Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/28

 The crown of martyrdom ye soon shall wear;
 * An endless bliss is mine; I go to thee.”

Then, kneeling down, he prayed unto his God,
 * Prayed for his country, and for those who sent

His spirit to that kingdom where all laud;
 * And bowing down his head to God he went.

The next to die was Harant, full of woe,
 * Not at his death, but that the priests would take

His children in their care, when he was low,
 * And they their father’s faith must needs forsake.

Perhaps the saddest sight was to behold
 * Poor Kaplíř, with his crutches, go to death;

And in a touching story we are told
 * How the old man prepared himself for death.

The pastor, Rosacius, who scorned to live,
 * And see his brethren die, tells how he went,

And found him in his cell prepared to give
 * With radiant joy his body old and bent.

“Long I have prayed the Lord,” the old man said,
 * “To take me from this world of sorrow sore.

And lo! He heard me not, I must be led
 * To feel some pangs our blessed Saviour bore.

It was His will that with my ninety years
 * I should go from the scaffold to the throne—

Leave all this misery, all these bitter tears,
 * And be at rest forever. God alone

Knows in my heart I have no sinful thought,
 * Nor ever had, ’gainst the dear land I love.

Dear Master, in the faith that you have taught,
 * I die, and we shall meet above.”

And as he stood, and waited for the call,
 * Upon his crutches, with his white head bent

In prayer for the souls that unappalled,
 * With fearless faces, to the scaffold went.

They held him out a pardon; “Would he say
 * That he had erred, and thereby save his life?”

But sternly the old man said, “Go your way,
 * Ye devilish tempters, that but seek out strife.

Heaven breaks upon my view, should earth awake
 * One vain regret? Nay, I am glad to die

A martyr for my land, and my faith’s sake;
 * Christ will reward me; ’tis to Him I fly.”