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JAROSLAW.
13
A first, a second fight is lost,
The Tatars make their home
In Poland, all things devastate,
And near and nearer come.
And now the savage heathen press
To Olmütz; cries of woe
Arise in ev’ry district; nought
Is safe before the foe.
The first, the second day is past.
And neither side hath won;
But ah! the Tatar multitude
Goes still increasing on,
And waxes, as the ev’ning mist,
That hangs the woods upon.
The Christians, boat-like, to and fro
Amidst the Tatars sway,
And now towards God’s Mother’s hill
They backwards force their way.
‘Up, brethren, up!’ doth Wneslaw cry,
While on his silver shield
His sword he strikes, and o’er his head
The banner high doth wield.
All courage take, and all themselves
Upon the Tatars throw,
