English poem
Ode XIV. the Death-song of Pruda
by John Pinkerton (1845–1908)
Suanhita tell, my Mother old, No more she shall her son behold: My swift return her hope still fed, But soon the sword my life shall shed.
O heavy change, since warm with meath We jocund sped our watry path! Now reft of each companion dear, Alone my torturing chance I bear.
O heavy change, since thro' the field Stern Orme advanced his dauntless shield! Since victors on the bank we stood Of Ifa's stream, that foamed with blood!
O might my friends my fate but hear, Attendant foes my ghost should chear: No female drops should stain my doom; Blood, blood alone should deck my tomb.