Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/72

 Is the room big? And is it bright? Is the church, loved one, within sight?”

Much, my fair one, you question me; Come on, quick, then you soon will see.

Quicken thy pace, the way is long, Time flies, yes, quicker, then a song.

What hangs about thy waist, I pray?” My rosary I took on the way.”

Thy rosary! It winds like a snake— It makes me anxious for thy sake.

Throw it away, it stops thy speed, And follow quickly where I lead.”

The rosary he threw away— Twenty miles they were on their way.

And the road was swampy and bad, By morasses, desolate, sad.

O’er the marshes the corpse-lights shone, Ghastly blue they glimmered alone.

Nine on each side, they went ahead, As though they burned for some poor dead.

The frogs they sang the burial hymn, The blue lights flickered and grew dim.

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

Poor maiden, why your feet are sore, And blood runs where your feet you tore.

The weeds are covered with your blood, But on he strides with heavy thud.