Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/342

 

Lo, glittering gold of the Turk
Shall richly requite thee thy work. . .
An thou wilt not,—thy head we will sunder!"

"Now silent are woodland and plain.
The Slavs in yon stronghold have lain,
Serene amid slumber abiding,
Enwrapped in the mantle of night,
We are sent to lay bare to our sight
Whereabouts here our foes are in hiding. . ."

"For your gold I have never a thought!
Doth it profit a fisherman aught?
Unbribed will I steer o'er the river!
My head, though 'tis verily grey,
This night I'll not yield to your sway,
But my will to your hests I deliver!"

Now streamward the ferryman fares,
And swift the three watchers he bears. . .
Rowing forth he with grimness then gazes
On the waters to whom it were joy
With the skiff in their eddies to toy
And suck it deep down in their mazes. . .

"Yea, stalwart in sooth, is thy heart,
Most meet for our guidance thou art;
In these marches there dwelleth none rarer!
Our chieftain's acclaim we shall earn,
Fair bounty awaits our return,
Ne'er yet was vouchsafed us a fairer!"