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In the forest old they meet a Greek,
And the Greek they slay, From his full wagon
Bear booty away.
Always ranging on the way,
The three brigands bold Reach a roadside tavern's
Sheltering fold. One cries aloud, " Ho, landlady gay,
Bring in your good wine." " My daughter shall serve,
And I too am fine."
They eat and drink,
The three brigands bold, But the youngest thief
Sits pallid and cold, To himself he says, " My cradle should
A coffin have made. My infant linen
For a shroud been laid, And my swaddling cord
My body swayed."
THE BELLS OF TARJA.
From bells of Tarja the sad notes flow : Faded the sweetheart of the brave youth.
Three doves are ringing the bells of woe, To mourn their sister in love and truth.
With lily flowers they painted her shroud, And that is why 'tis so pure and white.