MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
In the stream amain 'twas cast,
From the depths a murmur passed.
There came a murmur, there came a sigh,
As of a mother whose end is nigh.
As of a mother in death's embrace,
Who to her infant turns her face.
"Round my dwelling what a throng,
Wherefore sings the knell its song?"
"The wife thou lovest is no more,
As by a sickle smitten sore.
"At her toil she bore her well,
Till like a tree hewn down she fell.
"And she sighed in death's embrace,
And to her infant turned her face."
"Ah, woe is me! Ah, grievous woe;
My bride, unwitting, I laid low..
"In that same hour, thro' me was left
My child of mother's care bereft.
"O thou willow, willow white,
Why did'st bring me to this plight?
