ZABOI AND SLAVOI.
61
In one hand is his war-axe strong,
The other his sword doth hold,
And thus through the enemy with speed
His path he breaketh bold.
The foe must shriek, the foe must flee,
Tras[1] drives them from the field,
And terror forces from their throats
The cries of them that yield.
With neighing steeds the forest sounds;
“Up, up! to horse and ride!
“After the foe on horseback go
"“Thro’ the regions far and wide!
“Ye swift steeds, swift the vengeance bear,
“That our foemen doth betide!”
The warriors on the swift steeds sprang,
And galloping on the foe,
With wound on wound remorselessly
Did fiercest vengeance show.
They pass the mountains and the plains,
They pass the woods like wind,
And right and left, as on they go,
All things they leave behind.
- ↑ Tras, the god of Panic.
