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And flowers, and even that stone from out the
valley;
There let the children from the hamlet near,
Play joyously beneath their native trees,
And into garlands weave their native plants;
Let them repeat the Lithuanian songs,
For native song doth meditation aid,
And brings me dreams of Litwa and of thee.
And later, later, when my life is o'er.
Here let them sing, and on the grave of Alf."

Alf heard no longer; he, on that wild shore.
Wandered on aimless, without thought or will;
A mountain there of ice, a forest there
Allured him; savage sights and hasty course
Afforded him relief in weariness.
His breast was heavy in the winter rain.
He cast aside his mantle, coat-of-mail.
He tore his garments, from his breast threw off
All—all but sorrow!
 
Now morning lighted on the city ramparts.
He saw an unknown shadow, stopped, and gazed—
The shadow further moved; with silent steps
It glided o'er the snow, and disappeared