Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/137

 Cold sighs the wind, and gloom o’erspreads the sky, And cold and sad around in heart we mourn, But, though the snow-clouds gather gloomily, These promises of Spring are not forlorn:

Nor is our grief forlorn; the sleeping maid, Though vanquish’d, is assur’d of victory; Still lives, though all its earthly honours fade, The precious seed of immortality.

O place the nosegay in her fingers cold, And o’er the few white flow’rets close them fast! Yet, ere the winding sheet her form enfold, O grant another look to be our last!

There lies she like a snow-drop, early ta’en, And with her must these snow-drops too decay, But ne’er, like her, will they arise again Beneath a brighter sun’s enliv’ning ray.

O peaceful slumber! soft and sweet repose! O heavenly calm upon her features spread! The living circled live with cares and woes, But Peace and Silence wait upon the dead.