Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/71

 What hast thou in thy hand, my bride?” My mass book, that no ill betide.”

Throw it away, ’tis like a stone— I hate to hear thy praying tone.

Throw it away, thou’ll lighter be, Throw it away, and come with me.”

He took the book, and tossed away— They gained ten miles upon the way.

And the path was rocky and lone, Amidst forests that made a moan.

And behind the mountains and rocks Howled the wild dogs, in savage flocks.

And the voice of the screech-owl told Of evil that threatened the bold.

And he went onward, striding fast, She, step for step, behind him passed.

Across the stony, rocky way, Her white feet went that evil day.

And e’en the weeds, and tangled grass, Were stained with blood as she did pass.

The night is fine—such nights the dead Walk with the living, I’ve heard said.

And ere one knows, stand by one’s side— My love doth fear? Wouldst thou hide?”

Why should I fear? Why should I hide? God is above—thou by my side.

But, tell me, is your cottage large? Aiid who, my love, has it in charge?