Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/40

And they have burn’d our all, have ta’en
Our gold and silver too,
Our cattle they have driv’n away,
And now towards Trosky go.

O do not, peasant, do not mourn!
The grass again will grow,
Although it long has trodden been
By footsteps of the foe.

Twine, twine a wreath of wild flowérs
For your deliv’rer’s brow!
The green corn glitters fresh again,
And all a change doth know.

Yea quickly all a change did know,
Lo! how the people all
To council Benes Hermanow
Against the foe doth call!

Now stream the peasants where the wood
’Neath Hrubá Skála grows,
And each is weapon’d with a flail,
That ’gainst the Saxons goes.

’Tis Benes leads the van, the folk
Doth follow wrathful wise,
And Vengeance, vengeance every man
Against the plund’rers cries.