Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/54

 Who loves his health, who loves his life,
 * Must mercy seek in flight

Among the Tatars.’ Thus around
 * ’Twas spoken left and right.

‘The sword is not so sharp a death
 * As thirst; in slavery

Of water we shall have enough;
 * Who thinks thus after me!’

(Says Weston) ‘after me the man,
 * Who thirsteth painfully!’

But leaping up doth Wratislaw
 * Like a young bull arise,

And by the arm he seizes him,
 * And thus to Weston cries:

‘Thou traitor! everlasting shame
 * Of men that Christians be!

And wilt thou to destruction bring
 * A people good and free?

Mercy from God ’tis meet to seek,
 * But not in slavery

‘From Tatars wild. Nay! brethren, nay!
 * Do not to ruin haste!

Already now the fiercest heat
 * Of noontide is o’erpast;

God strengthen’d us at noon, and if
 * We trust, will aid at last.