Leszko the Bastard a Tale of Polish Grief

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I gazed around me for some face, Some answering look, some kindred guise, Some woe that I might recognize Even in this desert place. But none of all I saw, I knew; And never one among them threw A pitying glance on me. So desolate it seemed, I should Have thankful been if there had stood Before me even he \Yho thuswise had my ruin wrought. I vow to you, his face I sought, 5O Lcszko the Bastard.
Among the convoy, early, late. Xo face, no fiend, my exiled fate Could now or better make or worse :
...And it to me relief had brought Could I have seen him, but to hate, And greeted, but to curse !
** ' A mute and melancholy band, For days and weeks we journeyed on.
Across a bare and level land, On which the fierce sun ever shone, But whence all life and growth were gone, Utterly, as from salt-steeped strand.
Dawn after dawn, the steppe stretched round It seemed to have no halt, no end, Centre, circumference, nor bound, A Tale of Polish Grief. 5 1 No sight, no shade, no scent, no sound ; But ever we appeared to wend Into eternal exile, doomed To make the endless track we trod, Now over sand, now scanty sod, \Yhere nought save blight and canker bloomed.


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