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186
He fondly press'd her—I address'd her—'Wretched, wretched be;'
Sown not gather'd—lov'd not wedded—luckless doom for me.Kraska to Kwétoslaw.
Na kwětných mne březých wždy nech obýwati.
Yes! let me wonder by that flower-bank'd stream
Which pours its fountains out by Praga's wall;
Go! toil for honor in the fields of fame:
Fame—all Bohemia wakens at its call.
Where my young days pass'd by in blissful thought
Is now a dreary solitude to me;
The scenes which peace and love and beauty brought
Are darkness all—because estrang'd from thee.
Thou wert an ever-sparkling light—but now
Art a pale meteor-trembling in the sky:
I see thy name carv'd on the maple's bough,
Or by the moon's gold sickle writ on high;
