Poems of Siamanto. Siamanto

cataracts, the cataracts are falling in their might!

      Their currents white are pure, my steed, as thine own snow-white form,

      And their imperious downward sweep is savage as thy flight.

      But why now doth a shudder through all thy body run?

      Oh, what has chanced, my hero? Why do thy looks grow dark?

      Oh, turn thine eyes away from me, thine eyes with trouble filled;

      Past the horizons fly along, fly like a wind-borne bark!

      I heard the wailing and the cries, entreaties and laments,