Bohemian legends and other poems/Three Ages in Bohemia
THREE AGES IN BOHEMIA.
PART FIRST.
There was a time when the Bohemian land
Was known and honored, throughout the wide world’s length,
For mighty warriors and heroic men
Her name was honored, bravery was her strength.
There was an age when every one was proud
To call himself a son of that fair land,
Where every art was known and learning prized;
And praise was given to the skillful hand.
There was an age when the Bohemian tongue
Was spoken from the throne in accents clear;
Divinest harmony, their native speech,
In palace homes was spoken far and near.
That time, Bohemian men were proud to say
They were Bohemians, sons of that brave land,
Where the dread lion was their coat-of-arms,
And wealth and plenty smiled upon the land.
PART SECOND.
Then the times changed, misfortune came apace,
And they forgot that which they once had been.
Indifference, lethargy, upon them crept,
They thought no more, they lived as in a dream.
Bohemian hearts grew cold, their native land
They loved no more, forgotten was their pride—
Forgotten were the deeds their fathers did—
They were not worthy to sleep by their side.
Then they denied their land, their blood, their speech—
Their father’s cherished things, from them they cast.
And took upon them foreign ways and speech,
Forgetting their land’s brothers of the past.
Then the Bohemian sun grew dark and dim,
And its good genius stood and wept afar.
Their poets praised no more their native land,
Their muse was dead—had fled afar, afar.
What thoughts were his who stood and saw all this!
Remembering the great past and mighty dead?
He whose heart beat but for his native land—
To see her lying there before him dead.
PART THIRD.
But hark! Arise! The angel of the Lord
Sounds from his trumpet, “Come from out thy grave.
Arise! awake! and from thy every church
Let national songs be sung thy land to save.”
Thus spake the angel, and the love of land
Woke up a thousand shades from out their graves.
The dying heard it, and awoke again,
Praising the Lord that they no more were slaves.
The spirit of their fathers came again,
Imbuing with new life their torpid hearts.
Gladly they heard the call. Awake! arise!
Sing praises in your churches and your marts.
Awake! arise! all ye that slumber still!
The day is dawning see the light breaks through.
The nightingales are singing—wherefore sleep?
Shame to the sluggards let them be but few.
Oh brothers, live again but for your land—
Be ye not dead unto her urgent need.
Oh, be ye brothers, be ye sons again,
Unto your native land in her great need.
Reverence your laws, your customs, and your rights,
Show in your lives you are Bohemians true;
Then shall our land once more be known to fame,
As in the ancient times when ye were true.