Page:Poet Lore, volume 34, 1923.djvu/29

 Runa.—Of blood speak not too loudly, else thou wilt awaken in me the desire to soak my veil in thine and then to send it to thy mother as a gift.

Radúz.—O, my poor mother!

Runa.—Wouldst thou weep, coward?

Radúz.—Thou art not a woman, though thy form and face may make thee seem one; thou art a she-wolf! O, King Stojmír, thou art a man: why dost thou suffer this mockery of thy captive?

Stojmír.—Enough of this wrangling, Runa. Tell me, Radúz, who is this man here with thee?

Radovid.—I am his old servant, Radovid. Kill me, but let him go! My king will pay thee a boundless ransom.

Stojmír.—Thy name only did I wish to hear, not thy counsel. I will let thee go, that thou mayst bring to Magura the tidings of the prince’s sad fate. Of a ransom speak no word. Perchance later I shall desire the blood of this youth; perchance his death will be more precious to me than gold.

Runa.—Now thou speakest as a king and a man! Why should we bargain over that slave?

Radúz.—Who is a slave here? Tell us, queen!

Runa.—Thou, thou! For I will cast thee into iron fetters and will torture thee to death with the heaviest toil! O, like a wolf thou wilt tear at thy chain and despairingly gnaw it with thy teeth!

Radovid.—Thou viper! O that my hands were not bound! At least have respect for the holy sun, for the holy cloud that floats over thy head, if thou hast no respect for thine own crown and for thine own womanhood, which thou treadest in the dust!

Runa (Striking him).—Miserable slave! Darest thou speak!

Radovid.—Curses upon thee!

Radúz.—O heaven, sun! O breathing winds! Ye are witnesses of our unheard-of wrongs! My Radovid, woe to me that thou sufferest through my fault! And you who stand around, is there not one of you, not one who knows pity?

Ziva.—Why dost thou gaze at me? Am I to weep and beg them to let thee go? Truly it seems to me that thou art nearer tears than I am even when I am most miserable. Why didst thou not stay at home, gloomy hero? Wouldst thou like a distaff?

Radúz.—Thou art beautiful, but cruel. I am sorry for thee that thy heart is so stony. For Radovid I beg mercy, not for myself.