And the grievous sinner Marijófil,
Hoary grown, inditing of this volume,
Chronicle concerning this, our cloister,
Neither could do otherwise, nor durst he.
True istrue. Naught else but truth shall ever
By the trusty chronicler be written.
Neither left nor right his gaze shall wander;
What to-day is spoken let him ask not.
What shall yet be spoken let him care not.
Therefore wilt thou let it not affront thee,
That to-day thy son, thy Marijófil,
Here hath chronicled this thing of wonder,
Which bechanced within our glorious cloister,
Here recorded, anno sixteen hundred
Four and sixty after Christ our Saviour;—
Well I wot that thou me all forgivest,
In thy heavenly glory, Father Bruno.
2. THE FERRYMAN.
The Sava 'mid fastnesses roars,
In billows it mightily pours,
To its clutches the Danube it harries.
A skiff scuds away from the side,
With naught but a fisher as guide,
At the oar he in weariness tarries. . .
"Old man, ho, the oars to thy hand,
And swift to yon opposite land
Shalt thou steer us through Sava's dark thunder!
