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Brethren In Christ |
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Waclaw Potocki On James 5
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PAGE 126
O what did Poland think of, every day and night? The servants clad in silver shine from head to toe; The tables groan with sweetmeats, wine flows like a flood; Now town and village perish, heathens take our lands; The golden banquet's over, gone the crowds who feed; The lords die young from surfeit, serfs from want and chill; In vain the dog is barking. No one hears the sound. The robbers storm your portals; thieves in every room! The land sleeps on unheeding; the people have no fear, TRANS. A. E.
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