Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/57

 Upon their hips, their valiant heads
 * With helmets bright are crown’d,

And underneath the riders’ weight
 * The swift steeds prance and bound.

The wood-horns hoarsely bray, the roll
 * Of drums resounds afar,

The hosts upon each other rush,
 * And close in dreadful war.

A cloud arises from the dust,
 * And hangs the armies o’er;

The second fight is fiercer far,
 * Than was the fight before.

The sharp swords clash, with fearful hiss
 * The poison’d arrows fly,

Spears crashing meet, and jav’lins whizz,
 * As they are hurl’d on high;

They strike, they stab, they shout for joy,
 * They shriek in agony.

Like torrents swoln by heavy rain,
 * So flow’d the warrior’s blood,

And corpses lay upon the ground,
 * Like fell’d trees in a wood.

To one both hands are smitten off,
 * Cleft is another’s head,