Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/40

 And they have burn’d our all, have ta’en
 * Our gold and silver too,

Our cattle they have driv’n away,
 * And now towards Trosky go.

O do not, peasant, do not mourn!
 * The grass again will grow,

Although it long has trodden been
 * By footsteps of the foe.

Twine, twine a wreath of wild flowérs
 * For your deliv’rer’s brow!

The green corn glitters fresh again,
 * And all a change doth know.

Yea quickly all a change did know,
 * Lo! how the people all

To council Benes Hermanow
 * Against the foe doth call!

Now stream the peasants where the wood
 * ’Neath Hrubá Skála grows,

And each is weapon’d with a flail,
 * That ’gainst the Saxons goes.

’Tis Benes leads the van, the folk
 * Doth follow wrathful wise,

And Vengeance, vengeance every man
 * Against the plund’rers cries.