An Anthology of Czechoslovak Literature/Prologue to "The Daughter of Sláva"
For other English-language translations of this work, see Prelude (The Daughter of Sláva).
JAN KOLLÁR
1793–1852
Prologue to “The Daughter of Sláva”
HERE lies the country, alas, before my tear-laden glances,
Once ’twas the cradle, but now-now ’tis the tomb of my race;
Check thou thy steps, for the places are sacred, wherever thou turnest.
Son of the Tatra arise, cast to the heavens thy gaze,
Or to the mighty old oak, that stands there yonder, incline thee,
Holding its own against treacherous time, till to-day.
Ah, but more evil than time, is the man, who a sceptre of iron,
Slavia, on thy neck, here in these lands has imposed;
Worse than savage encounters and fiercer than fire and than thunder—
He who in frenzy blind covers his kindred with shame.
Oye years of the past that as night are lying around me,
O my country, thou art image of glory and shame;
From the treacherous Elbe o’er the plain to the Vistula faithless,
From the Danube until Baltic’s insatiate foam.
Where the mellifluous tongue of the sturdy Slavs once resounded.
Now it, alas! is still, silenced by onslaughts of hate.
Who has committed this theft that cries for vengeance to heaven?
Who has upon one race outraged the whole of mankind?
Blush thou for shame, O envious Teuton, the neighbour of Sláva,
Many such sins have thine hands often committed of old.
Ne’er has an enemy yet shed blood—or ink—so profusely,
As by the German was shed, compassing Sláva’s decay;
Worthy of freedom is only he who values all freedom,
He who puts captives in bonds—he is a captive himself.
Once ’twas the cradle, but now-now ’tis the tomb of my race;
Check thou thy steps, for the places are sacred, wherever thou turnest.
Son of the Tatra arise, cast to the heavens thy gaze,
Or to the mighty old oak, that stands there yonder, incline thee,
Holding its own against treacherous time, till to-day.
Ah, but more evil than time, is the man, who a sceptre of iron,
Slavia, on thy neck, here in these lands has imposed;
Worse than savage encounters and fiercer than fire and than thunder—
He who in frenzy blind covers his kindred with shame.
Oye years of the past that as night are lying around me,
O my country, thou art image of glory and shame;
From the treacherous Elbe o’er the plain to the Vistula faithless,
From the Danube until Baltic’s insatiate foam.
Where the mellifluous tongue of the sturdy Slavs once resounded.
Now it, alas! is still, silenced by onslaughts of hate.
Who has committed this theft that cries for vengeance to heaven?
Who has upon one race outraged the whole of mankind?
Blush thou for shame, O envious Teuton, the neighbour of Sláva,
Many such sins have thine hands often committed of old.
Ne’er has an enemy yet shed blood—or ink—so profusely,
As by the German was shed, compassing Sláva’s decay;
Worthy of freedom is only he who values all freedom,
He who puts captives in bonds—he is a captive himself.
******
Far to the right I gaze, to the left I searchingly turn me,
But ’tis in vain that my eye Sláva in Slavia seeks.
Tell me, thou tree, their temple of nature, under whose shadow
They to primeval gods offerings formerly burnt,
Where are these nations, and where are their princes and where are their cities,
They who the first in the North called into being this life?
They taught the use of sails and oars to indigent Europe,
Taught how to sail o’er the sea, passing to bountiful shores.
Out of the ore-laden depths they dug the metals concealed there,
More from respect for the gods rather than profit to men;
They taught the farmer to till the bosom of Earth with the plough-share,
So that the lands that were bare yielded the golden-hued corn.
They by the peaceful paths, the lime-tree sacred to Sláva,
Planted and scattered around fragrance and shadowy rest.
But ’tis in vain that my eye Sláva in Slavia seeks.
Tell me, thou tree, their temple of nature, under whose shadow
They to primeval gods offerings formerly burnt,
Where are these nations, and where are their princes and where are their cities,
They who the first in the North called into being this life?
They taught the use of sails and oars to indigent Europe,
Taught how to sail o’er the sea, passing to bountiful shores.
Out of the ore-laden depths they dug the metals concealed there,
More from respect for the gods rather than profit to men;
They taught the farmer to till the bosom of Earth with the plough-share,
So that the lands that were bare yielded the golden-hued corn.
They by the peaceful paths, the lime-tree sacred to Sláva,
Planted and scattered around fragrance and shadowy rest.
********
Where in marble arose the halls of the thunderer Perun,
Now from the ruins distress shelter for cattle has made;
Where to the heavens uprose the old-famed towers of Arkona,
Yonder the stranger’s foot tramples the fragments to dust.
There they bewail the ruins of Retra’s temples, the famous,
Where they arose now dig lizard and serpent their nest.
Son of Sláva who comes from this land to visit his brother,
Is to his brother unknown, presses not warmly his hand;
Strange is his language that comes from lips and from countenance Slavic,
Countenance seemingly Slav sadly the hearing deceives.
For on her sons right deeply has Sláva imprinted her tokens,
Nor can the place or the time ever their traces erase;
Just as two rivers whose waters a single bed has united,
Still for long on the way parted their colours remain;
So by violent strife are these nations confusedly mingled,
Yet does their nature till now visibly sundered remain.
But have degenerate sons heaped often upon their own mother
Curses, and yet in their guilt cringed to the stepmother’s lash;
They in their nature are neither Slavic or Teuton, but bat-like,
Half of the nature of one, half of the other possess.
Now from the ruins distress shelter for cattle has made;
Where to the heavens uprose the old-famed towers of Arkona,
Yonder the stranger’s foot tramples the fragments to dust.
There they bewail the ruins of Retra’s temples, the famous,
Where they arose now dig lizard and serpent their nest.
Son of Sláva who comes from this land to visit his brother,
Is to his brother unknown, presses not warmly his hand;
Strange is his language that comes from lips and from countenance Slavic,
Countenance seemingly Slav sadly the hearing deceives.
For on her sons right deeply has Sláva imprinted her tokens,
Nor can the place or the time ever their traces erase;
Just as two rivers whose waters a single bed has united,
Still for long on the way parted their colours remain;
So by violent strife are these nations confusedly mingled,
Yet does their nature till now visibly sundered remain.
But have degenerate sons heaped often upon their own mother
Curses, and yet in their guilt cringed to the stepmother’s lash;
They in their nature are neither Slavic or Teuton, but bat-like,
Half of the nature of one, half of the other possess.
*****
Forest, stream, town and village unwilling their titles Slavonic
Altered; the form but remains, Spirit of Sláva is gone.
O who will come, these graves from a living dream to awaken?
Who will the rightful heir back to his country restore?
Who will tell us the place where Miliduch bled for his nation?
Who will a monument raise, keeping his memory fresh?
Altered; the form but remains, Spirit of Sláva is gone.
O who will come, these graves from a living dream to awaken?
Who will the rightful heir back to his country restore?
Who will tell us the place where Miliduch bled for his nation?
Who will a monument raise, keeping his memory fresh?
******
Now there are none remaining; the boorish countryman’s ploughshare,
Crashing destructively on, breaks up the warriors’ bones;
Wroth at the worthlessness of two generations, their shadows
Haunt the dim mist of decay, uttering cries of lament.
Uttering cries of lament that Fortune relentless continues,
Letting their grandsons’ blood either decay or be changed;
Coldly in sooth would beat the heart of a man for his nation,
If he would shed no tears here, even as o’er his love’s bones.
Ah, but be silent, O grief, serenely beholding the future,
Scatter with eye like the sun thoughts that arose in a cloud.
Greatest of evils it is, in misfortune to wrangle with evil,
He who assuages by deeds anger of heaven does best.
Not from a troubled eye springs hope, but from hands that are active,
Thus, and thus only, can now evil be turned into good.
Only the man, but not mankind can stray on the journey,
Oft the confusion of some favours the rest as a whole.
Time changes all, and by time is truth to victory guided,
What in their error the years planned in a day is o’erthrown.
(1824)
Crashing destructively on, breaks up the warriors’ bones;
Wroth at the worthlessness of two generations, their shadows
Haunt the dim mist of decay, uttering cries of lament.
Uttering cries of lament that Fortune relentless continues,
Letting their grandsons’ blood either decay or be changed;
Coldly in sooth would beat the heart of a man for his nation,
If he would shed no tears here, even as o’er his love’s bones.
Ah, but be silent, O grief, serenely beholding the future,
Scatter with eye like the sun thoughts that arose in a cloud.
Greatest of evils it is, in misfortune to wrangle with evil,
He who assuages by deeds anger of heaven does best.
Not from a troubled eye springs hope, but from hands that are active,
Thus, and thus only, can now evil be turned into good.
Only the man, but not mankind can stray on the journey,
Oft the confusion of some favours the rest as a whole.
Time changes all, and by time is truth to victory guided,
What in their error the years planned in a day is o’erthrown.
(1824)
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1931, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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|---|---|
| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1931. The longest-living author of this work died in 1970, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 55 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
