Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/441
My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died;
I heard the death-knells pealing,
And there were tears and wails and cries
And signs of saddest feeling.
They picked a tombstone blindly
And a verse for Thine epitaph
To write they asked me kindly.
My heart take, with grief raving,
And what I have not sung before
Use for the stone’s engraving!
And scorned my word and letter
Now if the stone will speak to you,
You’ll understand it better.
So many, many things there are
To which the keys are lacking.
Deep silence answers all man’s knocks
And foils his undertaking.
As wolves, by hunger driven,
And yet that same heart, Oh my God!
To love alone is given.
That man’s wit may be failing,
And he may as the lonely dove
In vain roam, ever wailing.
If that poor nightingale
Lived always with her mate,
Her love songs would not sound
So sad and desolate.
With Thee wake through the night,
Instead of pain it would
Resound with sweet delight.
I am a linden with large crown,
In style dressed in the meadow:
Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May,
Come to my cooling shadow.
And swarms of bees are humming,
And, nightly, little birds arrive—
Those are my thoughts, home coming.
From home until they hunger,
But, with Thee seated close to me,
They will depart no longer.
At prophets cast ye never stones;
They are as birds, shy, clever:
Cast thou a stone at him but once,
And he is gone forever.
Whose love of bards is shaken,
And greatest wrath befell the race
From whom God songs has taken.
His faith does never vary:
Therefore, what he sings from his heart
That in your heart ye carry.
Blest is the man whom the Lord’s hand
As bard has consecrated;
He has looked into God’s decrees
And has men’s breasts well rated.
And what the birds are singing;
He understands the throbbing heart,
In tears and with joy ringing.
Is open to his vision;
He is the leader of God’s race
To its long promised region.
The priest of men’s salvation,
And beauty’s treasures lie in him
Beyond all estimation.
NOTE. Among the lyric and romantic poets who loomed upon the new horizon of the Czech literature in the second half of last century, when the nation appeared to be no longer in need of nourishment from history in its literary education, and when new ways have been sought and found. Vítězslav Hálek (1835–1874) held the most prominent position. From his first appearance in poetry in 1858 for twenty years he held the nation’s attention end enjoyed its adminiration and love. Although neither a deep philosopher nor a prophet of immeasurable horizon, he spoke from heart to heart to the rejuvenated nation; and although he had died in less than the prime of life, with 39 years, he has given the Czech literature a line of works touching upon nearly all classes of writing that filled their mission fully for the time. As a lyric poet he was scarcely outdone to this day. His volume of Evening Songs (Večerní písně) which appeared first in 1858, and since then in many editions, remained his culminating point; a volume of ever fragrant and pleasing effusions of feeling, appealing especially to the tenderness of heart in the erotic spring of life.
The above selection from the mentioned volume is a good illustration of his spirit and style.The translator.