Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/13

 Rivers, rivers, hear me from the shore, Ere you reach your distant ocean base, Have compassion, my grief to embrace Take my tears to her unsheltered door. Rivers, rivers, hear me from the shore.

Why be still? Go waft to her my sighs, Cool winds blow into that distant land, Let your speed grow greater with my cries. Why be still? Go waft to her my sighs.

Take me to her, or else bring her here, Mystic spirits lend your helping hand, Haste your steps through darkness, storm and fear, Take me to her, or else bring her here.

How to welcome you, with a tear or a song? Like a mother or a foster mother? Land once honored now despised by another, Rich with godly good and godly wrong? Your castles now to owls and snakes belong, A stranger roams your plains, and not your brother, Your lions, mighty once, now weakly totter, And weakness lurks where freemen should be strong. To Vltava speed forth each grief-born tear, Like rains and lightning crashing from the skies, Carry these words for the sons of Slavs to hear: “Cease bickerings that brought your downfall near, List to your people, not to some jackal’s cries, The names of both St. John and Hus hold dear.”

Hear me Slavs, men of a discordant soul, Living constantly in bitter enmity, Get together and in unity Learn a lesson from the burning coal. There, together in a glowing whole, Each coal heats and burns in jollity, But alone without security Slowly dies and reaches not its goal. Hand in hand, unite to please your mother, Every Russian, Serb and Czech and Pole, Live like one great clan in peace together. Only thus no wars nor hatred of another Can destroy your Nation’s mighty role, You’ll stand firm, none dare your life to smother.