Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/21

JOHN HUSS.

Oh, mother earth, this son of thine
Was worthy of the highest place,
And though his ashes in the Rhine
Were thrown, he lives still in his race.
A dauntless soul that spoke the truth,
When all the world in darkness slept;
Bohemia’s martyred son in sooth
Blanched not, though friends around him wept.

“Whom should I fear? The Emperor’s pass
Promises liberty and peace.”
But still his friends said: “Alas!
We much misgive us of that peace.”
“Whom should I fear then? Those who kill
The body, but have no more power
Over the soul that triumphs still,
And conquers in the dying hour?”

“Nay, weep not, I must go from hence,
I must speak out the words of God;
I must make out my own defense,
And prove it by the word of God;
I will come back without the blot
Of heresy upon my name;
Then blessed, forsooth, will be my lot,
And great indeed Bohemia’s fame.”

He went in faith—he went in hope—
And prison walls, and dungeon cell,
And torture of the chain and rope,
Were his in that far land as well.
They would not listen to his speech;
Unheard, he was condemned to die.
In vain he cried, “I do beseech—
Oh, listen to me ere I die.”