[*]TO THE MEMORY
It was all over now, all over now—
The battle had been fought and sadly lost,
The battle of the Bílá Hora lost;
And with it died all freedom and all hope.
From henceforth torture and the hangman’s rope
Should rule, united with the Jesuit power,
To make the poor Bohemians rue the hour
They dared to listen to the Holy Word;
Or gaze upon His face, whom prophets heard
Pronounced to be the very Son of God.
Let there be silence now—or those who laud,
Pray to the Virgin, or the blessed saints,
Or sink in torture, till the body faints,
Broken and torn, and lets the soul escape;
Yea, like a bird caught in a trap escape.
Ah me, that year of sixteen twenty-one,
Saw many an evil, bloody work well done;
The death of those who were the noblest born—
A country ruined, and a land forlorn,
A noble people made a tyrant’s slave,
And their faith hidden in a martyr’s grave,
While priestly darkness filled the laud like night.
It was all over now, all over now—
And shred and torn, the poor Bohemian land
Lay down to die amidst the conqueror’s band,
While all her noblest sons were called to die;
And thanks be unto God, without a sigh
They left this world, for better homes on high.
↑ *From a chronicle published in Amsterdam, 1648. Confiscated by the Austrian government, June 22, 1890.
