Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/32

 The clock struck ten, they were about
 * To drink the bride and bridegroom’s health;

They wished them joy and a long life—
 * They wished them happiness and wealth,

When suddenly a trumpet’s call, From herald sent, fell like a pall, "And changed their mirth to silence dread.
 * The herald seeks my lord,” was said.

With strange misgiving went the lord,
 * To meet the stranger in the hall;

All joy from out his heart had fled,
 * He dreaded news that would appall.

But when he saw the herald’s face, And heard the doom against his race,
 * He knew that all his fears were true,
 * The conqueror’s heart no mercy knew.

Pale like a corpse, he back returned—
 * Like one who from the grave comes back—

And slowly said, with choking voice:
 * Our brothers died upon the rack!

The hour of Kryspek doom is near— Our glory faded—life made drear.
 * Our mildest punishment, to roam,
 * Outcasts from country, and from home.”

Then bidding all the servants leave
 * The room, until the dawn of day,

That not a soul should enter in,
 * Nor rouse their slumber till the day.

For if we want you, we will ring; Yea, in the morning, we will ring.”
 * And when the servants left the hall,
 * He shut the door, and spake to all:

What is to lose, when land is lost?
 * Who loses honor, loseth life.

What joy shall then my grandchild know,
 * In poverty and daily strife?

If such a desperate fate is ours, To languish but a few more hours—
 * To see our country die, and then
 * To die, nay, let us now be men.