Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/92



Before the gate a harper stands,
 * And begs that he may enter in.

’Tis well to praise one’s native land,
 * And hear its songs. Yes, let him in,

Open the gate and let him sing, That every idle care take wing.”
 * Thus ordered the prince Oldřich.

The singer entered, young of mein,
 * And lowly bowed before the prince.

Then stooping low, he kissed the seam
 * Of Božena’s dress, wife of the prince.

Before the golden throne he stood, And struck the harp with tones that would
 * But make his song the sweeter.

A rich young man once loved a girl,
 * A maid without compare;

But cloister walls they hid his pearl,
 * His heart was in despair.

How many weary days he spent
 * In wandering round the walls;

Then in a happy hour he went,
 * And sang before those halls.

‘Oh, rosy lips, what say ye now,
 * Within that cloister cold?

Look from thy window, see me now,
 * A minstrel singing bold.’