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 mighty army’s shouts,
The clang of armour and the neigh of steeds.
Like mist the camp descends, o’erflows the plain,
And here and there the leaders’ standards gleam
Like lightning ere the storm. The Germans stood