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ORIGINAL POEMS.
115
O say not that for evermore
Thy stream must mourning flow!
I hear a step upon thy shore,
That softly there doth go.
It is a Lady pacing nigh;
Not far her castle frowns,
That with its turrets proud and high
The mountain yonder crowns.
The blood that flow'd in Vaclaw’s veins,
And in Ludmilla mild,
Ludmilla’s life again sustains,
Their true and worthy child.[1]
O mourn, Morava, mourn no more!
Thy stream must brighter flow;
For One is pacing on thy shore,
Who feeleth all thy woe.
And hark! O hark! what joy resounds,
Where all was sad and drear!
The music of Slavonic sounds
From noble lips I hear!
