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I hear the rattling troop—I feel the earth
Is shaking 'neath the chargers—so begone.
I hear the drums loud rolling—and the mirth
Of battle-loving heroes—Kwétslaw—on!
On to the banner! yet one kiss—thou hold
Heart-chosen man—fame calls thee—no delay;
Take the sharp steel—'tis glittering in its hold;
Thy Kraska's hand shall bind it—now away!
Now battle like a Českian—and success,
Success walk still unwearied at thy side,
Courageous but discreet—Yet forward press
As cataracts adown the mountain side.
The kiss I give thee now, O let it burn
Like sacred fire upon thy lips—until
To thine enraptur'd maid thou shalt return—
And godlike thoughts her widening bosom fill.