The forefathers will know their children’s voice.
“O children! what a foul disgrace for Litwa,
That none of you, aye, none, defended me,
When from the shrine, the hoary Wajdelote,[4]
Away they dragged me into German chains!
Alone in foreign lands have I grown old.
A singer!—alas! to no one can I sing!
On Litwa looking, I wept out mine eyes.
To-day, if I would sigh towards my home,
I know not where that home beloved lies,