Bohemian Poems, Ancient and Modern/The Patriot's Lament

by anonymous

THE PATRIOT’S LAMENT.

 

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MOUNTAIN, mountain, thou art high!
Hear’st thou not our wailing cry?
See’st thou not the streams that glow
From the eyes of patriots flow?

Wherefore shines the sun on thee,
That thy top doth glitter free,
And thy meadows ev’ry May
To our sorrow blossom gay?

Hear how sounds Vltava’s shore^[1]!
Hear the distant thunders roar!
’Tis our lips in whispers low
Cursing thee for evermoe.

Doth the true Czech thee espy,
Terror-struck he draweth nigh,
Anguish dire his bosom fires,
That he sleeps not with his sires.

Cursed mountain, mountain white!
Upon thee was crush’d our might;
What in thee lies cover’d o’er
Ages cannot back restore.

When the glorious times were set,
Men must needs the tombs forget;
Where their fathers’ blood was spilt,
There the lads a church have built.

Storm, why shatter’st thou it not?
Tempest, why destroy’st it not?
Nation, why in glorious war
Driv’st thou not thy shame afar?

But in vain our calls resound,
Still the mountain sleepeth sound,
Firm the church abideth there,
And from tempests nought doth fear.

Mountain, mountain, thou art high!
See’st thou life and vengeance nigh?
When thy church in ruins lies,
Slawa from her grave shall rise.

 

1. Vltava, the river Moldau, upon which Prague is situated.

 

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