Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/160

Knock, oh, Bohemians! on your hills,
There sleep the brave who would not yield.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

Yes, there is honor in a downfall
After a most desperate warfare.
When the land lies crushed, but not conquered—
For the free soul still lingers there.
Like the phoenix from dead ashes,
Warriors arise from our fields.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

My country, my poor blinded country—
What fate now can cause thee to blaze?
You see not the blood that is streaming,
To springs of the far-away days.
It blazes the blood on our hills—
It calls us never to yield.
Only concord, concord; brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

The bones of our fathers are scattered—
Their blood it is chill now in death.
From their bones will rise up the giants,
Their blood is the red morning’s breath.
The red clouds call us to glory,
They smile on us never to yield.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

With concord then on to the battle,
The east is ablaze—and I dream,
I hope that the hour is nearing,
When the God of nations will seem
To call us once more unto fame,
Once more to the honorable field.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.