Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/89

Rh Ne'er has an enemy yet shed blood—or ink-so profusely,
 * As by the German was shed, compassing Sláva's decay;

Only of liberty worthy is he who can liberty value,
 * He who puts captives in bonds—he is a captive himself.

Whether our hands or our tongue he binds in the bonds of the captive,
 * 'Tis but the same; he neglects rights of his follows to heed.

He who has cast down thrones, and for naught has shed blood of his fellows,
 * Into the hapless world carried the torch of dissent,

Scythian, Goth tho' he be, he has earned the guerdon of serfdom,
 * Not who to untamed hordes peace by example extolled.

Where have ye wandered, dear nation of Slavs that formerly dwelt here,
 * Now Pomerania's springs, now drinking deep of the Saale;

Peaceful stock of the Sorbs, and Obotritian offspring,
 * Where are the Wilzen, and where, grandsons of Uker, are ye?

Far to the right I gaze, to the left I searchingly turn me,
 * But 'tis in vain that my eye Sléva in Slavia seeks.