Anton Aškerc

“ I, methought, at meat shall find the brethren.
Thither I behold the portals opened.
All the tables still with fare are laden,
But within the hall no living creature.
Through long passeges alone I wander,
Empty are the cells and all is silent,
Naught is heard there save my echoing footsteps,
Strange the echo sounds amid the vaultage. ”

“ Yonder 'mid the vale Chartreuse didst bear us,
Thou who spreadest over us thy mantle,
Here at Zajc assembled in the cloister;
Be not angered, father, be not angered.
That thy son, the agèd Marijófil,—
Whilom the custodian of thy cloisters,
Prior now in this unworthy hostel,
Writes to-day this story in the annals,
To the parchment he consigns these tidings,
Tidings that perchance will sore afflict thee.
Thirty years have gone their endless journey,
Thirty years have slowly glided onward. ”

“ Most meet for our guidance thou art;
In these marches there dwelleth none rarer!
Our chieftain's acclaim we shall earn,
Fair bounty awaits our return,
Ne'er yet was vouchsafed us a fairer!"
"Make ready!" the fisherman cried,
And his oar he flung forth on the tide. . .
"For us both here the payment is tendered!"
"Curse thee, giaur!" came a shriek from the wave,
From the Sava, their watery grave,
Then all to the stillness surrendered. . . .
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content. ”