(Tune: "Andreas Refer.") O high rocks looking heavenward, O valleys green and fair, Sea-cliffs that seem to gird and guard Our Island --- once so dear! In vain your beauty now ye spread, For we are numbered with the dead: A robber band has seized the land, And we are exiles here. The moonlight glides along the shore And silvers all the sands, It gleams on halls and castles hoar Built by our father's hands. But from the scene its beauty fades, The light dies out along the glades: A robber band has seized the land, And we are exiles here. The plowman plows, the sower sow; The reaper reaps the ear, The woodman to the forest goes Before the day grows clear; But of our toil no fruit we see, The harvest's not for you and me: A robber band has sei... (From : AnarchyArchives.)
In the tavern, before which stood the doctor’s covered cart, there were already some five officers. Mary Hendríkhovna, a plump little blond German, in a dressing jacket and nightcap, was sitting on a broad bench in the front corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleep behind her. Rostóv and Ilyín, on entering the room, were welcomed with merry shouts and laughter. “Dear me, how jolly we are!” said Rostóv laughing. “And why do you stand there gaping?” “What swells they are! Why, the water streams from them! Don’t make our drawing room so wet.” “Don’t mess Mary Hendríkhovna’s dress!” cried other voices. Rostóv and Ilyín hastened to find a corner where they could change into dry clothes without offending Mary Hendríkhovna’s modesty. They were going into a tiny recess behind a partition to change,...