JOHN, SACRIFICED JOHN.
AN OLD BOHEMIAN LEGEND.
Gather round me, little laddies,
And ye maidens small;
Listen to my voice and lyre;
Listen, children all.
With attention hear my ballad,
Till the tale be done;
Listen—’tis a wondrous story—
Till my song be done.
In a poor Bohemian village,
Not far from the way,
Even now you see an old well,
Honored till this day.
Deep within it lies a church bell,
Hid from mortal eyes;
Never more its voice shall ringing
Bid us praise the skies.
Only once in the far ages
Did they hear its voice,
When an old religious woman
Went there once by choice.
Dipping in its cold, clear bosom
Linen she had spun,
Half drew up the bell that lay there,
Hid from light and sun.
Filled with horror, she fell fainting
By the old well’s side,
And her weak hands left their holding,
And the bell did slide,
