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"One happiness remains: when in a grey hour you sit by the

fireside with a few of your friends and lock the door against the

uproar of Europe, and escape in thought to happier times, and

muse and dream of your own land.

"But of that blood that was shed so lately, of the tears which

have flooded the face of all Poland, of the glory that not yet

has ceased resounding: of these to think we had never the heart!

For the nation is in such anguish that even Valour, when he turns

his gaze on its torture, can do naught but wring the hands.

* * * * * *

"Those generations black with mourning-that air heavy with so

many curses-there-thought dared not turn its flight to a sphere

dreadful even to the birds of thunder.

* * * * * *

"O Mother Poland! Thou wast so lately laid in the grave. No man

has the strength to speak of thee!

* * * * * *