Old men lift up their quavering voice in dismal lamentation,
Priests amid flowing tears strip bare the churches where they worshipped.
Dost see the glare of yonder fire? the pall of smoke above it?
There are they burning dead men’s bones, the bones of valiant warriors,
Who made the hosts of Turkey quail and fired their captain’s palace[1280].
Yonder, I tell thee, many a son his father’s bones is burning,
Lest the Liápid[1281] light on them, lest Turk upon them trample.
Dost hear the wailing manifold wherewith the woodlands echo?
Dost hear the beating of the breast, the dismal lamentation?
’Tis that the parting hour has come, to part them from their country;