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BOHEMIAN POEMS. 
 
Lyra Czecho-slovanska. 
 
 BOHEMIAN POEMS, 
 
 Ancient antr JWotarn, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SLAVONIC, 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, 
 
 BY 
 
 A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A., 
 
 FELLOW AND TUTOR OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Narody nehasnau, 
 
 dokud jazyk zije.— — hanka. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN W. PARKER, WEST STRAND. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLIX. 
 
;T21 1994 
 
 PRESERVATION 
 COPY ADDED 
 ORIGINAL TO BE 
 RETAINED 
 
MAibJ 
 
 TO THE 
 
 COUNT VALERIAN KRASINSKI, 
 
 AUTHOR OF PANSLAVISM AND GERMANISM, 
 
 AND OTHER WORKS ON THE PAST AND FUTURE OF THE 
 SLAVONIC NATIONS, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING 
 
 ESSAY AND TRANSLATIONS 
 
 ARE DEDICATED 
 
 WITH 
 
 FEELINGS OF THE UTMOST RESPECT AND FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 BY 
 
 A DESCENDANT OF A KINDRED RACE. 
 
 9.?ai sn 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IN the present Volume I lay before the English 
 public a selection from an almost entirely 
 unknown literature, a literature of the existence 
 of which it was scarcely aware. Connected 
 with the Bohemian Slavonians in no distant 
 degree by blood and name, and a member of 
 their oldest, once their royal family, though 
 myself a native of England, I have thought it 
 a sacred duty to make myself personally ac- 
 quainted with their language, their feelings and 
 their strivings, and as far as my isolated efforts 
 can avail, to make them known in the country 
 of my birth and education. 
 
 All the translations, except one, have been 
 faithfully and carefully made from the Slavonic, 
 and on some occasions even correctness of 
 rhyme has been sacrificed, in order more faith- 
 fully to represent both the letter and spirit of 
 the original poems. The poem 'Wratislaw' is 
 
vin PREFACE. 
 
 taken from an Annual published in German at 
 Prague, and although the writer, under whose 
 name it appeared, Carl Rain, professes to have 
 translated it from the old Bohemian, I was 
 never able to hear of any ancient Slavonic 
 original. I translated it in the year 1845, and 
 have now reprinted it as, at any rate, a very 
 beautiful Bohemian production, and an ex- 
 tremely skilful imitation of the Ancient Ballads 
 of the nation. 
 
 Several of the poems in the Queen's-Court 
 Manuscript, which appear in the present volume, 
 and also some modern pieces, have already been 
 translated by Dr Bowring. With respect to 
 the latter I do not come into competition with 
 him in any single case; with respect to the 
 former very wide discrepancies will be found 
 upon a comparison of our translations. I would 
 request the reader not to pass judgment against 
 me without comparing either the original or 
 the excellent German translation of Wenzel 
 Swoboda, which is appended to every edition 
 of the original manuscript. 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 I cannot in conscience conclude without 
 expressing my thanks for many kindnesses to 
 my friends in Bohemia and Moravia, especially 
 to the members of the Citizens-resource in 
 Prague, to Mr Hanka, Librarian of the National 
 Museum, to Dr Tieftrunk and to his two ne- 
 phews Vaclaw and Karel, my teachers, through 
 whose well-directed assistance — although our 
 only medium of communication was German, 
 the language of all others least adapted to 
 assist in the study of Slavpnic — I was enabled 
 to attain a considerable proficiency in Bohe- 
 mian, and make the translations I now lay 
 before the public, in the short period of a Cam- 
 bridge Long Vacation. There is abundance in 
 the Bohemian literature which is well worthy of 
 attention, but the duties and avocations of my 
 position prevent me for the present from in- 
 creasing my selection from it; and indeed my 
 translations may more fitly be called a selection 
 from my own reading, than from the produc- 
 tions of the Bohemian Muse. 
 
 I have added at the end of the volume a 
 
x PREFACE 
 
 few original pieces of my own, partly to give it 
 a more portly appearance, than the reasons 
 above explained allow me to do from Slavonic 
 sources, partly from what I hope will not be 
 construed into any thing worse than a harmless 
 and pardonable vanity. 
 
 A. H. WRATISLAW. 
 
 Christ's College, Cambridge, 
 November, 1849. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introductory Essay xv 
 
 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 Benes Hermanow . Queen's- Court Manuscript . 3 
 
 Jaroslaw . . . ibid 7 
 
 Wratislaw . . . From the Libuss a of 1844 . 25 
 
 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 The three Ages 
 
 . 
 
 BOLESLAW JABLONSKY 
 
 41 
 
 Deliverance of Europe 
 
 ibid 
 
 . 45 
 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 
 The Cuckoo . 
 
 
 Queen* s-Court Manuscript . 
 
 51 
 
 The Forsaken 
 
 
 ibid 
 
 . 52 
 
 The Lark 
 
 . 
 
 ibid 
 
 53 
 
 Blue Eyes . 
 
 . 
 
 Hanka . 
 
 54 
 
 The Rose 
 
 . . 
 
 ibid 
 
 55 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Farewell . . Hanka . . . .56 
 
 Accompanying Home . ibid 57 
 
 V 
 
 Mary .... Celakowskt ... 59 
 
 The Little Bird . . ibid 60 
 
 The Gentle Dove . ibid 61 
 
 Change of Taste . . Kollar .... 62 
 
 Three Didactic Poems Boleslaw Jablonsky . 63 
 
 The Madjaromania . . Winaricky ... 66 
 
 The Danube . . ibid 66 
 
 Lover's Feelings . . Baron Villani . . 67 
 
 My Songs . . . Picek 68 
 
 Love .... ibid 70 
 
 To my Country . ibid 71 
 
 Forget-me-nots . . ibid 72 
 
 Departed Souls . . ibid. . .... 74 
 
 Happiness . . . ibid 76 
 
 Patriotism Misunderstood ibid 77 
 
 Arrival of the Czechs ibid. 78 
 
 Tear of Love . . ibid. . . . . .80 
 
 Source of Songs . ibid. . ... . . 81 
 
 The Orphan . . . ibid 82 
 
 The Maytree . . ibid. .... 83 
 
 The Expression 'No.' . ibid 85 
 
 The Midday Witch . ibid 87 
 
 Consolation . . . ibid 89 
 
 The Patriot's Lament Anonymous ... 90 
 
 Hej Slovane- . . . ibid 92 
 
CONTENTS. xiii 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Wreath 95 
 
 A Little Birth-day Ode 99 
 
 The Nosegay 100 
 
 Remembrance 102 
 
 'jradfjfiaTa fiaOi}fiaTa ....... 104 
 
 A Tale of Bristol ........ 105 
 
 Whither? O whither? . 108 
 
 Consolation 109 
 
 Lines written on the Banks of the Rhine . . .112 
 
 Buchlow 114 
 
 The Forget-me-not 117 
 
 The Winter Violet 118 
 
 A Valentine -120 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 Ik ~TA TIONS do not perish, Long as their language 
 JL V lives. Such is the import of the words which 
 I have chosen to be the motto of the present work, 
 nor do I think I could have selected any thing more 
 appropriate to indicate the nature of the reappear- 
 ance of the Bohemian people among the nations of 
 the world, and the means by which so unexpected, 
 and to many so startling, a phenomenon has been 
 produced. For a long time the possibility of crush- 
 ing and annihilating the nationality and being of a 
 people has been the current belief of the psycho- 
 logist, and when he was in want of an example to 
 prove his point, the finger of scorn was always di- 
 rected towards Bohemia^ Bohemia, as such, had 
 utterly perished from the face of the earth, and was 
 now a mere geographical subdivision of Germany or 
 Austria. And yet the few last years have developed 
 in Bohemia an individuality and nationality beyond 
 comparison in history — beyond comparison, because 
 along with, or rather causative of, the political striv- 
 
xvi INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 ings of the people, a literature has also sprung into 
 existence, bearing unmistakeable marks of origi- 
 nality, and bidding fair to assume no inconsiderable 
 position, and to exert no inconsiderable influence in 
 Europe. It seems, in short, that this long sleep of 
 the Bohemian people was ordained by God's Provi- 
 dence, in order that all Slavonic * nations might awake 
 to self-consciousness and arise together, to assume 
 that position in the world, of which their natural 
 capacity and activity is undoubtedly capable, and 
 towards which I believe them to be as undoubtedly 
 hastening t. 
 
 It is a strange thing, that the European nation, 
 which, of all others not in immediate geographical 
 juxta-position, has in former ages had the greatest 
 connection with Bohemia, and exercised the greatest 
 influence upon her, (I allude particularly to the 
 effect produced by the writings of Wicliffe upon the 
 
 * Oir rather Slovanic. The Slavonian does not call himself 
 Slavon but Slovan, from Slovo a word, as opposed to the Niemec 
 or non-speaker, j3dp(3apos. 
 
 •f* To those, who are interested in the subject of general 
 European politics, I cannot too highly recommend a careful 
 perusal of Count Valerian Krasinski's 'Panslavism and Ger- 
 manism.' Several of his predictions, e. g. those respecting the 
 Hungarian movement, have been most strikingly verified. Had 
 the Madjars listened to his counsel, they would not now be in 
 their present prostrate situation. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xvn 
 
 countrymen of Huss *) should be contented with the 
 superficial knowledge to be gained from German po- 
 liticians or more lately from Hungarian emissaries, 
 sources equally untrustworthy and unauthentic, wit- 
 nesses equally interested in concealing, distorting, or 
 perverting the truth. While, however, I shall not 
 shrink from recording my conviction, that the selfish 
 policy of the Germans and Madjars — the former 
 attempting to swallow up a large portion of the Aus- 
 trian Empire in an imaginary Germany by means of 
 the Frankfort Parliament, the latter endeavouring to 
 raise themselves upon its ruins, and both plotting 
 the subjugation and oppression of their Slavonic 
 neighbours — has prevented and destroyed the fairest 
 prospects ever opened to a great empire consisting of 
 multifarious and in some cases even heterogeneous 
 elements, the fairest prospects of peace and brother- 
 hood, of independent development and mutual assist- 
 ance; — while I shall not shrink from recording^ my 
 conviction of this, I shall confine myself to describing 
 
 * I do not think that England could at the present time 
 make a more acceptable or useful present to Bohemia, than a 
 reprint of the best of the old Bohemian translations of the Bible 
 with the new orthography. Church reform is one of the univer- 
 sal topics of conversation there, and the old Bohemian brethren 
 are shewing strong symptoms of revival. 
 
xvin INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 the circumstances, the aspirations, and the pros- 
 pects of the Czechs, the Slavonic race inhabiting 
 Bohemia*. 
 
 8 Scarcely any country upon the surface of the 
 globe has with so small an extent of territory been 
 the scene of such great, memorable, and important 
 transactions, as Bohemia; scarcely any nation, at 
 least in modern history, has with such limited num- 
 bers stood forth so gloriously and mightily, as the 
 Bohemian. There were times, when the princes of 
 Bohemia ruled from the Baltic to the Adriatic; 
 times, when all surrounding nations trembled at the 
 sound of the Bohemian arms, and times, when the 
 Bohemian mind was beaming with the brightness of 
 
 * I must here remark, that among the Bohemians, and pro- 
 bably the other Slavonians, it is not easy to become ' admissus 
 circum praecordia,' and that the only road to the Czeskish heart 
 is through the Czeskish language. When therefore I find even 
 an \ own correspondent' from Prague in the Times speaking of 
 'the M'adchen chattering most incomprehensible Slavonic at 
 the pump,' I at once see that his information upon certain 
 points is questionable, and cease to notice more than the mere 
 historical facts contained in his letter. I venture also to assert, 
 for the sake of those interested in the study and comparison of 
 languages, as such, that the different Slavonic dialects, as lan- 
 guages — I do not speak of their literature, which is still in 
 course of development — are far more beautiful and philosophical 
 than the German, or other modern languages at present con- 
 sidered necessary to a complete education. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xix 
 
 the noonday sun, while all around was enveloped in 
 the gloom of ignorance or inactivity/ 
 
 Such was Bohemia before the fatal battle of the 
 White Mountain in 162Q».as described by one of her 
 present faithful children*, and certainly, when we 
 consider the splendid reigns of Premysl Ottokar II. 
 King of Bohemia, and Charles IV. Emperor of Ger- 
 many, the learning and courage of Huss and his 
 followers, and the dauntless heroism of the un con- 
 quered Ziska, who, though blind, was never de- 
 feated, we cannot accuse him of overcolouring his 
 picture, or speaking in terms too glowing of the 
 glories of his country's former history. It may also 
 perhaps be not uninteresting to the student of phy- 
 sical science to remark, that the first Herbarium 
 printed in Europe, was a Bohemian production in 
 the Bohemian language, and in spite of the general 
 destruction of Bohemian literature by the Jesuits, is 
 now in existence in the National Museum at Prague, 
 and is adorned with woodcuts of unusual excellence. 
 I now proceed to contrast with the above, a descrip- 
 tion of what the country and nation became after 
 a short period of Jesuit tyranny, also from the pen 
 of a Bohemian. 
 
 ■ J. K. Tyl. 
 
 c2 
 
xx INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 'Under the reign of Ferdinand II.,' says Pelzel, 
 a Roman Catholic writer, ' the whole of the Bohemian 
 nation was entirely changed and recast. It is scarcely 
 possible to find in history another instance of a whole 
 nation so much changed in a space of about fifteen 
 years. In the year 1620 all Bohemia was, with the 
 exception of some nobles and monks, Protestant ; at 
 the death of Ferdinand II. in 1637, it was, at least 
 in appearance, entirely Roman Catholic. The merit 
 of this conversion of a whole country in so short a 
 time was claimed by the Jesuits. When they were 
 once boasting of this achievement at Rome in the 
 presence of the Pope, the celebrated Capuchin monk, 
 Valerianus Magnus, who was present on that occasion, 
 and who had also taken a part in the conversion of 
 Bohemia, said : 
 
 "Holy Father, give me soldiers as they were 
 given to the Jesuits, and I will convert the whole 
 world:' 
 
 ' The states of Bohemia had, till the battle of the 
 White Mountain, almost more power than the par- 
 liament of England. They made laws, concluded 
 alliances with their neighbours, imposed taxes, con- 
 ferred the rank of nobility upon meritorious indi- 
 viduals, kept their own troops, chose their kings, 
 or at least their consent was asked when a father 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxi 
 
 wished to leave the crown to his son, as we have 
 seen under the kings George, Vladislaw, and Ferdi- 
 nand I. They lost all these privileges in the above 
 mentioned space of time, (i.e. the reign of Ferdi- 
 nand II.) 
 
 'Up to that time the Bohemians were wont to 
 appear on the field of battle as a separate nation by 
 themselves, and have not unfrequently earned glory. 
 They were now thrust in amongst other nations, and 
 their name no more resounded on the field of battle. 
 Formerly it was said : The Bohemians have marched 
 into the field; the Bohemians have carried the fortifi- 
 cations; the Bohemians have taken the town; the 
 Bohemians have advanced against the enemy; the 
 Bohemians have gained the victory. These glorious 
 expressions were never more uttered by a mouth, or 
 transmitted to posterity by a historian. Up to that 
 time the Bohemians, taken as a nation, were brave, 
 dauntless, passionately fond of glory, enterprising; but 
 now they lost all courage, all national pride, all spirit 
 of enterprise. They fled into forests like sheep before 
 the Swedes, or suffered themselves to be trampled 
 under foot. Their valour was then lying buried on 
 the battle field of the White Mountain. Individual 
 Bohemians still possess courage, martial spirit and a 
 love of glory, but mingled with foreign nations, they 
 
xxii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 resemble the waters of the Moldau, which have 
 mingled with those of the Elbe. These two united 
 rivers bear vessels, overflow their banks, inundate 
 the country, carry away rocks and mountains ; yet 
 it is always said, the Elbe did it, and nobody ever 
 thinks about the Moldau. 
 
 6 The Bohemian language, which was employed in 
 all public transactions, and of which the nobles were 
 proud, fell into contempt. The upper classes adopted 
 German, and the burghers were obliged to learn it 
 too, because the monks preached in the towns in 
 German. The inhabitants of the cities began to be 
 ashamed of their native tongue, which being retained 
 only by the peasants, was called the peasants' tongue. 
 
 1 High as the Bohemians had risen in literature, 
 science and the arts, under the reigns of Maximilian 
 and Rudolph, they now sank equally low in all these 
 respects. I do not know of a single scholar, who 
 after the expulsion of the Protestants distinguished 
 himself by any learning. The university of Prague 
 was in the hands of the Jesuits, or rather in abey- 
 ance, because the Pope had given orders to suspend 
 all proceedings in it, and no person could receive an 
 academical degree. Some patriots, clergymen as well 
 as laymen, openly murmured against such a state of 
 things, but without producing any effect whatever, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxm 
 
 whilst many others silently deplored the fall of the 
 national literature. The greatest part of the schools 
 of the kingdom were conducted by the Jesuits and 
 other monks, and not much more than bad Latin 
 was taught in them. It cannot be denied that there 
 were amongst the Jesuits many individuals possessed 
 of literary and scientific accomplishments, but their 
 principle being, that the people should not be enlight- 
 ened, but rather kept in darkness, they imparted to 
 their pupils only the outward shell of knowledge, 
 retaining the kernel for themselves ; for their object 
 was to remain in the exclusive possession of learning, 
 and to stand in this respect superior not only to the 
 laity, but even to other monastic communities. In 
 order to keep the people more effectually in a state 
 of ignorance, they went from town to town exacting 
 from the inhabitants under the penalty of everlasting 
 damnation, that they should shew the books in their 
 possession. These books were examined by the 
 Jesuits, who burnt the greater part of them, and 
 since that time a Bohemian work is a rare book 
 amongst us. They also endeavoured by the same 
 means to obliterate throughout all Bohemia every 
 trace of her ancient learning. They therefore related 
 to their pupils, that previously to their arrival in 
 Bohemia ignorance prevailed in the country, and 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 carefully concealed from the people, not only the 
 learned labours of our ancestors, but even their very 
 names. None of what the learned and patriotic 
 Balbin had collected and compiled about the ancient 
 literature of Bohemia, could be published before the 
 abolition of their order, because they took care not 
 to communicate his manuscript to anybody. 
 
 c The Bohemians changed then even their national 
 dress and gradually adopted their present costume. 
 I must also remark that since that time the history 
 of the Bohemians ends, and that of other nations in 
 Bohemia begins*/ 
 
 Yet it was not the will of God to suffer the na- 
 tion to perish entirely; no sooner was what seemed 
 the deathblow given to the Czeskish language, than 
 a reaction commenced, and the ancestral spirit began 
 to reanimate the long prostrate corpse of the Czeskish 
 
 * Pelzel. Geschichte von Bohmen, p. 188, sqq. Quoted in 
 Panslavism and Germanism, p. 159, sqq. Pelzel's work was 
 published in the latter part of the last century. 
 
 It should also be observed, that at this time the greater 
 portion of the old Bohemian aristocracy became extinct, many 
 individuals suffering death upon the scaffold, and many families 
 being driven into exile. Their places were supplied by Ger- 
 mans, Italians, and other foreigners, utterly unacquainted with 
 and void of sympathy for the people, from the sweat of whose 
 brows they drew their revenues. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxv 
 
 nation. No sooner had the Emperor Joseph II. — 
 an Emperor, however, whose memory is still che- 
 rished by the people because of the helping hand he 
 lent to relieve them from the feudal privileges of an 
 oppressive and unsympathizing aristocracy, and an 
 equally tyrannizing clergy — by the ordinance of the 
 30th October, 1785, enjoined, that only such children 
 as had learnt German should be permitted to fre- 
 quent the Latin schools, and by that of 22nd Aug. 
 1789, that no children should be apprenticed to any 
 trade, until they had spent two years at a normal 
 school, i.e. one where German was taught, — no 
 sooner had this home- thrust been aimed at the mo- 
 ther tongue of the nation, than t\\e voice of the 
 patriot was raised on behalf of the language of his 
 childhood, and the studies of the philologer were 
 directed to the investigation of the language and 
 literature of his ancestors. As time advanced, it be- 
 came more and more evident, that the civilization of 
 the country could only be accomplished by means of 
 the native language, partly because of an uncon- 
 scious instinct in the mind of the people, which led 
 them to distrust and reject whatever was forced upon 
 them in the detested foreign garb, partly owing to a 
 psychological fact, which was formerly recognized 
 by as few, as now venture to dispute it, viz., that 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 the mind of every nation is cast in a mould corre- 
 sponding to its mother tongue. The defenders of 
 the Bohemian language became more numerous and 
 more earnest, the common people themselves began 
 to waken up and take an interest in the inheritance 
 of their forefathers, which the hand of power was 
 endeavouring to wrest from their possession, and all 
 this in spite of the influence of the aristocracy, in 
 spite of the oppressive tyranny of fashion. And, 
 gradually, members of the noblest families began to 
 sympathize with the tillers of their ground, and to 
 recognise their right, as men, to the education which 
 alone could elevate or civilize them, an education 
 conducted through the medium of their own Sla- 
 vonic language; nay, some truehearted individuals 
 applied themselves to the cultivation of the language, 
 in which their own first words were lisped, nor have 
 their productions been unworthy of their noble and 
 disinterested enthusiasm*. 
 
 It were uninteresting to the English reader to 
 have a list of writers presented to him, with whose 
 works and the effect of whose writings he is utterly 
 unacquainted ; I should expect him to exclaim with 
 
 * I need here only particularize Count Leo Thun and Baron 
 Villani. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxvn 
 
 Pedrazzi in Tyl's novel under similar circumstances, 
 I Enough, enough of these names !* and to wish the 
 place supplied by information of a more practical 
 and tangible nature. I shall therefore only just men- 
 tion the impulse given to the Bohemian poetical 
 literature by the discovery of the most ancient relics 
 of Bohemian poetry known to be in existence, the 
 Eukopis Kralodvorsky or Queens-Court Manu- 
 script*, by the celebrated Vaclaw Hanka, at present 
 Librarian of the National Museum at Prague, and 
 pass on to an account of the wants and desires of the 
 Bohemians, and how far they have succeeded in 
 accomplishing and realizing their wishes. 
 
 'We desire,' said they a few years agot, c no- 
 thing else than what is our holiest possession, our 
 dearest inheritance from our glorious forefathers, a 
 gift — nay, command of heaven itself, and the incon- 
 trovertible right of every nation — $ve desire nothing 
 else than the conservation of our language and its 
 elevation to a position, in which it can exert itself 
 for the earthly happiness of the nation. That is 
 especially schools, particularly schools for that por- 
 
 * This discovery was made 16 September, 1817. The MS. 
 is supposed to date between the years 1290, and 1310. Several 
 poems translated from it will be found below. 
 
 f Tyl, Posledni Czech. Vol. II. p. 29. 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 tion of the youth, which, with but little elementary 
 knowledge, must adapt itself, like pliant twigs, to 
 the manifold forms of life, and yet is expected at last 
 to grow into a firm and self-dependent tree. \ Schools 
 without the national language are utter waste of 
 time, and mere places of torture. In them the child 
 contends with the lifeless form, with the mere husk 
 of all practical utility; the kernel he cannot attain 
 to. Thus he squanders four, five, or even more 
 years, and harasses himself with unfruitful blossoms, 
 which merely straggle around the ears, but never 
 strike root into the heart. In what position would 
 our nation now be standing, had it come from schools, 
 where it was addressed in the language, in which 
 the first images would have remained impressed 
 upon the head and heart, and which resounds around 
 it, when it leaves the school — its mother- tongue ? 
 Can then our longing be called other than a righte- 
 ous one, when we wish to gain for this language, 
 through our love and reverence, a position, where, 
 so to speak, an influence is exerted over the whole 
 condition and well-being of the nation ? 
 
 ' And that this longing of ours is innate within us, 
 is evident from the fact, that nations and languages 
 are united by the firmest bond, — that it is impossible 
 to conceive a language without a nation, or a nation 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxix 
 
 without a language. The language is the impress of 
 the whole being of a nation ; it is the store-house of 
 its experience, the mirror of its knowledge and wis- 
 dom ; it has grown from its marrow, and been wa- 
 tered with its blood ; in it it has deposited its whole 
 history, and its dearest memorials. Does the lan- 
 guage begin to be corrupted, the national existence 
 also suffers detriment; each weakening or crippling 
 of the language is a step of the nation towards dege- 
 neracy. With each alteration of the language arises 
 also an alteration of the nation ; and were a nation 
 to disown and fling aside its language, it must first 
 have lost and transformed all its inborn qualities, it 
 must with the new language have become also a new 
 nation. Is it possible that this can ever be the case 
 with our people?' 
 
 Experience, ranging from the year 1620 to the 
 present day, has answered the question in the nega- 
 tive. It is impossible to annihilate the nationality 
 of the Bohemians ; it must be recognized and dealt 
 with as an element of the country, and as such 
 must enter largely into the considerations of the 
 statesmen, whom the working of God's Providence 
 has called to the difficult task of arranging and 
 reconciling the conflicting interests of the many 
 nations of the Austrian Empire. And indeed, since 
 
xxx INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 the above-quoted sentiments were enunciated by Tyl 
 in Bohemia, a great and important change has taken 
 place. While the German was wasting his strength 
 and blood upon a phantom, the clear-sighted Slavo- 
 nian was struggling, for his language, his literature, 
 and his civil rights. Nor is he any longer subject to 
 the former oppression; in the school and in the 
 university he is now at liberty to receive his educa- 
 tion and to display his proficiency through the me- 
 dium of his own native language ; his cause can now 
 be pleaded, his rights enforced in the law-courts in 
 his own beloved mother-tongue. 
 
 That a road is thus opened for the formation 
 of a considerable literature is evident ; the Bohe- 
 mians are well aware of their opportunity, and are 
 exerting themselves to the uttermost, both in the 
 republication of ancient, and the composition of 
 modern works, especially through the society called 
 the Matice Cjzeskd*. "What the end of these 
 things will be, what influence will be exercised upon 
 human, and especially upon European, civilization by 
 the Slavonians, is known for certain to God alone ; 
 my own belief is, that Bohemia is the point of 
 
 * The 'Bohemian Mother.' In this society the English 
 nation is represented by the Bishop of St David's and myself. ' 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxxi 
 
 contact and mingling of the two streams of civil- 
 ization, which have issued, the one from Rome, 
 the other from Constantinople; that through her 
 and her literature the latter will be affected, modi- 
 fied, strengthened, and improved by the former ; 
 that she will be the chief agent in the cultivation 
 and moral elevation of the countless Slavonic mul- 
 titudes in the east of Europe ; and that finally her 
 own glorious history will be merged in the splen- 
 dours of the grand Slavonic civilization, as the 
 bright morning-star fades away and is lost in the 
 glowing radiance of the risen sun. 
 
HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 B 
 
BENES HERMANOW. 
 
 V 
 
 OVERTHROW OF THE SAXONS. 
 
 OTELL me, Sun, thou gentle Sun, 
 Why thou dost mourning go ? 
 And wherefore thou dost shine on us, 
 A people full of woe ? 
 
 Where, where's our prince, our army? He 
 
 To Otto's court is gone; — 
 Who from the foe our land shall free 
 
 Thus orphan and alone? 
 
 In columns long the Germans march, 
 
 The Germans Saxons are, 
 Into our country from the, hills, 
 
 That wave with woods afar. 
 
 'Give, give, ye wretches, silver, gold, 
 
 And all that ye possess, 
 Or else ye shall in flames behold 
 
 Mansions and cottages' ! ' 
 
 B2 
 
HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 And they have burn'd our all, have ta'en 
 
 Our gold and silver too, 
 Our cattle they have driv'n away, 
 
 And now towards Trosky go. 
 
 O do not, peasant, do not mourn! 
 
 The grass again will grow, 
 Although it long has trodden been 
 
 By footsteps of the foe. 
 
 Twine, twine a wreath of wild flowers 
 
 For your deliv'rer's brow ! 
 The green corn glitters fresh again, 
 
 And all a change doth know. 
 
 Yea quickly all a change did know, 
 
 Lo! how the people all 
 To council Benes Hermanow 
 
 Against the foe doth call! 
 
 Now stream the peasants where the wood 
 
 'Neath Hruba Skala grows, 
 And each is weapon'd with a flail, 
 
 That 'gainst the Saxons goes. 
 
 'Tis Benes leads the van, the folk 
 
 Doth follow wrathful wise. 
 And Vengeance, vengeance every man 
 
 Against the plund'rers cries. 
 
BENES HERMA$lf)W. 
 
 O anger fierce and savage wrath 
 
 Did fill both armies then, 
 And in the inmost breasts did storm 
 
 Of the enraged men ! 
 
 And fury in the foemen's eyes 
 
 Against each other glows, 
 And club 'gainst club on high they raise, 
 
 And spears to spears oppose. 
 
 On one another rush'd the hosts, 
 As wood on wood were hurl'd, 
 
 And like the lightning of the sky, 
 So gleam'd the swords they whiiTd, 
 
 A fearful cry arising then 
 
 The forest beasts doth fright, 
 And scareth all the winged fowls 
 
 To the third ridge's height. 
 
 Spread from the rocky hills throughout 
 
 The vales upon the breeze 
 Here strokes of clubs, and here of swords, 
 
 Like fall of ancient trees. 
 
 Thus motionless both armies stood 
 
 Against each other there, 
 On heels that firm implanted stay, 
 
 On legs that steadfast are. 
 
HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 But Benes wends himself on high, 
 And towards the right doth swing 
 
 His sword, the army thither hastes ; 
 Then towards the other wing 
 
 He points, towards the left they rush ; 
 
 Thence towards the rocky pass; 
 And from the rocks upon the foe 
 
 They hurl the stony mass. 
 
 Now to the plain the fight descends, 
 The Germans they must fly, 
 
 The Germans they must shriek aloud, 
 The Germans they must die! 
 
JAROSLAW. 
 
 OVERTHROW OF THE TATARS, a.d. 1241. 
 
 I'LL tell to you a glorious tale 
 Of struggles and of war; 
 Come, listen, and collect yourselves, 
 The mighty deeds to hear. 
 
 Far in the land where Olmutz reigns, 
 
 Rises a hill, not high; 
 'Tis Hostajnow; God's Mother there 
 
 Works marvels wondrously. 
 
 Twas quiet in our country long, 
 Long bloom'd a peaceful age, 
 
 When from the east a storm arose, 
 Amongst the lands to rage. 
 
 It was the daughter of the Khan, 
 
 The Khan of Tatary, 
 By Christian hands did for her gold, 
 
 Her pearls and jewels, die. 
 
HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 The daughter bright of Kublay Khan, 
 
 Fair as the moon was she, 
 Had heard of countries in the west, 
 
 Where many people be; 
 And she the foreign countries will 
 
 And foreign manners see. 
 
 • Of youths upstarts there half a score, 
 
 Of waiting-maidens two, 
 And first they all the needful things 
 
 In packages bestow, 
 Then thither, where the sun doth haste, 
 
 Upon swift steeds they go. 
 
 As rosy bright the morning dawn 
 O'er misty woods doth gleam, 
 
 So did the daughter of the Khan 
 From art and nature beam. 
 
 In gold brocade the maiden shone, 
 
 Bosom and neck were bare, 
 And wreaths of jewels and of pearls 
 
 Did ornament her hair. 
 
 The Germans by her beauty struck, 
 
 And envious of her store, 
 Pursued her, as suspicionless 
 
 She journied on before, 
 Attack'd and slew her in a wood, 
 
 And off the booty bore. 
 
JAROSLAW. 
 
 When came the news to Kublay Khan 
 
 About his daughter dear, 
 He gather'd hosts in ev'ry land, 
 
 And westward march'd with war. 
 
 The western kings the tidings heard, 
 
 That Kublay doth invade 
 Their thickly-peopled countries, and 
 
 Confed'racies they made. 
 
 A mighty host they gather, take 
 
 The field right speedily, 
 On a wide plain encamp'd await 
 
 The Khan of Tatary. 
 
 Then Kublay his astrologers, 
 
 Magicians, wizards, all, 
 Into the future bids enquire, 
 
 What issue shall befall. 
 
 Th' astrologers assembled quick, 
 
 Magicians, wizards tried, 
 A circle in two companies 
 
 They tread on either side; 
 And in it a black bar they place, 
 
 And do in twain divide. 
 
 The one half they have Kublay namd, 
 The other half the kings, 
 
10 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 And o'er them the whole magic band 
 Ancient enchantments sings. 
 
 And soon the bars begin to move 
 
 In combat mightily, 
 And that, which they had Kublay nam'd, 
 
 Hath won the victory. 
 
 The multitudes thereat rejoice, 
 Each springs with speed to horse, 
 
 And quickly all array themselves 
 Amongst the army's force. 
 
 The Christians they no council hold, 
 And without foresight throng, 
 
 And rush upon the heathen ranks 
 As arrogant as strong. 
 
 Then first in battle did they meet, 
 Like hail the arrows stream'd, 
 
 The crash of spears like thunder roll'd, 
 The swords like lightning gleam'd, 
 
 And either host in youthful might 
 To urge the other seem'd. 
 
 The num'rous Christians press'd the foe, 
 
 And ended were the war, 
 Had not th' enchanters come anew, 
 
 Bearing the cloven bar. 
 
JAROSLAW. ] 1 
 
 Inflam'd, the Tatars rushing charge 
 
 The Christians savagely, 
 So savagely, that panic-struck, 
 
 Like deer, they turn and fly. 
 
 There lies a shield upon the ground, 
 
 A costly helm struck down; 
 Here hy the stirrups trailing drags 
 
 A horse his rider thrown. 
 
 Here one doth hravely all in vain 
 
 The Tatars strive to meet, 
 Another there for heaven's sake 
 
 For mercy doth intreat. 
 
 The Tatars tax the Christians sore, 
 
 And spread on ev'ry side, 
 Subdue two kingdoms, Kiew old, 
 
 And Novgorod the wide. 
 
 Soon came the woeful news abroad, 
 
 To arms all nations flew, 
 Four mighty armies did they raise, 
 
 The death-fight to renew. 
 
 On their right wing the Tatars rush'd, 
 And hurl'd themselves with might, 
 
 As a black cloud, that threats with hail 
 The fruitful fields to smite, 
 
12 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 E'en so was heard the Tatar foe, 
 Thick swarming for the fight. 
 
 With speed do the Hungarians 
 
 Collect in companies, 
 With speed they arm themselves, and go 
 
 To meet their enemies. 
 
 But all in vain their courage was, 
 
 Vain all their manliness, 
 All, all in vain their efforts hrave; 
 
 Upon their centre press 
 
 The Tatars, break their ranks, and all 
 Their num'rous host doth flee; 
 
 The Tatars all things devastate, 
 That in the land there be. 
 
 All hope the Christians doth forsake, 
 Had been such sorrow never; 
 
 They pray'd to God imploringly, 
 That he would them deliver. 
 
 f Now in thine anger, Lord, arise, 
 
 And free us from the foe, 
 And free us from the murderers, 
 
 That would our souls bring low, 
 And as the wolves around the sheep, 
 
 Around us preying go/ 
 
JAROSLAW. 13 
 
 A first, a second fight is lost, 
 
 The Tatars make their home 
 In Poland, all things devastate, 
 
 And near and nearer come. 
 
 And now the savage heathen press 
 
 To Olmutz ; cries of woe 
 Arise in ev'ry district; nought 
 
 Is safe before the foe. 
 
 The first, the second day is past, 
 
 And neither side hath won; 
 But ah! the Tatar multitude 
 
 Goes still increasing on, 
 And waxes, as the ev'ning mist, 
 
 That hangs the woods upon. 
 
 The Christians, boat-like, to and fro 
 
 Amidst the Tatars sway, 
 And now towards God's Mother s hill 
 
 They backwards force their way. 
 
 'Up, brethren, up!' doth Wneslaw cry, 
 
 While on his silver shield 
 His sword he strikes, and o'er his head 
 
 The banner high doth wield. 
 
 All courage take, and all themselves 
 Upon the Tatars throw, 
 
14 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 And in one body, as the flame 
 From out the earth doth flow, 
 
 So from th* outnumb'ring Tatar host 
 Towards the hill they go. 
 
 With backward steps the hill they climb, 
 And 'neath its woody crown 
 
 Extend themselves, while underneath 
 A sharp peak pointeth down. 
 
 And right and left themselves with shields 
 
 They cover for the fight, 
 And on each other's shoulders lay 
 
 The spears so sharp and bright. 
 
 On shoulder of the front-rank man 
 
 The second laid his spear, 
 And those of the third rank in turn 
 
 Upon the second were. 
 
 And down upon the Tatar hordes 
 Rain arrows from the hill; — 
 
 Night cometh on, and all the world 
 Envelopes calm and still. 
 
 O'er heav'n above she spreads herself, 
 
 And o'er the earth below, 
 And veils the warriors' flaming eyes, 
 
 That 'gainst each other glow. 
 
JAROSLAW. 15 
 
 Now raise the Christians walls on high, 
 
 All in the gloom of night, 
 And trenches dig around the hill 
 
 Before the morning light. 
 
 When in the east it dawn'd, arose 
 
 The whole camp of the foe, 
 The camp, that stretch'd around the hill 
 
 Farther than eye can go. 
 
 Upon their horses swift they crowd, 
 
 And heads of Christians slain 
 They bear upon their lances 
 
 To the tent of Kublay Khan. 
 
 Into a single mass collects 
 
 Itself the multitude, 
 And towards one side their course they bend, 
 
 Rushing with onset rude 
 
 To storm the hill, loud uttering 
 
 An all-terrific cry, 
 That hills and vales resound again 
 
 And echo fearfully. 
 
 Upon the walls the Christians stood, 
 
 God's Mother courage gave, 
 And quick their pliant bows they draw, 
 
 And fierce their falchions wave; 
 
16 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 The Tatars they must hack retreat 
 Before defence so hrave. 
 
 Then raged in fury at defeat 
 
 The Tatar nation wild, 
 The angry Khan upon them frown'd, 
 
 With dark displeasure filTd. 
 
 Into three columns now itself 
 
 The heathen host divides, 
 And in three columns furiously 
 
 They storm the mountain's sides. 
 
 The Christians fell'd a score of trees, 
 
 All twenty as they grew, 
 And rolTd them from the summit down 
 
 Their battlements unto. 
 
 And now the Tatars storm the hill, 
 
 Shouting with fearful din, 
 That far and wide ascends, and now 
 
 To breach the walls begin. 
 
 Down from the walls the trees they hurl, 
 
 Like worms the Tatar foe 
 They crush, and spread destruction wide 
 
 Upon the plain below. 
 
 And long and savagely 'twas fought, 
 Until the gloom of night 
 
JAROSLAW. 17 
 
 For both contending armies set 
 A limit to the fight. 
 
 O God ! it is a sight of woe ! 
 
 The glorious Wneslaw falls! 
 Struck by an arrow down he sinks 
 
 Beneath the Christians' walls. 
 
 Now anguish tears the heavy heart, 
 
 Thirst doth the entrails pain, 
 With dry and parched throats they lick 
 
 The dewy grass in vain. 
 
 Still eve into cool night doth pass, 
 
 Night into morning gray, 
 And all within the Tatar camp 
 
 Tranquil and quiet lay. 
 
 The day doth mid-day heat assume, 
 Through thirst the Christians fall, 
 
 And ope their parched mouths in pain, 
 And on God's Mother call. 
 
 To her their weaken'd eyes they turn, 
 
 And wring in agony 
 Their hands, from earth to heavens height 
 
 Looking imploringly. 
 
 'We cannot longer faint with thirst, 
 For thirst we cannot fight; 
 
 C 
 
18 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 Who loves his health, who loves his life, 
 
 Must mercy seek in flight 
 Among the Tatars/ Thus around 
 
 'Twas spoken left and right. 
 
 'The sword is not so sharp a death 
 
 As thirst; in slavery 
 Of water we shall have enough; 
 
 Who thinks thus after me!' 
 (Says Weston) ' after me the man, 
 
 Who thirsteth painfully!' 
 
 But leaping up doth Wratislaw 
 
 Like a young bull arise, 
 And by the arm he seizes him, 
 
 And thus to Weston cries : 
 
 f Thou traitor! everlasting shame 
 Of men that Christians be ! 
 
 And wilt thou to destruction bring 
 A people good and free? 
 
 Mercy from God 'tis meet to seek, 
 But not in slavery 
 
 f From Tatars wild. Nay ! brethren, nay ! 
 
 Do not to ruin haste ! 
 Already now the fiercest heat 
 
 Of noontide is o'erpast ; 
 God strengthen^ us at noon, and if 
 We trust, will aid at last. 
 
JAROSLAW. 19 
 
 ( Out, out upon such words as those ! 
 
 And blush for very shame, 
 Ye men, that fain would heroes be, 
 
 And bear the hero's name ! 
 
 ' Die we upon the hill with thirst, 
 
 Tis God our fate doth guide ; 
 Surrend'ring to the foemen's swords, 
 Our death is suicide. 
 
 'Our God doth slavery abhor, 
 
 'Tis sin to slavery 
 A voluntary neck to yield ; 
 
 Who thinks thus, after me ! 
 To where God's Mother sits enthron'd! 
 
 Ye men that valiant be ! ' 
 
 And after him the many 
 
 To the holy chapel haste ; 
 ' Now in thine anger, Lord, arise ! 
 
 Aid us, O Lord, at last! 
 
 ' Raise, raise us o'er our enemies 
 
 In all the land around, 
 And hear the supplicating cries, 
 
 That in thine ears resound ! 
 
 Encircled and surrounded all 
 By savage foes are we; 
 
 C2 
 
20 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 O from the cruel Tatar noose 
 Rescue and set us free ! 
 
 ' Grant moisture to our bodies parch 'd, 
 
 That here are perishing, 
 And we will give, O Lord, to thee 
 Loud thanks in offering. 
 
 'Crush now the foe in all our lands, 
 
 And us from them deliver, 
 Annihilate them utterly 
 For ever and for ever ! ' 
 
 Lo ! Lo ! upon the sultry heav'n 
 
 A cloud ascendeth high! 
 Loud blow the winds, the thunder rolls 
 
 And crashes fearfully. 
 
 The sky is thick o'erclouded all; 
 
 Flash ! flash ! the lightning glows 
 Amongst the Tatar tents; with rain 
 
 Reviv'd the hill-spring flows! 
 
 The storm is past, from ev'ry land 
 There hasten warriors brave, 
 
 Towards Olmutz march in order'd ranks, 
 And high their banners wave. 
 
 Their heavy swords beside them hang, 
 Full quivers rattling sound 
 
JAROSLAW. 21 
 
 Upon their hips,, their valiant heads 
 With helmets bright are crownd, 
 
 And underneath the riders' weight 
 The swift steeds prance and bound. 
 
 The wood-horns hoarsely bray, the roll 
 
 Of drums resounds afar, 
 The hosts upon each other rush, 
 
 And close in dreadful war. 
 
 A cloud arises from the dust, 
 
 And hangs the armies o'er; 
 The second fight is fiercer far, 
 
 Than was the fight before. 
 
 The sharp swords clash, with fearful hiss 
 
 The poison'd arrows fly, 
 Spears crashing meet, and javlins whizz, 
 
 As they are hurl'd on high ; 
 They strike, they stab, they shout for joy, 
 
 They shriek in agony. 
 
 Like torrents swoln by heavy rain, 
 
 So flow'd the warrior's blood, 
 And corpses lay upon the ground, 
 
 Like felFd trees in a wood. 
 
 To one both hands are smitten off, 
 Cleft is another's head, 
 
22 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 Another from his steed is flung, 
 That stumbles o'er the dead. 
 
 And here doth one his enemies 
 Strike down in furious mood, 
 
 As on the rocky mountain's side 
 A tempest rends the wood. 
 
 There hilt-deep in a foeman's heart 
 Another's sword doth pierce, 
 
 Here from another's head the ear 
 A Tatar severs fierce. 
 
 A shout ! a cry of woe is heard ! 
 
 Now, now the Christians yield; 
 The Tatars press them savagely, 
 
 And chase them o'er the field. 
 
 But like an eagle Jaroslaw 
 Doth to the rescue fly; 
 
 Hard steel is on his mighty breast, 
 Beneath the steel doth lie 
 
 Heroic valour, wisdom dwells 
 Beneath his helmet bright, 
 
 And glows and sparkles in his eyes 
 The fire of youthful might. 
 
 He like an angry lion storms, 
 That doth fresh blood behold, 
 
JAROSLAW. 23 
 
 Or by an arrow stricken turns 
 Upon the hunter bold. 
 
 So wrathful raging doth he rush 
 
 Upon the Tatar foe, 
 Behind him the Bohemians 
 
 Most like a hail-storm go. 
 
 On Kublay's son he fiercely charg'd, 
 
 It was a furious fight, 
 With spears did they together meet, 
 
 And broke their spears with might. 
 
 But Jaroslaw all bath'd in blood, 
 
 His steed all bloody too, 
 Hath smitten, reaching with his sword, 
 
 The son of Kublay through. 
 
 Down from the shoulder to the hip, 
 
 The trenchant blade did go, 
 And from his steed he lifeless sank 
 
 Among the corpses low, 
 And o'er him rattled, as he fell, 
 
 His quiver and his bow. 
 
 This all the savage Tatar host 
 
 With panic fear did smite, 
 Away their lances fathom-long 
 
 They threw in wild affright, 
 
24 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 And all who could fled thither where 
 
 The sun doth glorious rise ; 
 And thus was Hana* freed again 
 
 From Tatar enemies. 
 
 * Hana is a district in Moravia in the neighbourhood of 
 Olmiitz. 
 
 %* It should be remarked that Weston, who appears, alas ! 
 to have been an Englishman, was guilty of a similar piece of 
 treachery at Jerusalem. 
 
WRATISLAW. 
 
 OMORAVA! O our Sister! 
 how the Tatar came with war ! 
 Reap'd thy acres rich and golden 
 
 with the crooked scymitar! 
 How his red rough hand of fury 
 
 swept the sunbeam of delight, 
 On a day of tears and sorrow, 
 
 rudely from thy visage bright ! 
 Now, forlorn, and desolate, thou 
 
 sitt'st, a widow pale and wan, 
 Gazing mournfully thy Sister, 
 
 thy Bohemian Sister on. 
 And on thee in sad compassion 
 
 dwells thy Sister's eye so true, 
 Dwells on thee in sad compassion — 
 
 Ah! what meets her anxious view? 
 Ah! it is a woeful sight; thy 
 
 villages, thy towns, she sees 
 Black, black coals upon the earth, and 
 
 ashes light upon the breeze. 
 Ah! thy castles high and haughty 
 
 all forlorn in ruins lie ; 
 Where were woods and fairest meadows, 
 
 bloody marshes meet her eye. 
 
26 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 There the corpses of thy children, 
 
 of thy slaughterd children dear, 
 Of thy sons and daughters moulder ; 
 
 'tis a sight of woe and fear. 
 But good sons and valiant warriors 
 
 thy true Sister sends to thee, 
 Sends her best, her noblest hero, 
 
 Jaroslaw, their chief to be. 
 Soon the Tatar feels their arrows, 
 
 feels their swords so keen and bright, 
 Feels the weight of home thrust lances 
 
 wielded by strong arms in fight. 
 Never can the countless hordes, that 
 
 come from desert steppes afar, 
 Never can they blame the prowess 
 
 of Bohemian chiefs in war. 
 Back retreating, now they hurry, 
 
 like the wild wave white with foam, 
 Back retreating, now they hurry 
 
 to the barren wastes of home. 
 O Morava! trembling widow! 
 
 O how pride and joy again 
 Bloom, with comfort sweet returning, 
 
 on the pallid cheek of pain ! 
 Soon each town and wasted village 
 
 from its ashes see'st thou rise, 
 Soon thy castles from their ruins 
 
 lift their bulwarks to the skies. 
 Green again thy meadows flourish, 
 
 and thy children, spar'd by Gon 
 
WRATISLAW. 27 
 
 In the troublous times of slaughter, 
 
 all around thy banners crowd. 
 But, behold ! a knightly hero ! 
 
 good amongst the best is he ; 
 Tis the grey-hair'd knight, Sir Berka, 
 
 bow'd in deep, deep misery. 
 On the battlements in sorrow, 
 
 on the battlements in woe, 
 Lo ! he stands all sadly gazing 
 
 at the far, far woods below, 
 Whose broad gloomy sides discover 
 
 where the fleeing Tatars go. 
 At the old man's side Ludmilla 
 
 sit's in bitt'rest grief forlorn, 
 Fair .Ludmilla, spouse beloved 
 
 of his Jan, his eldest born ; 
 And the eyes of that pale lady, 
 
 like the old man's looks of woe, 
 On the far, far woods are gazing, 
 
 where the Tatar's wild hordes go, 
 Where they drag her own beloved, 
 
 Jan, her spouse, her hero brave, 
 On their' flight to distant regions, 
 
 as a captive and a slave. 
 To his other side is clinging 
 
 Wratislaw, his youngest son, 
 On whose locks so bright and golden 
 
 Spring her flow'rs twelve times hath strewn ; 
 In whose bright blue eyes the summer 
 
 sun twelve times hath mirror'd been; 
 
28 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 Whose fair figure, frail and slender; 
 
 winds might bear it off, I ween; 
 From his age a third would 'minish, 
 
 if by earthly eyes 'twere seen. 
 And their sorrows' mournful silence 
 
 soon the grief-bow'd lady brake ; 
 6 Ah ! my hero ! Jan, my dearest ! ' 
 
 such the woeful words she spake ; 
 'Woe to thy poor wife, sad lady! 
 
 who hath lost her sons with thee ! 
 ' To the land of thy forefathers, 
 
 whose bright star hath set with thee! 
 'O how fearful now the wishes 
 
 and the prayers of our distress ! 
 'O how fearful are the entreaties 
 
 we to heav'n must now address! 
 ' Ah ! to find our only comfort 
 
 in the thought thou may'st be dead! 
 'Heart and soul to think thee living 
 
 shudder with a shuddering dread ; 
 'Living in the cruel slavry 
 
 of barbarians far away : 
 ' Freemen only live ; slaves perish 
 
 by a thousand deaths a day/ 
 'Yes/ Sir Berka answers sadly — 
 
 look and tone are sad indeed — 
 ' Yes, a mighty God the ruin 
 
 of our House hath now decreed, 
 'Of our House, which aye devoutly 
 
 honour'd Him in word and deed. 
 
WRATISLAW. 29 
 
 'He from me the last, the hero, 
 
 Jan, the only son hath ta'en, 
 ' Who for times to come his glorious 
 
 race and name should plant again. 
 ' Of the family thus sinking 
 
 all that now remains beneath 
 'Is a woman without offspring, 
 
 and an old man due to death.' 
 In his blue eyes pearly moisture, 
 
 listens Wratislaw the child 
 To hard words, that tender souls must 
 
 evil ever deem and wild; 
 And the old man's rough palm pressing 
 
 with his tender hand, saith he, 
 (Sounding on the morning breeze it 
 
 seem'd an angel's voice to be,) 
 ' Lofty hero ! honourd father ! 
 
 why dost thou with heaven chide, 
 'That thy stem is broken? Is not 
 
 Wratislaw still at thy side? 
 ' Offspring last of lofty goodness, 
 
 his the sacred duty now, 
 'To far distant days the glory 
 
 of his noble race to show : 
 'And his name doth almost promise 
 
 with prophetic voice divine, 
 'That renown, through him returning 
 
 to his ancient house, will shine*.' 
 
 * Wratislaw : from wratiti-se, to return, and slawa, glory. 
 
30 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 Overpow'ring, mighty sorrow 
 
 for the son he dead believ'd, 
 Makes the old man wrongs the living, 
 
 by his woeful grief deceiv'd. 
 To the lady, to Ludmilla, 
 
 he with almost scornful tone 
 Saith, f His ancestors' proud spirit 
 
 sways th' untimely.* wither'd one ; 
 'But the weakling's feeble body 
 
 to the words of courage high 
 ( Never, never can give import, 
 
 speak he e'er so valiantly/ 
 See the boy's pale visage kindling, 
 
 with the blush of anger dyed ! 
 See, how from his blue eye flashing 
 
 beams the hero glance of pride ! 
 And he speaks, f My lord and father, 
 
 Jieth not fnan's strength alway 
 * Only in the God of heaven, 
 
 faith in whom is all our stay? 
 ( Cannot heaven high and lordly, 
 
 cannot heaven shew in sight 
 ' In the weakest of the creatures 
 
 all its p'owr and all its might?' 
 From the battlements thus speaking 
 
 quickly sped the boy, I ween ; 
 In the castle of his father 
 
 was he never aft^r seen. 
 Fruitless search! successless seeking! 
 
 traceless went the boy away; 
 
WRATISLAW. 31 
 
 Traceless did he vanish; no one 
 
 aught about his flight could say. 
 Ah! how now Sir Berka mourneth! 
 
 how he mourning sees his woe, 
 Woe which late he thought o'erflowing, 
 through a single fault to grow! 
 Scarcely can he now tell whether 
 
 of the twain he lov'd the most ; 
 Only losses, bitter losses, 
 
 teach the value of the lost. 
 Spring and Summer, Autumn, Winter, 
 hope and joy in turn that bring, 
 To the poor old man drag sadly ; 
 
 sadness is their welcoming. 
 Spring's gay flowers, Summer's breezes, 
 
 Autumn's grapes, and Winter's snow, 
 To his eyes are lost; the seasons 
 
 heedless come and heedless go; 
 Lost to him, whose eyes the image 
 of his lost sons only shew. 
 Songs of birds and lays of reapers, 
 
 winter- dance and skating gay, 
 In the old man's ears resound not, 
 
 ears that listen day by day 
 To one only sound, the throbbing 
 
 of a heart that's rent in tway. 
 And the Spring again returneth; 
 
 mountains glitter, green corn grows; 
 But in gloomy hall Sir Berka 
 
 sits and broods upon his woes, 
 
32 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 With the lady, pale Ludmilla, 
 
 all forlorn and comfortless; 
 Grave-like silence, deathlike stillness, 
 
 fills the chamber of distress. 
 Hark ! the oaken door is creaking ! 
 
 lo ! it opens in their sight ! 
 On the threshold stands a stranger ; 
 
 sure he is a noble knight; 
 Stands awhile with arms extended, 
 
 ere he can the inmates meet; 
 Flings him down then at the old man's, 
 
 flings him at the lady's, feet. 
 Is it not the heir? O heaven! 
 
 Is it not the dead believ'd? 
 It is Jan; it is the lost one, 
 
 home again with joy receiv'd! 
 Can we tell the old man's feelings? 
 
 or the happy thoughts that swell 
 The true hearts of wife and husband? 
 
 or the speaking joys that dwell 
 In the sacred glance of welcome? 
 
 he who can, the tale may tell. 
 Then a long, long silence over, 
 
 and a happy fond embrace, 
 Jan his father to the window, 
 
 and his true wife leads apace ; 
 Points beneath into the courtyard 
 
 of the castle, shews him where 
 Holds a squire two Tatar coursers ; 
 
 one doth now no rider bear; 
 
WRATISLAW. 33 
 
 But a load the other beareth; 
 
 'tis an all unwonted load; 
 He a tiny coffin beareth 
 
 o'er his long and weary road. 
 ' See ! my wife ; behold ! my father ; 
 
 both thy sons return again; 
 'As a poor man home returning, 
 
 as a sinful man comes Jan ; 
 'Wratislaw comes like an angel, 
 
 slumb'ring free from cares and tears 
 'In the little, narrow dwelling, 
 
 that the noble courser bears/ 
 Silent terror questions mutely; 
 
 wonderment and deep surprize 
 At events so strange and fearful 
 
 look from each mute hearer's eyes. 
 And while servants true the coffin 
 
 quick within the hall convey, 
 Tells Sir Jan the wondrous story 
 
 to his wife and father grey. 
 'By the wild foe taken captive, 
 
 to his wild home journied I, 
 'Dragging cruel, cruel fetters; 
 
 fetters of my slavery. 
 'To the Khan of Kasan fell I. 
 
 Earthly man can never know 
 'Greater happiness than freedom, 
 
 or than slav'ry greater woe. 
 'Let me silent pass the sorrow, 
 
 and the pain and bitter grief, 
 
 D 
 
34 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 'When long days, weeks, months succeeding 
 
 came and went without relief. 
 'Long the time and slow its passage, 
 
 while in all unworthy toil 
 r I, a fetter'd slave, was serving 
 
 as a tiller of the soil. 
 'But one day the Khan of Kasan; 
 
 'twas a thing of strange surprize ; 
 ' Summon'd me before his presence ; 
 
 dare I, dare I trust mine eyes? 
 'Wratislaw, my youngest brother, 
 
 at his side I do descry, 
 'Pale and sadly travel- wasted, 
 
 e'en as one whose death is nigh. 
 'Ere surprize's cry hath left me, 
 
 with a scornful smile doth speak 
 'Kasan's Khan — "My slave, look hither! 
 
 see this wasted child and weak! 
 'He, his little limbs scarce dragging; 
 
 feeble are his limbs and frame ; 
 'He, his breath to draw scarce able, 
 
 doth himself thy brother name. 
 'Come he is to seek thy freedom, 
 
 come he is with purpose brave, 
 ' Come for thee himself to offer, 
 
 as a captive and a slave. 
 ' Say if the exchange doth please thee ? 
 
 wilt the proffer'd freedom have ? " 
 'I will own it; I was speechless, 
 
 still by wonderment opprest; 
 
WRATISLAW. 35 
 
 ' But the child all proudly rising ; 
 
 — rays as from an angel hlest 
 'From his visage pale were beaming; 
 
 — thus the mighty Khan addrest: 
 '"Mighty lord, thy gaze directing 
 
 to my little, tender frame, 
 'Soon to be death's early victim, 
 
 think, O ! think, how here I came ; 
 'How my little feet have borne me 
 
 countless risks and terrors through, 
 'From Morava's distant region 
 
 thy imperial throne unto. 
 'Could a little, feeble body, 
 
 such as mine, the task fulfil? 
 'But He gave me — He who guides me — 
 
 gave me pow'r to do His will. 
 'Worms at His almighty bidding 
 
 elephants o'ermaster can, 
 'Midges can the lion vanquish — 
 
 therefore listen, Kasan's Khan! 
 'God hath bid me fetch my brother 
 
 from his slavery with thee, 
 'God hath bid me, as his ransom, 
 
 leave myself thy slave to be ; 
 ' For a noble race is threat'ning 
 
 soon to fail and perish all, 
 'Soon into the grave-like darkness 
 
 of forgetfulness to fall ; 
 'Therefore grant my brothers freedom, 
 
 that he may to future days 
 
 D2 
 
36 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 
 
 'His most noble race continue 
 
 for renown and splendid praise. 
 'Hear the words, O Khan of Kasan, 
 
 which my God and Lord and Guide 
 ' Through my mouth to thee hath spoken, 
 
 through my mouth hath prophesied : 
 'Seven sons, all valiant heroes, 
 
 bloom, O Kasan's Khan, to thee ; 
 'All the seven wan and faded 
 
 sev'n short months will surely see ; 
 'All will fade in short months seven, 
 
 sett'st thou not my brother free." 
 'Speaking thus, down sinks he dying; 
 
 golden beams that daze the eye 
 'Round the little body hover, 
 
 where it motionless doth lie, 
 'As credentials of the mission, 
 
 that was sent him from on high. 
 ' Seven days of fear and anguish, 
 
 seven long days did the Khan 
 ' Keep me in suspense ; then to his 
 
 presence call'd, and thus began: 
 ' " See the dead corpse of thy brother, 
 
 whence corruption and decay 
 ' My Arabian physician 
 
 by his art hath chas'd away ! 
 ' Thus 'tis meet for noble heroes ; 
 
 for in all my days, I ween, 
 'Than this little child a greater 
 
 never, never have I seen. 
 
WRATISLAW. 37 
 
 Here is gold for thy long journey ; 
 
 in the court two horses chafe ; 
 'One for thee, one for the body; 
 
 homeward now; thy path is safe."' 
 Now the three, in distant mansion, 
 
 round a coffin kneeling sigh, 
 Kneeling round a little coffin; 
 
 and the lid they lift on high. 
 Now the three w 7 ith eyes tear-moisten'd, 
 
 praising God's all-gracious might, 
 On a little corpse are gazing, 
 
 which to slumber seems in sight. 
 Tender is that corpse and lovely ; 
 
 and its lovely angel gaze 
 To them, as they look, upon it, 
 
 silently, but plainly, says : 
 'Rightly was I nam'd, and rightly 
 
 Wratislaw hath been my name; 
 ' For in times of desolation, 
 
 when my House to ruin came, 
 c Through my deed and God's assistance 
 
 glory back return'd and fame/ 
 
ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
THE THREE AGES. 
 
 THERE was a time, when in each nation's ear 
 The name of Czechs right gloriously sounded ; 
 By heroes borne, by dukes unknown to fear, 
 Its fame and praise all Europe thro' redounded. 
 
 There was a time Bohemians proudly bore 
 The splendid, glorious, mighty Czeskish name; 
 
 When ev'ry muse and science to adore 
 
 To all Bohemia's sons was pride and fame. 
 
 There was a time, when from a throne on high 
 The ' sweet Bohemian tongue'* was heard to sound ; 
 
 Entrancing music, heav'nly harmony, 
 In princely palaces it spread around. 
 
 O then the Czech was proud a Czech to be ! 
 
 Proud to maintain the honour of his race ! 
 Bloom'd in the Lion's land prosperity!, 
 
 Such as but patriot nations e'er can grace ! 
 
 * The expression of the Emperor Charles IV. 
 t The Lion with two tails is the emblem of Bohemia. 
 
42 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 That time passed by ; an age of ill came on, 
 An age Bohemia's people doom'd to quell; 
 
 Its moral forces faintness seiz'd upon, 
 Itself in intellectual bondage fell. 
 
 The Czech his mother-country ceased to love, 
 He ceased himself to treasure as before ; 
 
 No more his sires' remember'd exploits move, 
 Their glories to deserve he strives no more. 
 
 The Czech denied his country blood and tongue; 
 
 All that his fathers priz'd from home was thrown ; 
 Speech, customs, loses foreigners among, 
 
 And doth the brethren of his blood disown. 
 
 Then sank Bohemia's sun in cheerlessness, 
 Her Genius 'gan weep with drooping head, 
 
 Fled from the land the nation's happiness, 
 And all the fam'd Bohemian Muses fled. 
 
 O then what pangs the patriot's bosom rend, 
 Thus past the golden ages of his home ! 
 
 O then how mourn'd the people's real friend, 
 The nation sinking in so foul a tomb ! 
 
 But lo! God's Angel calls, e Arise again!' 
 
 'Up from your graves,' his trumpet sounds 6 arise!" 
 
 Spires of the patriot's temple, gleam again! 
 c Nation, thy resurrection solemnize!' 
 
THE THREE AGES. 43 
 
 Thus speaks the patriot Angel gloriously, 
 And lo ! what thousands from their graves upstart ! 
 
 Each joying that his life again is free, 
 All utt'ring thanks to God with grateful heart! 
 
 Th' ancestral spirit in its wondrous might 
 
 Inspireth all the corners of the land; 
 The words 'He is arisen' glad recite 
 
 The priests who in their country's temple stand. 
 
 Then rise up all ! ye sleepers till to-day ! 
 
 The day-star is aris'n — the dawn doth glow!— 
 The nightingales are singing — why delay? — 
 
 Shame on the man who is the laggard now! 
 
 O brethren, for your nation live again! 
 
 Be lifeless members of its corpse no more ! 
 It and your mother-land confess again ! 
 
 Be faithful sons and brethren as of yore ! 
 
 Your language, customs, rights, ye Czechs, revere ! 
 
 And prove indeed ye are Bohemians born! 
 So shall th' ancestral glories re-appear, 
 
 Your own lov'd land in splendour to adorn! 
 
 %* Cz in Czech (which is the Polish, not the Bohemian 
 orthography, it being impossible for want of types to employ 
 the marked letters, as the Bohemians do) should be pronounced 
 like our ch in church. The ch at the end of the word is the only 
 guttural sound in the Bohemian language. 
 
DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 
 
 WHITHER, my country's guardian Angel, now? 
 Whither, O holy Genius, draw'st thou me? 
 I gaze upon a wide abyss below — 
 Is it Bohemia's children's grave I see? 
 
 'Tis of her glorious sons the cemetry, 
 And there thine elder brethren buried stay ; 
 
 There quiet on their mothers breast they lie, 
 After the mighty labours of their day. 
 
 'There from three mountains tears of sorrow flow, 
 Their woeful course throughout thou may'st behold, 
 
 And through the sacred land those rivers go, 
 Like Lethe, Styx and Acheron of old. 
 
 c Where'er thou gazest, holy bones are there, 
 
 To which posterity is deep in debt ; 
 Each hill thou see'st is Virtue's sepulchre, 
 
 Each castle as a glorious record set. 
 
 'Here doth its glorious garlands in the shade 
 This valiant nation to concealment give, 
 
 Upon its mother's bosom quiet laid, 
 
 Like bees abiding in their monarch's hive : 
 
46 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 'Bees, that their weapons knew with courage brave 
 Right well to use in many a conflict rude; 
 
 Bees, that their honey oft to others gave, 
 Yet earn'd but insult and ingratitude. 
 
 ' Amongst her neighbours it Bohemia was, 
 That lighted erst the torch of wisdom free; 
 
 The valour of Bohemia's sons it was, 
 Won for the whole of Europe liberty. 
 
 'Send thither now the glances of thine eye, 
 Where Olmutz dwells in ancient hoariness, 
 
 There, there, thou dost behold the " mount not high*," 
 Which wonders to the regions publishes. 
 
 ' Six centuries are now already gone 
 
 Into the ocean of eternity, 
 Since there that ever-glorious deed was done, 
 
 Wrought by Bohemias valiant chivalry. 
 
 'Lift, lift thy head, thou glorious Hostajnow! 
 
 The glories of that sacred time proclaim! 
 Yourselves to all the world, ye heroes, shew! 
 
 Who there achievd the deed of endless fame ! 
 
 ' Hear, how from out the wondrous mountain's womb 
 
 A hollow sound right gloriously flows ! 
 See the dark quires of spirits forwards come, 
 
 Which to the eye the mountain doth disclose! 
 * See p. 7, line 6. 
 
DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 47 
 
 ' Spirits of slaughter'd foes of old are they, 
 With threats of ruin once on Europe pour'd ; 
 
 Beside their chief they stand in sad array,— 
 'Tis Paidar-Khan with his Tataric horde ! 
 
 'See there above, how in the clear blue sky 
 A noble picture doth its glories shew! 
 
 How in the proud victorious dawn on high 
 A starry host is gazing down below! 
 
 c And midst in that victorious company 
 A jewel gleameth to his country dear, 
 
 The slayer of the Mongol- Khan is he — 
 Tis Jaroslaw in glory doth appear! 
 
 'Here is that battle-field for ever fam'd, 
 Here see'st the tombs of the Tataric bands, 
 
 Here were the fetters they for Europe fram'd 
 For ever shatterd by Slavonic hands! 
 
 'E'en as the ocean- waves towards the shore, 
 
 The wild ones westwards hurl'd themselves apace, 
 
 Yet did they strike and break for evermore 
 Against the rocks of the Bohemian race ! 
 
 'Seek'st of that hero deed the monument, 
 
 Which half the world the bliss of freedom gave? 
 
 Nature herself a glorious monument 
 
 Prepard for her true sons and warriors brave. 
 
48 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 ' For them no lofty pyramid doth rise, 
 
 Inscrib'd with rows of splendid words that flow; 
 The Queen's-Court Manuscript their legend is*, 
 
 Their monument the mountain Hostajnow. 
 
 'Go now, and that, for which thy brethren here 
 Shed their best blood in battle, learn to love ! 
 
 Go, learn that sacred mother to revere, 
 For whom in fight Bohemias Lion strove. 1, 
 
 * See p. xvii of the Introductory Essay. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 E 
 
LYRICAL POEMS? 51 
 
 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 UPON the plain an oak-tree stands, 
 A cuckoo there doth sing, 
 And still she mourns and still complains, 
 That 'tis not always Spring. 
 
 How in the fields could ripen corn, 
 
 If Spring were evermoe? 
 How apples on the orchard-trees, 
 
 Were Summer ne'er to go? 
 
 Or how the ears in garners freeze, 
 Were nought but Autumn known? 
 
 How woeful were it for the maid, 
 If always left alone I 
 
 E2 
 
52 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 ALAS! ye woods, ye gloomy woods! 
 Ye woods of Miletin! 
 In summer and in winter too 
 Why are ye ever green? 
 
 Right glad were I did I not weep, 
 
 And my poor heart torment, 
 But, O good people, tell to me, 
 
 Who would not thus lament? 
 
 Where, where's my father, father dear? 
 
 He in the grave is low; 
 Where, where's my mother, mother good? 
 
 O'er her the grass doth grow : 
 Brothers and sisters none remain, 
 My lover they away have ta'en. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 53 
 
 THE LARK. 
 
 ALL in a lordly garden ground 
 Is weeding -hemp a maid, 
 A Lark addresses her and asks, 
 Why sad, and why afraid? 
 
 ' O how can I then joyful be, 
 
 Thou pretty little lark ? 
 My lover they have ta'en from me, 
 
 And shut in dungeon dark. 
 
 O had I, had I but a pen, 
 
 A letter I would write, 
 And thou my messenger shouldst be, 
 
 And with it take thy flight. 
 
 But I've no paper, I've no pen, 
 
 To write a letter now, 
 So greet my love with song, and say, 
 
 That here I pine with woe/ 
 
54 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 BLUE EYES. 
 
 OYE eyes, ye eyes, 
 Eyes so clear and blue, 
 All with me is whirling, 
 If I think on you. 
 
 Where's my cheerful humour? 
 
 Where's my comfort gone? 
 It, so soon I saw you, 
 
 Vanish'd thereupon. 
 
 As an arrow, swiftly 
 
 Did it all depart, 
 Leaving in my bosom 
 
 Never-ending smart. 
 
 Wheresoe'er I turn me, 
 Where my footsteps go, 
 
 Ev'ry where I see you, 
 Eyes so clear and blue. 
 
 O ye eyes, ye eyes, 
 
 Eyes so blue and clear, 
 Cease not to torment me, 
 Long as I live here! 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 55 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 THE rose it sweetly bloometh, 
 But whose then shall it be? 
 Ah ! long long time I watch'd it, 
 Alas! unhappy me! 
 
 As long as undevelopd, 
 And in the bud it grows, 
 
 There's no one looks upon it, 
 Nor marks the coming rose. 
 
 O carefully I watch'd it, 
 
 Like pearls that precious be; 
 
 O then it was a promise 
 Of future bliss to me ! 
 
 But soon as from the green leaves 
 
 An issue forth it found, 
 It was the admiration 
 Of all the lads around ! 
 
•56 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 FARE thee well, forget me not! 
 Grant me in thy memory place, 
 Canst thou me no further grace; 
 More my fate alloweth not. 
 
 Fare thee well, forget me not! 
 
 Ever dearest of my heart, 
 
 From my sad thoughts ne'er to part, 
 Long as life departeth not! 
 
 Fare thee w%ll, forget me not! 
 
 Till we here have mourn'd enough, 
 Till we here have borne enough, 
 Till thy fate more claimeth not, 
 Fare thee well, forget me not ! 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 57 
 
 ACCOMPANYING HOME. 
 
 AS I my own Ludmilla 
 Conducted to her home, 
 Upon the grass we sat us, — 
 What's that to any one? 
 
 But it was nothing naughty, 
 That there we two were at, 
 
 But only open-hearted 
 Did we together chat. 
 
 I squeeze her little fingers, 
 With faltering voice declare, 
 
 ' If hut, my dear Ludmilla, 
 A bit more grown you were ! ' 
 
 She cast her little eyes down, 
 And at her cheeks so bright, 
 
 (So red they glow'd with blushes,) 
 You might a candle light. 
 
 I speak again, 'Dear Maiden, 
 What is it makes thy woe'? 
 
 With that upon me streaming, 
 Her scalding tears did flow. 
 
58 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 'O weep not, golden maiden! 
 
 what has come to thee? 
 For thee has ever, ever, 
 
 My heart beat loyally/ 
 
 Thereon with fond affection 
 Her to my heart I press, 
 And all intoxicated 
 
 1 swim in happiness. 
 
 The calm still moon forth issued, 
 
 All wan and pale was she, 
 And when I kiss'd my darling, 
 
 She smil'd our bliss to see. 
 
 To meet again to-morrow 
 
 We faithful promise made, 
 But something rustled near us, — 
 
 O how we were afraid! 
 
 Then I at length arising 
 
 Accompanied her home, 
 And still I gave her kisses — 
 
 What's that to any one? 
 
 %* This song is extremely popular with the "lower orders" 
 in Bohemia, I have therefore employed extremely popular lan- 
 guage in the translation. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 59 
 
 MARY. 
 
 GLORY'S wreath of endlessness 
 Tempts not to the poet's strife, 
 Tis my heart's deep happiness 
 Wakes itself in song to life. 
 
 If these tones win commendation, 
 If they nought of censure know, 
 
 What care I ? if approbation 
 From a single hand doth flow. 
 
 Cause of this sweet narrowness, 
 Thee to sing shall be my bliss; 
 Be, O gentle Mary mine, 
 Thou my muse and grace divine ! 
 
60 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 MY dearest, dearest mother! 
 Come tell, O tell to me, 
 What that, which in my bosom 
 Unceasing plays can be ? 
 
 It playeth and it singeth, 
 Sometimes about it springs ; 
 
 Sure shut up in my bosom's 
 A little bird with wings. 
 
 Up stairs a cage is ready, 
 O go and fetch it here, 
 
 We'll catch the little birdie, 
 And close confine him there. 
 
 We'll place him in the window, 
 And he to us shall sing, 
 
 Both when we're at our supper, 
 And when we're breakfasting. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 61 
 
 THE GENTLE DOVE. 
 
 FROM the oak the dove 
 Flutters to her love ; 
 By the pools my lover, 
 Horses he doth fodder ; 
 I to him will rove. 
 
 Lo ! the gentle dove 
 
 Billeth with her love! 
 Why should it be ill, 
 That we too should bill, 
 
 While we're young, my love: 
 
62 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 CHANGE OF TASTE 
 
 TTlIS wonderful how changeable 
 
 X The race of man is found, 
 
 How frequently with alt'ring age, 
 
 The heart too turneth round! 
 
 When little, they with little things 
 
 Mostly delighted are, 
 For which, when they are bigger grown, 
 
 They very little care. 
 
 In me though it inverted is, 
 
 This change of youthful flames, 
 Tom-pigeons once I us'd to love, 
 
 But now I love the dames*. 
 
 Holnby tom-pigeons — holubice, dame-pigeons — holubicky, 
 little dame-pigeons, also a term of endearment. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 63 
 
 THREE DIDACTIC POEMS. 
 
 i. 
 
 COME the stars and go again, 
 Rises too and sets the sun; 
 Thus throughout the universe 
 Ever changeless changes run. 
 
 World round world is still revolving, 
 Star round star doth ceaseless go; 
 
 Thus it was from the beginning, 
 Thus it will be evermoe. 
 
 Round the earth the moon revolveth, 
 Round the sun both take their road; 
 ( Let thy heart move round thy country, 
 With thy country round thy God ! 
 
64 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 OMY son, when first thou earnest 
 Into this world's paradise, 
 All around thee then was smiling, 
 Thou alone hadst weeping eyes. 
 
 Be it ever thy endeavour, 
 
 That, when thy last hour is come, 
 (When around thee all is weeping, 
 
 Thou with smiles may'st meet thy doom ! } 
 
 III. 
 
 SON beloved ! if in bondage 
 Man the nightingale doth bring, 
 He to all things can constrain him,. 
 All, but out of love to sing. 
 
 Even so, when man his fellow 
 With despotic rule doth sway, 
 
 Easily he can compel him 
 Humble reverence to pay; 
 
 Timidly to quail before him, 
 
 Kiss the scourge that gives him pain;- 
 ( He to all things can constrain him, 
 But his love he cannot gain ! ) 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 65 
 
 THE MADJAROMANIA. 
 
 HUNGARIANS, Hungarians! 
 Why do ye these wrongs? 
 Why strive from our people 
 To wrench out their tongues ? 
 This not the wild Tatars 
 Endeavour'd to do, 
 Than them to he fiercer 
 Is't pleasing to you? 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE DANUBE. 
 
 DANUBE, O Danube ! 
 Great, great is thy pride, 
 Yet boast not, O boast not, 
 Thy waters are wide ! 
 The brooks and the rivers, 
 That into thee flow, 
 Assist thee so great 
 And so mighty to grow ! 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 67 
 
 LOVER'S FEELINGS. 
 
 FAIN I'd be thy wishes' shadow! 
 In thy hands a ball I'd be ! 
 Thou can'st give me life or take it, 
 And thy word is heaven's key. 
 
 For commands thy bondman waiting 
 Nothing but thine eyes doth know, 
 
 And thy ev'ry movement scares him— 
 What would then thine anger do? 
 
 F2 
 
68 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 MY SONGS. 
 
 FRUIT of a Slavonic heart, 
 Into the wide world depart, 
 Ye daughters of my soul ! 
 Go, beloved children, go ! 
 Flowers of feeling bloom for you, 
 Your fatherland is full ! 
 
 Seek the grove and seek the home, 
 Cottage mean, and stately dome, 
 
 And meekest preludes play; 
 If they look with scorn upon you, 
 If the gate they fasten on you, 
 
 Begin beneath your lay. 
 
 Pass no door as on you wend, 
 Some one sure his ear will lend, 
 
 In your own land are ye; 
 Age and childhood list your strains, 
 Youths, when love the bosom pains, 
 
 Maids, when the sweet hours be. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 69 
 
 Should Bohemian friends demand, 
 Who into your fatherland 
 
 Hath sent you, say, that he, 
 Who nor pearls nor sceptres prizes, 
 Who for feeling gold despises, 
 
 Must a Bohemian be. 
 
70 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 THE breeze lightly waveth 
 The lily so fair, 
 Amidst the sweet petals 
 
 The bee batheth there ; 
 He will not, he will not, 
 
 Away further flit — 
 What hold those sweet petals 
 For food ever fit? 
 
 The youth fond embracing 
 
 Enfoldeth his prize, 
 Eye and soul ever bathing 
 
 Themselves in her eyes; 
 He will not, he will not, 
 
 Depart further on, — 
 O tell me what honey 
 
 Her lips dwells upon ? 
 
 O seek but the kisses 
 
 Of love in your home ; 
 In heav'n there's abundance 
 
 Of that sweet honeycomb ; 
 There ever o'erfloweth 
 
 The beaker of love, 
 With drops ever streaming 
 
 Towards earth from above. 
 
LYKICAL POEMS. 71 
 
 TO MY COUNTRY. 
 
 GLAD to thee I sing, my country, 
 In my veins thy blood doth bound, 
 Ever mine thy sorrows deeming, 
 Of thy fleeted glories dreaming, 
 Which like spirits hover round. 
 
 Oft methinketh, will thy glory, 
 
 O my country! bloom again? 
 Or to death condemn'd for ever, 
 Is it doom'd to blossom never, 
 
 Like the grass the scythe has taen? 
 
 O I hope for times of splendour, 
 
 Times when all a change shall have; 
 Hark! I hear the loud bells ringing, 
 Ev'rywhere the glad news flinging, 
 Slawa's glories leave the grave! 
 
 After me to thee another, 
 
 O my country ! songs shall sing ; 
 Then shall from the soil of sadness 
 Roses grow, whence scents of gladness 
 Forth for the whole world shall spring. 
 
72 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS. 
 
 OF all the flowers that Vesna* waketh, 
 When glad return in love she maketh, 
 Forget-me-nots to me are dear, 
 To kiss and kiss from year to year. 
 
 O fondly them the gard'ner dresses, 
 Clips the wild grass that round them presses, 
 At morn and eve doth water bring, 
 And blesses them, as up they spring. 
 
 Their blossom is my dearest joy, 
 My youthful cares did they employ, 
 My heart's the soil wherein they grow, 
 Their moisture — streaming tears that flow. 
 
 The gard'ner, he is Time gone by, 
 In which the youth dream'd pleasantly, 
 The garden-lands of Slawa's race, 
 All which my feelings warm embrace. 
 
 * Vesna, the Slavonic goddess of Spring. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 73 
 
 To ev'ry pleasure of my fate 
 One of these flowers is consecrate, 
 
 And all forget-me-nots of mine 
 
 Around a linden* spray I twine. 
 
 * The linden was the sacred tree of the Slavonic Mythology, 
 and is now regarded as the symbol of patriotism. 
 
74 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 DEPARTED SOULS. 
 
 A 
 
 S dawns the morning twilight gray,, 
 The bell proclaims the festal day 
 Of faithful spirits fled ; 
 The churchward path doth Hanna seek, 
 The tender tear bedews her cheek, 
 Her own lov'd Jan is dead. 
 
 And there where he had stood intent, 
 With looks of love upon her bent, 
 
 She mourns in secret meek; 
 Her hands are clasp'd, upcast her eyes, 
 Glist'ning with tears, towards the skies, 
 
 Her mute lips seem to speak. 
 
 But when the people hymns of praise 
 To God for parted spirits raise, 
 
 And "Rest in peace" resounds, 
 Sends Hanna too her voice above, 
 The Father of eternal love, 
 
 She knows, will heal her wounds. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 75 
 
 When at the ending festival 
 Before the sacred altar all 
 
 For friends their offerings lay, 
 Hanna unclasps a heart of gold, 
 'The gift of him, whom slumbers hold, 
 
 That pass no more away. 
 
 As back she to her cottage wends, 
 The sun into the height ascends, 
 
 Image of life to come ; 
 And then doth Hanna upward gaze, 
 Amidst her tears a smile there plays, 
 
 She sees the lov'd one's home ! 
 
76 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 /^VFT doth man in distant regions 
 " Seek the Eden of his life, 
 Marks not in the war of feeling, 
 
 That a May at hand is rife. 
 Sailor-like, in seas of longing 
 
 He pursues a happy doom, 
 Ignorant, that for him heaven 
 
 In the simple cot may hloom. 
 
 After lands abroad and kingdoms 
 
 Still he passionately strains, 
 Fate, with him for ever sporting, 
 
 Sometimes flatters, sometimes chains. 
 He, his aim attain'd believing, 
 
 Rests his brow his palm upon, 
 Still a weary while awaits him, 
 
 Ere his paradise be won. 
 
 But he hath no strength remaining, 
 
 Powerless he to wander more, 
 Back he to his country wendeth, 
 
 Where he had complain'd before; 
 And he mourns the staff he lifted, 
 
 In the troubled world to go, 
 For the far-sought bliss he findeth 
 
 Near in his own bosom now. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 77 
 
 PATRIOTISM MISUNDERSTOOD. 
 
 /^\ MY country, let thy son 
 
 ^^ Mourn his mother's hreast upon ! 
 
 Wrongful brethren cause my woe; 
 Crying, there's no warmth to me 
 In the inmost heart for thee — 
 
 O my country, thou dost know ! j 
 
 If, when night is calm and still, 
 Secret tears mine eyes o'erfill, 
 
 If they on thy bosom flow ; 
 If my lot I'd cast with thee, 
 Sharing joy and woe with thee, 
 
 O my country, thou dost know ! 
 
 What the youth in fancy roving, 
 What the man in transport loving, 
 
 Swore and swears again to do, — 
 Mother, if to thee I'd bring 
 Life and all in offering— 
 
 O my country, thou dost know! 
 
 If I from my word depart, 
 If the gushings of my heart 
 
 For another ever flow ; 
 If, when life is leaving me, 
 Thou my last last cry wilt be, 
 
 O my country, thou dost know. 
 
78 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 ARRIVAL OF THE CZECHS. 
 
 WHERE Tatar mountains to the skies 
 Above all pine-clad hills arise, 
 Where Visla's* streams are rolld; 
 There finds the mountain-region place, 
 The cradle of the Czeskish race, 
 Thence came the Czechs of old. 
 
 They've cross'd three rivers on their road, 
 An eagle shew'd the will of God, 
 
 Up to the hills their guide ; 
 While he on high doth hovering go 
 Leads Czech the people down below, 
 
 Where the green plain is wide. 
 
 He westward with the sun doth go, 
 
 V 
 
 When soft Sumawa'st breezes blow, 
 
 To Labe'st streams they come; 
 Amidst the land he stands and calls, 
 He kneels, the tear in gladness falls, 
 
 He kisses the new home. 
 
 Calls to his brethren ''Woodlands clear, 
 Make ploughs, and gardens soon appear, 
 
 * Visla, the Vistula. 
 
 t Suraawa, the mountain range to the west of Bohemia. 
 
 \ Labe, the Elbe. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 79 
 
 Aids Radihost* the while; 
 Forth from the ground spring golden ears, 
 With them a golden age appears, 
 
 And Swantowit doth smile." 
 
 Therefore with pious zeal that burns 
 To sacred Rzip his steps he turns, 
 
 To praise Perun on high ; 
 For prosperous times he prays and fair, 
 For fame — the people gather'd there 
 
 Doth "Long live Czechia!" cry. 
 
 * Radihost, the Slavonic goddess of trade. Swantowit, the 
 god of war. Rzip, the sacred mountain, where Perun the god 
 of thunder, the supreme deity, was adored. 
 
80 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 TEAR OF LOVE. 
 
 O'ER the brook a rose there bloometh, 
 In the brook its image glows, 
 Therefore scented pearls there hasten 
 Downwards from the grateful rose. 
 
 One of these the brook attaining 
 Scents of Ede*n round it sows, 
 
 Every billow bounds for pleasure 
 At the notice of the rose. 
 
 My full heart's of love a fountain, 
 And thy soul is mirror'd there ; 
 
 On tills constant heart in kindness 
 Drop, dear maid, a single tear. 
 
 So the stream of life becometh, 
 
 As with honey, sweet to me ; 
 Tears from lovely eyes must ever 
 
 Nectar fit for angels be. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 81 
 
 SOURCE OF SONGS. 
 
 WONDER not I sing, sweet Maiden! 
 Love my soul doth rive, 
 Ev'ry glance, thine eye that leaveth, 
 Me a song doth give. 
 
 When the song itself developes 
 
 From my inmost heart, 
 Doth, methinks, an angel whispers 
 
 From his hymns impart. 
 
 Words thus found me, I Bohemia's 
 
 Harp melodious try, 
 And of love it sweetly soundeth, 
 
 Hope and constancy. 
 
 There's as many songs* as glances, 
 Thou their source dost know; 
 
 Give me then a thousand glances! 
 Maiden, say not No! 
 
 G 
 
82 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 THEY who cease as time goes by, 
 c Father, mother dear/ to cry, 
 They are needy, they are poor, 
 Gold and silver though they store; 
 How much more then poorer he 
 Who to strangers' doors must flee ! 
 
 Strangers all, and nowhere home ! 
 From the cheek all joy is gone! 
 Een the chafers homes have found, 
 On the green leaves sleeping sound ; 
 Only I, poor orphan, weep, 
 On the pavement doom'd to sleep. 
 
 Still I do not quite despair, 
 Heav'nward gazing — God is there! 
 Evry flower he tendeth mild, 
 Looketh too on me his child, 
 He, the lilies clothing fair, 
 Doth for the poor orphan care. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 83 
 
 THE MAY-TREE. 
 
 A MAY-TREE fair at Whitsuntide 
 Was brought me by my lover, 
 It was the fairest pine he could 
 In all the grove discover. 
 
 E'en as a fish's eye the moon 
 
 Doth in my chamber shine, 
 I see him from the window, and 
 
 His feelings well divine. 
 
 He at the window knock'd, and i Grant, 
 
 O grant one kiss ! ' he cried, 
 But like a little mouse beneath 
 
 The coverlet I hide. 
 
 Right eye above the coverlet 
 
 Seems fast asleep to be, 
 Left eye beneath the coverlet 
 
 Laughs at him merrily. 
 
 He calls again; not so the stag 
 
 Thirsts for the cooling tide, 
 Not so the bee that longing seeks 
 
 For honey far and wide. 
 
 G2 
 
84 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 But in my chamber 'twas as still," 
 
 As though a grave it were, 
 Only the beating of my heart 
 
 Betray'd that I was there. 
 
 Long time he knock'd, long time he call'd, 
 
 At length the suer went, 
 His lovely voice though conquerd me, 
 
 And to the window sent. 
 
 A little bit I raise it up, 
 
 I think that he is fled — 
 He catches me, he kisses me, 
 
 Until my neck is red. 
 
LYKICAL POEMS. 85 
 
 THE EXPRESSION 'NO.' 
 
 ERE I won my love's affections, 
 There to school I needs must go, 
 Did I ask her or entreat her, 
 Evermore she answer'd, No. 
 
 Once we in a lovely valley 
 
 Sate a linden-tree below, 
 For a little kiss I ask'd her, 
 
 But she gave me answer, No. 
 
 Near a nightingale is sitting, 
 Singing soft of love and woe, 
 
 I inquire, if love she feeleth, 
 But she gives me answer, No. 
 
 Quick I turn the conversation, 
 
 While my veins with fever glow — 
 
 Must I then for ever shun thee? 
 But she softly whisper 'd, No. 
 
 To my heart I fold, I press her, 
 Kiss her till the echoes flow, 
 
 Then I ask her, if she's angry, 
 But she softly whispers, No. 
 
86 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Thus I now have learnt sufficient ; 
 
 Wishes cannot further go, 
 Sweet to me is now th' expression, 
 
 That was once so bitter, No. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 87 
 
 THE MID-DAY WITCH. 
 
 ON the oak the sunbeams play'd, 
 'Neath the oak there stood a maid, 
 Strawberries she gather' d there 
 For a feast till mid-day fair. 
 
 To her comes a lady white, 
 With a golden girdle dight, 
 But her loose dishevell'd hair 
 All conceals her count'nance fair. 
 
 She doth to the maiden say, 
 Wait, O wait awhile, I pray! 
 If the hair thou plait'st for me, 
 Thou shalt sometime blooming be. 
 
 Sit the maid and lady white, 
 With the golden girdle dight, 
 And the maiden plaits the hair, 
 Which conceals her count'nance fair. 
 
 After, when the maid arose, 
 Gifts the Vila fair bestows, 
 Little leaves of hawthorn free, 
 Large leaves from the old oak-tree. 
 
88 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Fleets the Vila, homeward now 
 Doth the maid returning go ; 
 Tossing scornfully her head, 
 O'er the path the leaves she spread. 
 
 Then at home the tale she told, 
 As her apron she doth fold, 
 Ah! hut how astonish'd she, 
 Gold and silver sheen to see! 
 
 Then she knows the Vila white 
 Would the service small requite, 
 Silver leaves of hawthorn free 
 Golden from the old oak-tree. 
 
 Quiet can she not attain, 
 Till the leaves she seeks again, 
 But the leaves alas! are gone, 
 And the maiden weeps alone. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 89 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 IF again thou mourning weepest, 
 Wounded heart of mine, 
 That a maiden's soul disowneth 
 
 Worth and merits thine, 
 Thee I'll comfort, as a father 
 
 Comforteth his child, 
 When th' enchanting flow'ret's ravish'd 
 By the tempest wild. 
 
 Chides the father — 'Weep no longer, 
 
 Other flowers he thine, 
 For a single flower, my dearest, 
 
 Doth the sun not shine. 
 In the groves and meadows thousands 
 
 Find we day by day, 
 Only wait, dear child, a little 
 
 For approaching May/ 
 
 But, my heart, in thy recesses 
 
 Deep the knowledge lies, 
 That I scarce thy grief can comfort, 
 
 As a child that cries. 
 Weep then on, true heart and sorrow, 
 
 Weep, ye eyes, in woe; 
 Tears for love — my blood must only 
 
 For my country flow! 
 
90 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE PATRIOTS LAMENT. 
 
 MOUNTAIN, mountain, thou art high! 
 Hear'st thou not our wailing cry? 
 See'st thou not the streams that glow 
 From the eyes of patriots flow? 
 
 Wherefore shines the sun on thee, 
 That thy top doth glitter free, 
 And thy meadows ev'ry May 
 To our sorrow blossom gay? 
 
 Hear how sounds Vltava's shore* ! 
 Hear the distant thunders roar ! 
 'Tis our lips in whispers low 
 Cursing thee for evermoe. 
 
 Doth the true Czech thee espy, 
 Terror-struck he draweth nigh, 
 Anguish dire his bosom fires, 
 That he sleeps not with his sires. 
 
 Cursed mountain, mountain white ! 
 Upon thee was crush'd our might; 
 What in thee lies cover d o'er 
 Ages cannot back restore. 
 
 * Vltava, the river Moldau, upon which Prague is situated. 
 
LYRICAL POEMS. 91 
 
 When the glorious times were set, 
 Men must needs the tombs forget; 
 Where their fathers' blood was spilt, 
 There the lads a church have built. 
 
 Storm, why shatter'st thou it not? 
 Tempest, why destroy 'st it not? 
 Nation, why in glorious war 
 Driv'st thou not thy shame afar? 
 
 But in vain our calls resound, 
 Still the mountain sleepeth sound, 
 Firm the church abideth there, 
 And from tempests nought doth fear. 
 
 Mountain, mountain, thou art high ! 
 Seest thou life and vengeance nigh? 
 When thy church in ruins lies, 
 Slawa from her grave shall rise. 
 
92 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 HEJ SLOVANE! 
 
 HEY Slavonians! our Slavonic language still is 
 living, t 
 
 Long as our true loyal heart is for our nation striving. 
 Lives, lives, the Slavonic spirit, and 'twill live for ever; 
 Hell and thunder! vain against us all your rage 
 shall shiver! 
 
 Language is the gift of God, our God who sways the 
 
 thunder, 
 In this world may none our language from us put 
 asunder. 
 Though as many devils come, as earth with people 
 
 swarmeth, 
 God is with us, and Perun 'gainst our opponents 
 stormeth. 
 
 Fearful may the tempest o'er us hover, rocks may 
 
 crumble, 
 Oaks may split, and all around may yawning earth- 
 quakes tremble : 
 Like a castle's walls we'll stand, a firm and stedfast 
 
 nation, — 
 May black earth the scoundrel swallow who deserts 
 his station! 
 
 * m * The above political song appeared to me too striking and 
 characteristic of the present feelings of the people to be omitted. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 TO W. G. C. 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 95 
 
 THE WREATH. 
 
 A WREATH of flow'rets for a maiden's brow, 
 The earliest daughters of the budding spring ! 
 Such would I twine, and place them there to blow, 
 And gaze upon them and their beauties sing. 
 
 First then I seek the willowy bank, and frame 
 A circlet rich with flowers of golden hue, 
 
 Rich too with emblems and a meaning name — 
 O may the end approve its meaning true! 
 
 The palm-branch is the prize of victory — 
 O that these palms may prove prophetic now! 
 
 Life is a contest, and its end must be 
 
 Shame, or a deathless crown upon the brow. 
 
 Lo ! here and there fresh daisies spangle o'er 
 The grassy mead, my watchful eye beneath; 
 
 All hail, fair flow'rets! come, increase the store, 
 That I am gathering for the maiden's wreath ! 
 
 Oft doth the scythe upon its ruthless way 
 Behead the daisy flowers upon the green, 
 
 Yet the true-hearted root is constant aye, 
 New flowers producing where the first have been. 
 
96 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 So the true heart repulse doth never heed 
 In doing deeds of good and charity ; 
 
 If the still voice of Conscience hid proceed, 
 It presseth on and on unfearingly. 
 
 Me thinks a yellow crowfoot too I see, 
 On the green earth a glittering mimic star ; 
 
 This to a Christian maid may emblem be 
 Of hopes that fain would dwell in heaven afar. 
 
 The stingless nettle too befits her brow, 
 Reproof with warning looks that harmeth not ; 
 
 This will I twine among the rest, to shew 
 Repulse to aught that may the purest blot. 
 
 The violet too, that fain unknown would bloom, 
 And scatter fragrance round it all unseen — 
 
 O happy, from the cradle to the tomb, 
 
 Who like the violet in their life have been ! 
 
 And let the gardens yield their early store, 
 The modest snowdrop with its downcast eye, 
 
 The gladsome crocus, that doth spangle o'er 
 The borders with its joyous brilliancy. 
 
 How precious the few flowers of early spring ! 
 
 Youth can do little, but we prize it more, 
 That little, than what later days can bring 
 
 Out of their rich and time-o'erflowing store. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 97 
 
 Tims, Mary, have I twind a wreath for thee, 
 And on thy locks the birthday garland set, 
 
 And kept my promise. Let us also see 
 Thy sacred promise find fulfilment meet. 
 
 Promise was made, when water bath'd thy brow, 
 Renew'd, when hands were laid upon thy head — 
 
 O keep it well, that sacred promise, now ! 
 O keep the words that may not be unsaid ! 
 
 And lovely too the promise of thy youth, — 
 O may'st thou keep that promise unto age ! — 
 
 Full of ideal Beauty and of Truth, 
 
 Thou springest forth upon thy pilgrimage. — 
 
 doom'd, as all are doom'd, to learn and know, 
 That life is other far than life should be, 
 
 1 dare not wish thee, all exempt from woe, 
 A golden day and peaceful hours to see. 
 
 The cross hath on thy forehead been impress'd, 
 And thou must bear it stedfast to the end, 
 
 Stilling the conflicts of the struggling breast, 
 Doing and suffering what God shall send. 
 
 Thus, though much needing counsel, I advise — 
 O could I mine own lessons learn aright ! 
 
 Tott'ring my feet, and dizzy are mine eyes, 
 And yet to others' steps I hold a light. 
 
 H 
 
98 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The secret springs of being deep within 
 
 Who can search out, or who disclose to view? 
 
 One only Eye can look the heartstrings in, 
 One only Mind can read their story true. 
 
 Dark are the guesses of our sympathy, — 
 
 Who to another can the causes tell 
 Of all the smiles that o'er the features fly, 
 
 Of all the heavings that the bosom swell? 
 
 Yet each one well may wish another's good, 
 And each one for another's welfare pray, 
 
 Thrice happy, if no thought of ill intrude, 
 To mar the kindly wishes on their way. 
 
 And now farewell! the wide world is before thee, 
 With storm and shine an ever-changing scene ; 
 
 Earth lies beneath thy feet, the heavens are o'er thee, 
 And these are what thou needs must choose between. 
 
 O fare thee well upon thy pilgrimage ! 
 
 May ev'ry aiding grace to thee come down ! 
 So may the war thou hast on earth to wage, 
 
 Win the true amaranth of a heav'nly crown I 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 99 
 
 A LITTLE BIRTH-DAY ODE. 
 
 MY little Sister, list to me, 
 O list to me awhile, I pray, 
 And I will tell what thoughts of thee 
 Have come into my mind to day. 
 
 I've seen the seedlings springing gay, 
 Nor flower nor fruit upon them found, 
 
 But if they're sickly or decay, 
 Useless the culture of the ground. 
 
 Suppose the ground is Clara's heart, 
 Good thoughts and wishes growing there ; 
 
 Be diligent and do your part, 
 
 For tend'rer plants need greater care. 
 
 And never think you're useless all, 
 Because your times to help are few, 
 
 For, though her youthful sphere is small, 
 Clara has more than she can do. 
 
 Good words, your flowers, must now around 
 Their perfume sweet begin to throw, 
 
 And fruit of blessed deeds be found 
 Among the fig-tree's leaves to grow. 
 
 H2 
 
100 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE NOSEGAY. 
 
 FLOWRETS, fresh flow'rets, for a maidens grave ! 
 But ah ! few flow'rets in the winter bloom ; 
 Spring will return, the leafy branches wave, 
 But she must moulder in her early tomb. 
 
 Few flowrets bloom 'neath winter's gloomy sky, 
 But they are pure and white as winter's snow, 
 
 Meet emblems for pure souls, whose bodies die, 
 And leave pure memories on earth below. 
 
 Through icebound earth their fragile blossoms strive, 
 Nor can the frosty north their growth o'ercome, 
 
 But still like Hopes they spring, that grow and live, 
 Water d by tears, beside the lov'd one's tomb. 
 
 Take then these snowdrops, frame a nosegay fair, 
 That may not shame the hand it should adorn; 
 
 The hand and flowers in whiteness may compare, 
 But sable is the garb of them that mourn. 
 
 Darkness divides us oft from those who sleep, 
 And this we in our vestments would express, 
 
 And, like the parted friend for whom we weep, 
 In darkness we wrap up our tenderness. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 101 
 
 Cold sighs the wind, and gloom o'erspreads the sky, 
 And cold and sad around in heart we mourn, 
 
 But, though the snow-clouds gather gloomily, 
 These promises of Spring are not forlorn : 
 
 Nor is our grief forlorn; the sleeping maid, 
 Though vanquish'd, is assur'd of victory ; 
 
 Still lives, though all its earthly honours fade, 
 The precious seed of immortality. 
 
 O place the nosegay in her fingers cold, 
 And o'er the few white flow'rets close them fast ! 
 
 Yet, ere the winding sheet her form enfold, 
 O grant another look to be our last! 
 
 There lies she like a snow-drop, early ta'en, 
 And with her must these snow-drops too decay, 
 
 But neer, like her, will they arise again 
 Beneath a brighter sun's enliv'ning ray. 
 
 O peaceful slumber! soft and sweet repose! 
 
 O heavenly calm upon her features spread! 
 The living circled live with cares and woes, 
 
 But Peace and Silence wait upon the dead. 
 
102 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 THERE is a thought to Mem'ry dear, 
 That dwells my heart within; 
 There is no other mem'ry there 
 So pure and free from sin. 
 
 Yet hath it sorrows of its own, 
 That pure and precious thought, 
 
 That oft, when I have mus'd alone, 
 Tears to mine eyes have brought. 
 
 It calls an image of the Past, 
 
 A vision fair and bright, 
 So beautiful it could not last 
 
 Before the earthly sight. 
 
 I knew a maid in life's first spring, 
 A sweeter none could know, 
 
 Her locks were like the raven's wing, 
 Her brow was like the snow. 
 
 And ever, when she played or sang, 
 Sweet music filled the place, 
 
 She had a merry laugh that rang, 
 A bright and sunny face. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 103 
 
 My pulse was calm, my heart was still, 
 
 At clasping of our hands, 
 Not such the eager wayward thrill, 
 
 That earthly love demands. 
 
 Perchance a different feeling sways 
 
 The fibres of the heart 
 Towards those, who from the wistful gaze 
 
 Are fated soon to part. 
 
 And yet in sooth I lov'd her well, 
 
 And she indeed was dear, 
 Though scarce I knew the mighty spell 
 
 That bound my soul to her. 
 
 But she is gone, and lowly laid 
 
 Under the springing grass — 
 O ne'er the mem'ry of the maid 
 
 Shall from my bosom pass! 
 
 But oft I'll think upon her still, 
 
 And call her back in thought, 
 And strive to make her mem'ry fill, 
 
 The void her loss has wrought. 
 
104 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 7ra6ri(jLaTa fiaOrjfxaTa. 
 
 '~¥T7E must suffer ere we learn/ 
 
 ▼ ▼ Golden truths but hard to prize, 
 When the passions rage and burn, 
 When the torrent fills the eyes. 
 
 Men have struggled, men have striven, 
 
 On their weary pilgrimage, 
 Records of their woes have given, 
 
 To instruct the coming age; 
 
 Yet in vain; experience ever 
 Is by time and suffring bought; 
 
 All must purchase that which never 
 Cometh to the soul for nought. 
 
 Ev'ry man must taste of woe, 
 
 Ere he can be fit for joy, 
 Only fire, as well we know, 
 
 Cleanseth gold from base alloy. 
 
 Onwards then, though pain and sorrow 
 
 Close thee in on ev'ry side, 
 There is yet a glorious morrow, 
 
 That awaits the purified ! 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 105 
 
 A TALE OF BRISTOL. 
 
 TO love and leave one's love afar, 
 Another lover near her, 
 And know within the heart of hearts 
 She loves that other dearer, 
 
 It is a woeful woeful lot, 
 
 It is a fate of sorrow, 
 Of wishing morn were eventide, 
 
 And ev'ry day its morrow; 
 
 And bitter tears steal down amain, 
 And sighs half choke the breath, 
 
 And then a man would gladly feel 
 The welcome hand of Death. 
 
 But evil is the wind that blows 
 With nought of good below, 
 
 And worthless is the heart, whose good 
 Affliction cannot shew. 
 
 Far other tales by Avon's bank 
 
 An old man told to me, 
 Far other tales of promis'd brides, 
 
 That brides refused to be. 
 
106 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 A promise broken broke a heart, 
 
 Yet broke it to contain 
 More love than that of one dear bride, 
 
 And constant to remain. 
 
 In constancy and love he dwelt, 
 A brideless bridegroom aye, 
 
 Whose bride was false to plighted troth, 
 And said her promise nay. 
 
 He gaz'd upon her issuing forth 
 
 From the Cathedral door; 
 Her arm was in another's link'd, 
 
 Another's name she bore ; 
 
 Her false lips wore a syren smile, 
 Her false hand wore the ring; 
 
 In sooth it was a woeful sight, 
 That tears to eyes might bring. 
 
 Quoth he, as softly pacing on 
 
 That fair deceiver smiTd, 
 c Henceforth each widow is my wife, 
 
 'Each orphan is my child.' 
 
 Thus was he wedded, yet unbound 
 
 In wedlock's mystic tie, 
 And ever all his wedded life 
 
 Was purest charity. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 107 
 
 Yea, and her offspring came at length 
 
 To woe and deep distress, 
 And at his schools was freely taught 
 
 The paths of righteousness. 
 
 ' And thus, Sir/ said the aged man, 
 
 Who told to me the tale, 
 'And thus it was that Christ look'd down 
 
 'Upon the poor man's wail.' 
 
 'O wondrous is the Lord,' I said, 
 
 'And wondrous are his ways, 
 'Who turneth present ill to good, 
 
 'As penitence to praise. 
 
 ' The sorrow of the rich man's soul 
 'Hath help'd the poor man's smart; 
 
 'And blessed be God's discipline, 
 'That thaws and melts the heart.' 
 
108 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 WHITHER? WHITHER? 
 
 WHITHER, O whither, now all things are over? 
 We to our journey and he to his home; 
 Eyes cannot pierce through the veil that must cover 
 Him whom we've laid in the still silent tomh. 
 
 He hath hut ended his journey hefore us, 
 
 We for a season are sojourning still 
 On the same earth with the same heaven o'er us, — 
 
 Turn we, O turn we, our tasks to fulfil! 
 
 Whither, O whither, now all things are ended? 
 
 We to our labour and he to his rest; 
 Let not the heart by its woe he offended, 
 ( Man seeks the pleasant, but God gives the best. ' 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 109 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 WEEP no more, Mother, weep no more for me, 
 Though I am parted from thy dear caress! 
 Weep no more, Mother, weep no more for me, 
 Though thy full heart o'erflow with tenderness! 
 
 Weep not for me ! the green grass o'er me groweth, 
 But I upon a peaceful couch am laid; 
 
 Weep not for me! the rude wind o'er me hloweth, 
 But tempests cannot harm the sleeping maid. 
 
 Weep not for me ! though e'en thy dearest voice 
 Can send no tidings to my deafen'd ear — 
 
 O thou less happy, why, when I rejoice, 
 
 For the more happy flows the sorrowing tear? 
 
 Inquire of Memory, bid her back recall 
 
 The bygone hours, when I was with you still ; 
 
 Tells she not tales of woe and suffering all, 
 And pain, that taught and purified the will? 
 
 Tis even so, then put away thy sorrow, 
 And weep not evermore beside the tomb, 
 
 But let the sable garb of mourning borrow 
 
 Bright hues from that bright future yet to come ! 
 
110 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 O mother, thou art still upon thy way, 
 
 That pilgrim way, that I have travelTd o'er! — 
 
 O why should grief thy onward footsteps stay 
 
 Towards the same home, where I have gone before \ 
 
 Weep not for me! 'tis calm and stillness here, 
 And quiet is repose and slumber sweet, 
 
 But Life is full of noise and doubt and fear, 
 And hearts that ache, and sore and weary feet 
 
 My journey's ended, and my task is done, 
 
 No sorrow more for me, no weariness, 
 Though I have chang'd the golden glorious sun 
 
 For the damp grave and death's unloveliness. 
 
 Yes! though the world is dark upon mine eye, 
 
 And all fond faces now are far away, 
 Yet is there One, whose perfect sympathy 
 
 Doth still amidst corruption with me stay. 
 
 That Deathless One, who put on Death awhile, 
 And three dark days, where I am sleeping, slept, 
 
 That Death itself might wear a gentle smile, 
 The comfort of the weeper for the wept. 
 
 What though I feel no more your clasp around me? 
 
 The everlasting aims embrace me now; 
 What though the icy chains of Death have bound me ? 
 
 The token of release hath bath'd my brow. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. Ill 
 
 O think not of me as for ever gone, 
 As hearing nothing, nothing answering, 
 
 Cold to the touch, henceforth to dwell alone, 
 In dark and narrow cell inhabiting. 
 
 Think of me thus, as sleeping without sorrow, 
 While Faith and Hope are sleeping at my side, 
 
 Till the glad world adore that glorious morrow, 
 When Love himself shall come to claim his Bride. 
 
 Think of me thus, as for my dear ones waiting, 
 Gone on before them to a better home, 
 
 No tears, no griefs, no cares upon me grating, 
 To jar the soft, sweet, music of the tomb. 
 
 O it is sweet, that soul-caught melody, 
 That still small whisper from the Infinite, 
 
 Which telleth, Hope but sleeps and cannot die, 
 Which singeth in the darkness songs of light ! 
 
 List to it then, and weep for me no more, 
 
 Lest earthly sighs -should spoil its sweet accord, 
 
 And mar the echo from that distant shore, 
 Where all things singing praise their God and Lord ! 
 
112 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE. 
 
 THE air of heavn is soft and sweet, 
 That round my temples plays, 
 I'll stop awhile my wandring feet, 
 On sky and stream to gaze. 
 
 But ah ! though all around is fair, 
 And bright and clear the day, 
 
 Clouds, viewless clouds, are in the air, 
 And dim the heav'nly ray. 
 
 mists of Error, clouds of Sin, 
 Why dim ye thus the soul? 
 
 1 fain would pierce the veil within, 
 But ye around me roll. 
 
 Thou veil, that hid'st the inner might 
 
 That worketh all in all, 
 Why not disclose that Presence bright 
 
 To them that long and call? 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 113 
 
 In mercy art thou closely drawn, 
 
 Lest too much light should kill; 
 We must await the golden dawn, 
 
 That sleeps on Zion's hill. 
 
 The wish is good, the flesh is weak, 
 
 The spirit sick within, — 
 Confess, poor Heart, with sorrow meek 
 
 Thy hondage and thy sin: 
 
 That thou art all unfit to see, 
 
 What dwelleth there on high; 
 That such a sight is not for thee, 
 
 To gaze upon it nigh. 
 
 Thou seest God's tokens ev'ry where, 
 
 Thou hear'st his call within, 
 Be patient, till his heav'nly care 
 
 Free thee from guilt and sin. 
 
 Then shalt thou gaze with eye serene, 
 
 And praise with voicing clear, 
 And perfect Love with cloudless mien 
 
 Shall cast out Douht and Fear. 
 
114 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 BUCHLOW. 
 
 OSAY, Morava, why thy stream 
 With turbid waves doth go ? 
 The sun on thee doth brightly beam, 
 Then why not brightly flow? 
 
 'O how can I be bright and clear, 
 When troubled is my stream? 
 
 When all my fate is dark and drear, 
 How can I other seem? 
 
 ' A German to my fountain came, 
 
 To cull a nosegay there, 
 And said in scorn, that it was shame, 
 
 My flow'rets were so fair. 
 
 c And by the roots he tore them up, 
 My hope, my joy, my pride ! 
 
 And ah! when he had torn them up, 
 He flung them all aside. 
 
 f He flung them all to float and die 
 
 Upon my winding river: 
 And shall I not flow mournfully 
 
 For ever and for ever ? ' * 
 * See note to p. xxiv of the Introductory Essay. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 115 
 
 say not that for evermore 
 
 Thy stream must mourning flow ! 
 
 1 hear a step upon thy shore, 
 That softly there doth go. 
 
 It is a Lady pacing nigh; 
 
 Not far her castle frowns, 
 That with its turrets proud and high 
 
 The mountain yonder crowns. 
 
 The blood that flow'd in Vaclaw's veins, 
 
 And in Ludmilla mild, 
 Ludmilla's life again sustains, 
 
 Their true and worthy child.* 
 
 O mourn, Morava, mourn no more ! 
 
 Thy stream must brighter flow; 
 For One is pacing on thy shore, 
 
 Who feeleth all thy woe. 
 
 And hark ! O hark ! what joy resounds, 
 
 Where all was sad and drear! 
 The music of Slavonic sounds 
 
 From noble lips I hear ! 
 
 * The Countess Ludmilla Berchtold of Buchlow and Buch- 
 lowic, is descended lineally from St Ludmilla, and from the 
 brother of St Vaclaw. 
 
116 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 And more true hearts will come in turn, 
 
 And firmly all unite, 
 And by Morava's crystal urn 
 
 Will blossom fair and bright. 
 
 O then, Morava, let thy stream 
 
 No more despairing go ! 
 The sun on thee doth brightly beam, 
 
 And thou must brightly flow. 
 
 * # * The Morava is marked on ordinary English maps 
 as the river March in Moravia. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 117 
 
 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 TWINE me a garland of flowerets blue, 
 A blue garland of Hope for the heart ! 
 O twine me another of Memory's hue! 
 Hope and Memory never should part. 
 
 The first for myself and the next for my love, 
 For my Hopes on her Memories hang — 
 
 Will she mindful of me and my heart-sorrows prove, 
 Will she heal the heart-wearying pang? 
 
 O wonder of wonders ! each garland's the same ! 
 
 Hope and Memory wear the same hue ; 
 For Hope is the colour and Mem'ry the name, 
 
 That adorn the Forget-me-not blue ! 
 
118 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 THE WINTER VIOLET. 
 
 OTELL me what the flow'ret is, 
 That I should in my bosom place ? 
 The gentle flower to make my bliss? — 
 O where can I its dwelling trace? 
 
 I sought the gardens through and through, 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, nought was there, 
 
 Was nought for me, where roses grew, 
 Where pinks and lilies blossom'd fair. 
 
 Time passes on, I seek in vain, 
 And nought to cheer the heart I find, 
 
 And now the winter comes again 
 With gloomy sky and howling wind. 
 
 In still despair I wander on, 
 
 All, all around is nought for me, 
 When lo! a quiet bank upon, 
 
 A Violet all alone I see. 
 
 I to my bosom seize and kiss 
 Th' unhop'd for treasure newly found; 
 
 My soul awakes again to bliss, 
 And all again is- spring around. 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS. 119 
 
 Thou gentle violet, sweet and true, 
 
 Abide for ever near my heart! 
 Though fleeteth form and fadeth hue, 
 
 The violet's scent doth ne'er depart. 
 
120 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 THERE'S a sigh in the breeze as it softly steals by, 
 And its burden a name that I know, 
 And sweet to mine ear is that wind- whisper' d sigh, 
 Though it bears me the name of a foe. 
 
 Fair foe, thou art victor, be courteous and kind, 
 
 And use thy poor prisoner well, 
 Nor^deep in Despair's gloomy dungeon confin'd, 
 
 Let him pining and languishing dwell. 
 
 As captives their captors low bending entreat, 
 
 So I with meek hope entreat mine, 
 That she condescending my tribute will greet, 
 
 And deign to be my Valentine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
7 DA^ r USE 
 
 
U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
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