237
Sonnet.
Ač giž dnu mi smutne proplakanych.
O she has caus'd me many days of mourning—
Yes! many days mourning from morn to eve,
And fate my grief to grief more gloomy turning—-
Flung worlds between us; therefore do I grieve
With deeper pang, and therefore bear a chain,
Whom heavy weight no patience can endure,
And like a froward infant weep in vain
O'er wounds that nought can soothe and nought can cure.
So midst these torments roll my life-days o'er,
And hope is dissipated all in dreams—
In Nebosh[1] cells, and distant Dalibor;
Yet still I bear—unbending—fancy's schemes
Console me, and I kiss the chains she bound
My miserable helplessness around.- ↑ A fortress-prison in Belgrad. When the turks throw a criminal into its dungeons, they say Neboi sa, (fear not), whence its name.
