Page 706 sur 788

Hardly did the hearers have time to recover from their amazement,

when once more the music changed: at first there were once more

light and gentle hummings; a few thin strings complained

together, like flies striving to free themselves from the

spider's web. But more and more strings joined them; now the

scattered tones were blended and legions of chords were united;

now they advanced measuredly with harmonious notes, forming the

mourrlful melody of that famous song of the wandering soldier who

travels through woods and through forests, ofttimes fainting with

woe and with hunger: at last he falls at the feet of his faithful

steed, and the steed with his foot digs a grave for him. A poor

old song, yet very dear to the Polish troops!