief
That lurks beside the way.
