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- Стр. 442/1366
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The
father
and
the
sons
,
and
with
sharp
tushes
It
seemed
to
me
I
saw
their
flanks
ripped
open
.
When
I
before
the
morrow
was
awake
,
Moaning
amid
their
sleep
I
heard
my
sons
Who
with
me
were
,
and
asking
after
bread
.
Cruel
indeed
art
thou
,
if
yet
thou
grieve
not
,
Thinking
of
what
my
heart
foreboded
me
,
And
weep
's
t
thou
not
,
what
art
thou
wont
to
weep
at
?
They
were
awake
now
,
and
the
hour
drew
nigh
At
which
our
food
used
to
be
brought
to
us
,
