And in the stillness, on and on they ride,
Through darkened bogs and barren rocks beside.
And ere the moon spilled o’er the river’s shore,
The first man of his sister thinks no more.
And when the battle cry is heard at last,
The second horseman’s forehead brightens fast.
The hostile camp at length is set ablaze,
And still the third man sobs as through a haze.
And ere the fogs conceal the setting sun,
The bloody battle has been fought and won.
An eagle cleft the first man’s skull in two,
And quenched his thirst in the freshly fallen dew.
Beneath the brush, where skulks the hungry beast,
The second man was dragged for a wolf’s feast.
But the third man bore the banner on to fame,
And died, still whispering his mother’s name.
And since he thinks of her, even though dead,
A snowball tree grew out his moss decked bed.
And on the tree a snow-white bird had flown,
And sang . . . The blooms and leaves again have grown,
The white bird sings, through night’s dominion.
“My child” . . “Oh mother” . . What reunion!
A GYPSY’S VIOLIN
All is jolly in the castle
Cymbals and the bagpipe whine
For the young, the master ordered
Barrels full of sparkling wine.
Noisy din in the halls and chambers
In the court yard the dancers sway
And in golden goblets, sparkles
Blood red wine from far Tokay.
Ah, a Gypsy! Welcome brother!
Fear not that your coat is torn
For the dogs and whips are sleeping,
Play a dance tune until morn.
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