Hostess and Betyar

The hostess burn'd with love for the Betyár,

But hopelessly, for he reck'd not of her.

The one soft strain in all his nature wild

Was his devotion to her foster child.

The hostess filled thereat with envious spite,

Drove forth her helpless rival one black night,

A poor fair child in Gods sic wide world alone --

In winter 'twas, the icy wind made moan.

The maid went trembling forth into the night,

Then cower'd down and died of cold and fright.

When news of this was spread throughout the land,

The hostess perish'd by the Betyár's hand.

And e'en in goal the Betyár laugh'd at death,

He'd not have giv'n a rush to buy his breath.

For since the maid he lov'd lay in the earth;

Not e'en a rush to him his life was worth.