Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/57

Upon their hips, their valiant heads
With helmets bright are crown’d,
And underneath the riders’ weight
The swift steeds prance and bound.

The wood-horns hoarsely bray, the roll
Of drums resounds afar,
The hosts upon each other rush,
And close in dreadful war.

A cloud arises from the dust,
And hangs the armies o’er;
The second fight is fiercer far,
Than was the fight before.

The sharp swords clash, with fearful hiss
The poison’d arrows fly,
Spears crashing meet, and jav’lins whizz,
As they are hurl’d on high;
They strike, they stab, they shout for joy,
They shriek in agony.

Like torrents swoln by heavy rain,
So flow’d the warrior’s blood,
And corpses lay upon the ground,
Like fell’d trees in a wood.

To one both hands are smitten off,
Cleft is another’s head,