Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/67

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WRATISLAW.
31

Traceless did he vanish; no one
aught about his flight could say.

Ah! how now Sir Berka mourneth!
how he mourning sees his woe,

Woe which late he thought o’erflowing,
through a single fault to grow!

Scarcely can he now tell whether
of the twain he lov’d the most;

Only losses, bitter losses,
teach the value of the lost.

Spring and Summer, Autumn, Winter,
hope and joy in turn that bring,

To the poor old man drag sadly;
sadness is their welcoming.

Spring’s gay flowers, Summer’s breezes,
Autumn’s grapes, and Winter’s snow,

To his eyes are lost; the seasons
heedless come and heedless go;

Lost to him, whose eyes the image
of his lost sons only shew.

Songs of birds and lays of reapers,
winter-dance and skating gay,

In the old man’s ears resound not,
ears that listen day by day

To one only sound, the throbbing
of a heart that’s rent in tway.

And the Spring again returneth;
mountains glitter, green corn grows;

But in gloomy hall Sir Berka
sits and broods upon his woes,