I sing of him. Ye, Litwini, rejoice!
Silent the old man was, and hearkened round,
If still the Germans will permit his song.
Around the hall there reigned a silence deep;
This warms all poets to a newer zeal.
Once more he raised his song, but other theme;
O’er freer cadences his voice did range.
More rarely he, and lighter, touched the strings,
Descending from the hymn to simple story.
The Wajdelote’s Tale.