Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/36



Ravaging, they came, even to Olómutz—

Bitter misery press'd upon the people,

Nought was shelter'd from the heathen's fury.

One day and the next was battle raging,

And on neither victory had descended.

Ah! the tatars wax them strong and stronger,

As the autumnal shades at ev'ning gather—

And, amidst the gath'ring tatar forces,

Lo! the christians vibrate like a sea-boat!

And they hasten to that sacred mountain

Where is thron'd the wonder-working

"Rouse ye! brothers! rouse ye !"—cried Wenéslaw,

"With your swords the silver target smiting

O'er your heads the glorious banners waving."

Thus encourag'd rush'd they on the tatars,

Thickly crowded—in compactest body;

As if fire upon the ground were scatter'd,

So they pour'd upon the tatar forces;

Up the holy hill, and down its borders,