of Izdubar himself, slain in battle. We give it, with its refrain, as a veritable and curious specimen of the poetry in which men delighted three thousand five hundred years ago. We might call it the poetry of pre-historic man:
“On a couch reclining and
Pure water drinking,
He who in battle is slain
Thou seest and I see.
“His father and his mother carry his head,
And his wife over him weeps;
His friends on the ground are standing.
Thou seest and I see.
“His spoil on the ground is uncovered;