Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/160

 Knock, oh, Bohemians! on your hills,
 * There sleep the brave who would not yield.

Only concord, concord, brothers,
 * Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

Yes, there is honor in a downfall
 * After a most desperate warfare.

When the land lies crushed, but not conquered—
 * For the free soul still lingers there.

Like the phoenix from dead ashes,
 * Warriors arise from our fields.

Only concord, concord, brothers,
 * Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

My country, my poor blinded country—
 * What fate now can cause thee to blaze?

You see not the blood that is streaming,
 * To springs of the far-away days.

It blazes the blood on our hills—
 * It calls us never to yield.

Only concord, concord; brothers,
 * Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

The bones of our fathers are scattered—
 * Their blood it is chill now in death.

From their bones will rise up the giants,
 * Their blood is the red morning’s breath.

The red clouds call us to glory,
 * They smile on us never to yield.

Only concord, concord, brothers,
 * Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

With concord then on to the battle,
 * The east is ablaze—and I dream,

I hope that the hour is nearing,
 * When the God of nations will seem

To call us once more unto fame,
 * Once more to the honorable field.

Only concord, concord, brothers,
 * Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.