Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/33

Rh Petr Bezruč (b. 1867).

A hundred years in silence I dwelt in the pit,
 * A hundred years I delved for coal in the ground,

And after a. hundred years my sinews were knit,
 * As if my fleshless arms by iron were bound.

The dust of the coal has settled upon my eyes,
 * And on my lips the coal is clustered around,

And on my hair and my beard and my brows there lies
 * The coal that like icicles hangs to the ground.

Bread with coal is the fruit that my toiling bore,
 * From labour to labour I go;

Palaces tower aloft by the Danube’s shore,
 * From my blood and my sweat they grow.

For a hundred years in the mine my murmurs I quelled;
 * Who will requite me those hundred years I have borne?

And when I threatened them with the hammer I held,
 * I heard the voice of one who laughed me to scorn.

I should find my senses and go to the mine once more,
 * And as of old for my masters I should toil;