“Long Konrad live! long the Grand-Master live!
Long live the Order! perish heathenesse!”
Halban remained behind, in deep thought plunged;
He on the shouters cast an eye of scorn
He looked towards the tower, and in low tones,
This song he sang, departing from the place:—
Song.
Wilija, thou parent of streams in our land,
Heaven-blue is thy visage and golden thy sand;
But, lovely Litwinka,[1] who drinkest its wave,