Page:The Queens Court Manuscript with Other Ancient Bohemian Poems, 1852, Cambridge edition.djvu/55

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

Like torrents swoln by heavy rain,
 * Flow’d forth the warrior’s blood,

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

One hath his hands both smitten off,
 * Cleft is another’s head,

Another from his steed is flung,
 * That stumbles o’er the dead.

And here doth one his enemies
 * Strike down in furious mood,

As on the rocky mountain side
 * A tempest rends the wood.

There hilt-deep in a foeman’s heart
 * Another’s sword doth pierce,

Here from another’s head the ear
 * A Tatar severs fierce.

A shout! a cry of woe is heard!
 * Now, now the Christians yield;

The Tatars press them furiously,
 * And chase them o’er the field.

But like an eagle Jaroslaw
 * Doth to the rescue fly;