And wintry winds began to howl,

For him, their aged favourite,

They deftly stitched warm skins of fur.

For he was strange to petty toil

And all the tasks of daily life,

And lived a wand'rer pale and poor.

An angry god had punished him,

He said, for some offence and crime.

And now he prayed that death might come;

And as he roamed the Danube shore,

His grief he shared with its blue waves,

And oft would shed hot, burning tears,

At thought of his far-distant home.

And ere he died, he prayed that we

His body to the south would bring;

For never could he sleep in peace,

Unless in his dear earth he lay,

His home once more his native land.

ALEKO.

Such fate awaits thy noblest sons,

Oh Rome, great empress of the world!

Singer of love, hymner of gods,

Tell me, what is poet's glory?

A grave unknown, obscure; the theme

Of legend passed from mouth to mouth;

The nameless hero of wild tale

By gipsy told in smoky tent.

V.

Two years have passed, and as before,

The peaceful band of gipsies free

Are ne'er relused, but "easy find

A friendly welcome and repose.

All social lies and cheats thrown off,

Aleko is as free as they;