Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/53

 For both contending armies set
 * A limit to the fight.

O God! it is a sight of woe!
 * The glorious Wneslaw falls!

Struck by an arrow down he sinks
 * Beneath the Christians’ walls.

Now anguish tears the heavy heart.
 * Thirst doth the entrails pain,

With dry and parchéd throats they lick
 * The dewy grass in vain.

Still eve into cool night doth pass.
 * Night into morning gray,

And all within the Tatar camp
 * Tranquil and quiet lay.

The day doth mid-day heat assume,
 * Through thirst the Christians fall,

And ope their parchèd mouths in pain,
 * And on God’s Mother call.

To her their weaken’d eyes they turn,
 * And wring in agony

Their hands, from earth to heaven’s height
 * Looking imploringly.

‘We cannot longer faint with thirst,
 * For thirst we cannot fight;

C