Fearing to guess the truth they dared not ask;
For all the story of that luckless war
They in the warriors’ eyes and faces read
For o’er their eyes hung death in frosty shape,
And Famine’s harpy hollowed out their cheeks.
Now are the trumpets of the Litwin heard,
Now rolls the storm, snow whirlwinds o’er the plain;
Far off a multitude of gaunt dogs howls,
And overhead the ravens hover round.
All perished! Konrad has destroyed them all!