Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/67

Traceless did he vanish; no one
aught about his flight could say.
Ah! how now Sir Berka mourneth!
how he mourning sees his woe,
Woe which late he thought o’erflowing,
through a single fault to grow!
Scarcely can he now tell whether
of the twain he lov’d the most;
Only losses, bitter losses,
teach the value of the lost.
Spring and Summer, Autumn, Winter,
hope and joy in turn that bring,
To the poor old man drag sadly;
sadness is their welcoming.
Spring’s gay flowers, Summer’s breezes,
Autumn’s grapes, and Winter’s snow,
To his eyes are lost; the seasons
heedless come and heedless go;
Lost to him, whose eyes the image
of his lost sons only shew.
Songs of birds and lays of reapers,
winter-dance and skating gay,
In the old man’s ears resound not,
ears that listen day by day
To one only sound, the throbbing
of a heart that’s rent in tway.
And the Spring again returneth;
mountains glitter, green corn grows;
But in gloomy hall Sir Berka
sits and broods upon his woes,