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Ludmila[1] saw the flowers, and stretch'd
Her hand to grasp the wreath,
Poor dove! she fell-the stream roll'd on—
'Twas silence all—and death.
And thrice, and thrice the funeral bell
Toll'd with a heavy tone:—
And tell mel—ye, who know so well,
What mortal soul is gone?
"It is thy maiden—'tis thy joy—
See, 'midst that mist of gloom,
They fit her shroud—four black-rob'd men,
They lower her in her tomb."
O God belov'd! and dost thou take
My maiden in thy wrath!
Sweet bird of mercy! to her grave,
O, show me now the path.
- ↑ Orig. Liduska—diminutive of Ludmila—bohemian tutelar saint—formerly Lidunka and Lidka.
