Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/64

 

This sacred tongue's eternal rights shall ne'er by aught except the sword

From us be wrung.

Ne'er shall it retreat, but ever farther onwards must it go—

Our native tongue.

Ever higher must ascend, and ever more serenely glow—

Our native tongue!

 

"New Songs" (1888).

 

Karel Červinka (b 1872).

 

YEARNING IN EARLY SPRING

 

After long years sweet feeling came to me,
Thy locks I fondled tenderly;
O little child, I took thee to my breast,
And lulled thee peacefully to rest.

Eve, eve already to the room draws nigh,
The white mists o'er the housetops lie;
The waning, waning day is softly quenched,
The bells their music in the mist have drenched.

Thou sleepest, child. I stood afar,
Gently, that I thy slumber might not mar,
Went to the easement, silent gloom beheld.