Page:Songs of the Slav.pdf/22

 Triumphs 'neath the heav'ns there, Flies our hollow at last, Freedom's sunny song.

When my head I would lift, Low again would it drift; On in shame and sorrow Years succession gave. Clings the yoke still to me And the eye waits vainly Dawn's redemptory glow: I will die a slave.

My head e'en now bends low, White locks my temples show; Hopes no longer attain Autumn's riper hue,— Shackled my hands I know Curséd the yoke I'll never o'erthrow,— In my grave shall that chain Rest beside me too.

Oft here and there freedom is an empty name, And liberty a hollow, idle sound; Yet day by day 'mongst us feels this watchword same Each heart with stormy throb anew rebound; Where'er one's gaze doth fall, 'tis writ in fire there, And round about eternally it peals; Each morn we breathe a sigh for this our first care, At night our final prayer with it deals.