DALIBOR.
A Bohemian legend of the fifteenth century.
“What is the meaning of this haste,
And stir, within the castle gate?
What means these servants, standing pale,
These men-at-arms that silent wait?
And wherefore are these faggots piled,
To burn a sinner, or a saint?
Think you we have forgotten Huss—
Dream you Bohemian hearts are faint?
“Look, look, upon the winding road
Come men-at-arms in goodly tale;
And down the mountain side they come,
Come streaming in from every vale.
What is the meaning of all this,
And wherefore are we called this day?
Lord Dalibor, our mighty lord,
It seems, has something new to say.
“For whom these faggots? Say perchance,
To burn our Huss’ judges on?
Ah, that would be a royal day—
Pile on, you fellows, quick, pile on.”
“Hush! hush!” the heralds trumpet loud,
“Our lord stands on the castle wall;
A nobler lord was never born,
Shout loud, you fellows by the wall.”
And when at length a silence fell,
The noble lord stood forth and spake:
“Bring now the family records old,
And all the things that pride awake;
