Scarce the old man had departed, when with storm the forest torn
Rustled, roared with shouts and clangour, sounds of arms and sounds of horn.
Coming from the dark, deep shadows, on the green skirts of the wood,
Thousands, thousands of bright helmets, long-haired yeoman gathered stood.
At a sign together swarming, on their horses, wild and fleet,
On the panting flanks the riders with their wooden stirrups beat,
Like a dust cloud, storm fore-telling, lightly, swiftly on they sped,
Shield on shield gave back the sunlight, spear points glittered over head,
As from copper clouds in autumn hail storms driven by the blast,
Hide in darkness the horizon, so sharp arrows flashing passed,
Whizzing, singing, hurtling, ringing, filled the air with dread alarms,
And to thundering horsehoofs echoed cries of battle, clash of arms.
Vainly like the fiercest lion did the sultan roar and rage,
Death’s grim shadow grew still greater on all those who war did wage:
Vainly to arouse their spirits did they lift the Prophet’s flag,
For on front, on flanks fast seizing Death did all to ruin drag;
Wavering whole troops were shaken, thinned fell down long battle rows,
The Arabians fell like grass-blades, when a man his meadow mows,
Horsemen from their steeds were tumbled, footmen beaten to their knees,
And the arrows came like billows surging on tempestuous seas,
Like the frost from all sides biting, and it seemed as if the world,
To the darkest depths down falling, heaven and hell on earth were hurled.
Mircea led himself in battle this fierce storm so wildly rushing,
Coming on and on, in fury, all beneath it trampling, crushing.
Vanquished were the foe’s great armies, scattered, cast away, like rags,
And victoriously advancing came the country’s blessed flags.
As in wind the chaff is winnowed, so the paynims were dispersed,
To the Danube they were driven, as within a flood immersed,
That doth carry all resistless to the raging sea’s wild coast,
And behind them came in triumph the Rumanian glorious host.
As to rest the army settled, gorgeously the sun went down,
As if victory’s bright nimbus the land’s highest crests would crown,
Like a long and lasting lightning, that with splendour now did rest,
