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For spoils and prisoners of the conquered land;
In vain despatch swift couriers for the news,
The couriers hasten—and return no more.
As each this cruel doubt interpreteth,
He willingly would know despair itself.

The autumn passed away. The winter's snows
Revelled upon the mountains, block the ways.
Once more upon the distant heaven shine—
Midnight auroras? or the fires of war?
And ever nearer comes the light of flames,
And nearer yet the heaven's ruddy blaze.

From Marienbourg the folk look on the road;
They see afar—grovelling through deepest snows,
Some travellers!—Konrad! And our generals!
How welcome them? Victors? or fugitive?
Where are the others? Konrad raised his hand,
And pointed further off a scattered crowd,
Alas! their very aspect told the secret!
They rush in disarray, plunge in the snowdrifts;
Roll each on each, down treading like vile insects.
Within a narrow vessel perishing;
They push o'er corpses, ever newer crowds.
Hurl those new risen down again to earth.