When they first began their tolling
For the poor lad’s soul,
Back they started in wild horror,
Says the legend old.
For it was no bell of silver,
But a human cry,
Echoing in their ears bewildered,
Like a human sigh:
“John, John, sacrificed John.”
PART FIFTH.
And the lord of Kozojedy
Hearing, turned to stone.
Then he tore his rich robes from him,
While his heart did groan.
“Bring me now the hair-cloth garments
Of a penitent;
I shall be from henceforth ringer,
“Till my life be spent.”
Strange to say, the bitter anguish,
And the endless pain,
That had made his life a burden,
Passed away like rain;
And the bell rang out in gladness,
In the morning air:
Rang out like a seraph singing
In the trembling air.
Once, long after from the ringing,
Never home came he;
But they found him by the tower,
From his penance free.
On his face a heavenly rapture
To the world did say,
That his sins, however dreadful,
Had been done away.
PART SIXTH.
Years passed by, war with its horrors
Broke o’er the Bohemian land.
Down went chapel, down went tower,
Leveled by the robber band.
