Natenczas Wojski chwyci? na ta?mie przypi?ty Swój róg bawoli, d?ugi, c?tkowany, kr?ty Jak w?? boa, obur?cz do ust go przycisn??, Wzd?? policzki jak bani?, w oczach krwi? zab?ysn??, Zasun?? wpó? powieki, wci?gn?? w g??b pó? brzucha I do p?uc wys?a? z niego ca?y zapas ducha... (...) Tu przerwa?, lecz róg trzyma?; wszystkim si? zdawa?o, ?e Wojski wci?? gra jeszcze, a to echo gra?o.
Thereupon grasped the Tribune, to his belt well knotted,
His great buffalo horn, long, and twisty, and spotted
As the snake boa; two-handed to his lips he pressed it,
Blew his cheeks out like pumpkins, eyes with blood congested,
Half slid down his two eyelids, drew in half his belly,
And to his lungs he sent off all his spirit swelling...
Now the Tribune paused holding the horn; in the glade
It seemed to all he played still: but now echo played.
Comment: Excerpt from a description of the Tribune playing a blowing horn as part of a hunting ritual.