WITH the Lord at Nemirov Sir Sava dined so gladly; Nor thought he that his life Would end so soon and sadly. Sir Sava he rode home To his own court with speed; And plenty of good oats He bids to give his steed. Sir Sava behind his table To write with care begun, His young wife she is rocking In the cradle her infant son. "Holloa! my lad, brisk butler, Bring now the brandy to me; My well-beloved lady, This glass I drink to thee. "Holloa! my lad, brisk butler, Now bring me the clear wine; This glass and this, I drink it To this dear son of mine. "Holloa! my lad, brisk butler, Now bring me the mead so fast; My head aches sore; I fear I've rode and drunk my last!" Who knocks? who storms so fiercely? Sir Sava looks up to know; The Lesches stand before him, And quick accost him so: "We bow to thee, Sir Sava, How far'st thou, tell us now? To thy guests from the Ukraina, What welcome biddest thou?" "What could I bid you brethren, To-day in welcome's stead? Well know I ye are come To take my poor sick head." "And tell us first, Sir Sava, Where are thy daughters fair?" -- "They are stolen by the Lesches, And wash their linen there." "Now to the fight be ready! Sir Sava, meet thy lot! Thy head is lost! one moment, Death meets thee on the spot." The sabre whizzes through the air, Like wild bees in the wood; The young wife of Sir Sava By him a widow stood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN'S CLUB by JAMES GALVIN UNDER THE WATERFALL by THOMAS HARDY HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: MARSH SONG - AT SUNSET by SIDNEY LANIER TROY TOWN by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH GOING TO BED by JONATHAN SWIFT RAISING THE DEVIL; A LEGEND OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |