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"Alas for us deserters, that in time of pestilence, timid souls,

we fled to foreign lands! For wherever we trod, terror went

before us, and in every neighbour we found an enemy; at last they

have bound us in chains, firmly and closely, and they bid us give

up the ghost as quickly as may be.

"But if this world has no ear for their sorrows, if at each

moment fresh tidings overwhelm them, reverberating from Poland

like a graveyard bell; if their jailers wish them an early doom

and their enemies beckon them from afar like grave-diggers; if

even in Heaven they see no hope-then it is no marvel that they

loathe men, the world, themselves; that, losing their reason from

their long tortures, they spit upon themselves and consume one

another.

* * * * * *

"I longed to pass by in my flight, bird of feeble wing-to pass by

regions of storm and thunder, and to search out only pleasant

shade and fair weather-the days of my childhood, and my home

gardens.

* * * * * *