Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol4, 1920.pdf/260
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
232
THE CZECHOSLOVAK REVIEW
At the gate the Water King
Mends his nets, torn, shabby,
And his fair and youthful wife
Tends her little baby.
Mends his nets, torn, shabby,
And his fair and youthful wife
Tends her little baby.
“Sleep, my baby, by sad lot
In my lap here lying!
You are smiling up to me
While from grief I’m dying.
In my lap here lying!
You are smiling up to me
While from grief I’m dying.
“You stretch your arms up to me,
Happy, joyful, merry,
While I would prefer a grave
In the cemetery.
Happy, joyful, merry,
While I would prefer a grave
In the cemetery.
“There in earth beside the church
Under that cross gloomy,
So my dear old mother there
Could come nearer to me.
Under that cross gloomy,
So my dear old mother there
Could come nearer to me.
“Sleep, my little Water Prince,
My sweet little bother!
Why should I, poor soul, not think
Of my dear old mother?
My sweet little bother!
Why should I, poor soul, not think
Of my dear old mother?
“Great cares whom I once should wed
In her head she carried;
Poor soul! ere she realized,
Suddenly I married!
In her head she carried;
Poor soul! ere she realized,
Suddenly I married!
“Married, but in marriage
All against her wishes:
My best men were—dark cold crabs,
Maids of honor—fishes!
All against her wishes:
My best men were—dark cold crabs,
Maids of honor—fishes!
“And my husband bless me God!
Wet on land goes raving;
In deep water under cups
Human souls he’s saving.
Wet on land goes raving;
In deep water under cups
Human souls he’s saving.
“Sleep and rest, my little son
Whose head green hair covers!
Your poor mother married here
Where love never hovers.
Whose head green hair covers!
Your poor mother married here
Where love never hovers.
“Lured in here, beguiled and caught
In those nets, false, shabby,
Has no pleasure in this place
But you, my dear baby!”—
In those nets, false, shabby,
Has no pleasure in this place
But you, my dear baby!”—
“What is that you sing, my wife?
Quit that in a hurry!
Your queer song, forever cursed,
Drives me into fury!
Quit that in a hurry!
Your queer song, forever cursed,
Drives me into fury!
“Sing no more of that, my wife!
Your song surely bothers:
Or I’ll make a fish of you
Like of many others.”—
Your song surely bothers:
Or I’ll make a fish of you
Like of many others.”—
“O my husband—Water King!
Don’t disturb your bosom;
Don’t take ill a cheerless song
Of a shattered blossom.
Don’t disturb your bosom;
Don’t take ill a cheerless song
Of a shattered blossom.
“The stem of my blooming youth
You in half have broken,
And since then I saw of love
Not a single token.
You in half have broken,
And since then I saw of love
Not a single token.
“Hundred times I’ve given you
One sweet word or other
Asking but a brief, short leave
To call on my mother.
One sweet word or other
Asking but a brief, short leave
To call on my mother.
“Hundred times I asked for leave,
My tears flowed in river,
So I could tell her at least
Last fare-wellforever!
My tears flowed in river,
So I could tell her at least
Last fare-wellforever!
“Hundred times I asked for leave,
Down before you kneeling:
Nothing softened your cold heart,
Nothing moved your feeling!
Down before you kneeling:
Nothing softened your cold heart,
Nothing moved your feeling!
Don’t be angry, Water King,
With me, my stern master!
Or rage, so that what you say
Shall befall me faster!
With me, my stern master!
Or rage, so that what you say
Shall befall me faster!
“And, instead of a mute fish
That can’t tell its story,
Change me rather to a stone
That has no memory.
That can’t tell its story,
Change me rather to a stone
That has no memory.
“Change me rather to a stone
With no mind, no feeling,
So I be free of that grief
That but sunshine’s healing.”—
With no mind, no feeling,
So I be free of that grief
That but sunshine’s healing.”—
“I would take your word, my wife,
And believe you gladly—
But a fish, once freed at sea,
Can be recaught badly.
And believe you gladly—
But a fish, once freed at sea,
Can be recaught badly.
“I would not oppose your wish
To call on your mother—
But the fickle woman mind
Is what gives me bother.
To call on your mother—
But the fickle woman mind
Is what gives me bother.