Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/72

Rh In the stream amain 'twas cast, From the depths a murmur passed.

There came a murmur, there came a sigh, As of a mother whose end is nigh.

As of a mother in death's embrace, Who to her infant turns her face.

Round my dwelling what a throng, Wherefore sings the knell its song?"

The wife thou lovest is no more, As by a sickle smitten sore.

At her toil she bore her well, Till like a tree hewn down she fell.

And she sighed in death's embrace, And to her infant turned her face."

Ah, woe is me! Ah, grievous woe; My bride, unwitting, I laid low..

In that same hour, thro' me was left My child of mother's care bereft.

O thou willow, willow white, Why did'st bring me to this plight?