Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/41

Rh

From Poremba, Dombrovsky Petr did fare,
 * Before him his little girl sped.

One rode forth from Peterswald; whoso stood there
 * Each moment bowed low his head.

Lo, the black steeds, hear the hoofs clatter hard,
 * Bright gleams the bridle of gold;

Half a pace forward, and God be thy guard,
 * Or the maid he will have in his hold.

Dombrovsky sprang to the maiden and paled,
 * In his arms he clasped her amain;

The master's whip deep on his countenance trailed:
 * Petr, why wilt thou take her again?

Away, for in Freistadt her lot would be woe,
 * Away, and be timid and shrinking!

A channel of blood in thy soul is aglow,
 * Dombrovsky, cease thou thy drinking.

An hour is approaching, as day, a great day,
 * By flames the horizon is riven;

Stop the steeds! From his carriage, deuce, drag him away!
 * Pay, Dombrovsky, what thou wert given!

"" (1911).