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SONGS OF THE SLAV 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 THE CZECHO-SLOVAK 
 
 OTTO KOTOUC 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE POET LORE COMPANY 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
Copyright, 1919, by Otto Kotouc 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 ,o> 
 
 «?*<? 
 
 Made in the United States of America 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 ©CI.A529338 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Although the Czecho-Slovaks have a great litera- 
 ture, particularly rich in poetry, but very little has 
 been introduced to the American public. This has 
 perhaps been due mainly to the fact that the Czechs 
 did not possess their independence and consequently 
 were considered an insignificant nation submerged 
 within the shadows of the former Austro-Hun- 
 garian empire. Since the World War has resulted 
 in liberating oppressed nationalities, and Czecho- 
 slovakia has again regained her ancient independ- 
 ence, undoubtedly a greater opportunity will be 
 offered to learn more about the language and liter- 
 ature of that liberty loving people. 
 
 As is usually the case with a nation held in sub- 
 jugation, so with the Czecho-Slovaks, their poets 
 kept alive the national spirit until their liberation. 
 The purpose of this little volume is not only to pre- 
 sent a few specimens of Czecho-Slovak poetry, but 
 also to show how Czecho-Slovak poets kept the 
 fires of Liberty" burning, while awaiting "dawn's 
 redemptory glow." For, in the words of Jab- 
 lonsk^, — 
 
 "Ask thou what's more beautiful, — 
 Hither lay thy right hand: 
 'Tis the heart, beloved son, 
 Beating for native land." 
 3 
 
Preface 
 
 Of the poets herein represented, Jan Kollar, the 
 Slovak poet, is known as the poet of Pan-Slavism. 
 Vitezslav Halek was the forerunner of the modern 
 school of poets, instilling idealism and enthusiasm 
 into the then newly resurrected national life. Svato- 
 pluk Cech has the distinction of being the most 
 popular of all the Czech poets. Petr Bezruf, "first 
 bard of Bezkyd, and the last," is the Mountain 
 Poet of (Lower) Silesia. Blowing into a "dying 
 flame," he has kept alive the Czech national spirit 
 of that region against the combined efforts of the 
 Germans and the Poles. J. S. Machar is the lead- 
 ing poet of Czecho-Slovakia in the present day. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 JAN KOLLAR page 
 
 The Daughter of SlXva 7 
 
 VITEZSLAV HALEK 
 
 Evening Songs 9 
 
 SVATOPLUK CECH 
 
 Songs of the Slave 12 
 
 PETR BEZRUC 
 
 One Melody 27 
 
 Silesian Forests 28 
 
 A Red Blossom 29 
 
 You and I 30 
 
 70,000 31 
 
 J. S. MACHAR 
 
 On Golgotha 32 
 
 A Fantastic Ballad 38 
 
 A Sonnet of the Past 40 
 
 A Sonnet of Life 41 
 
 To My Mother 42 
 
 The Spiral, or On the Decline of a Century ... 43 
 
SONGS OF THE SLAV 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF SLAVA 
 Jan Kollar 
 
 Canto III. Sonnet 62 
 
 A hundred times I spoke, hut now I call 
 To you divided, O Slavonians! 
 Let's be a whole and not a part in clans; 
 Be one in harmony or naught at all. 
 
 A dove-like nation we in scorn are styled. 
 But doves you know are come of such a stock 
 That loves to live within a common flock, 
 And so may you apply this trait reviled. 
 
 O Slavs, thou race of many fragments ! 
 
 United forces e'er results will show, 
 
 But waste and dry the circling currents. 
 
 O Slavs, who are of many heads a race! 
 The wise indeed a death no worse can know 
 Than life that sloth, void, darkness doth embrace. 
 
 7 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 Canto III. Sonnet no 
 
 What will become of Slavs in hundred years? 
 What will the whole of Europe come to be? 
 Slav life, just as a mighty flow appears, 
 Shall everywhere extend its boundary. 
 
 That tongue, which German henchmen falsely low 
 Proclaimed a tongue of slaves to all around, 
 Shall 'neath our rival's palace ceilings sound 
 And even spoken be by lips of foe. 
 
 Sciences shall likewise Slav channels see; 
 Our people's customs, dress and music will 
 On both the Seine and Danube modish be. 
 
 would that I had rather been born when 
 The Slavs shall rulers be! Or better still, 
 
 1 shall then rise up from my grave again. 
 
 8 
 
Vitezslav Hdlek 
 
 EVENING SONGS 
 
 VlTfzSLAV HALEK 
 
 "Unmeet it is for man to lack 
 
 In song," once God in judgment spake, 
 
 Created man a poet then, 
 
 And bade him this allotment take: 
 
 "So long as thou liv'st know no peace, 
 
 But only learn of pain instead ; 
 
 And disappointed too in hope, 
 
 In tears eat thou thy daily bread. 
 
 "Torn be thy heart and bled from wounds, 
 But thyself only see thy bleeding; 
 Though hounded over every bound, 
 Love thou but all the more and sing." 
 
 It is us singers' common lot, 
 The world may only know our songs, 
 To know what prompted us to sing, 
 To none within this world belongs. 
 
 II 
 
 Lord, of every claim to gift 
 
 1 have, my soul here now I free; 
 
 9 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 But leave to me the gift of song, 
 That only do I beg of thee. 
 
 If thou shouldst take my gift to sing, 
 Naught longer then is life to me; 
 And gav'st me Fortune for my song, 
 I care not fortunate to be. 
 
 Hi 
 
 Whoever plays with golden strings, 
 
 Him honor more than thyself even; 
 
 For know that God did love thee so, 
 
 He needs must send him thee from heaven. 
 
 'Tis terrible when plague and want 
 To God's chastisement must belong; 
 Of punishments the greatest though, 
 Is when a nation lacks in song. 
 
 That race indeed has yet to die, 
 That had its prophets still to sing; 
 And every song that's born in heaven 
 In even death new life doth bring. 
 
 IV 
 
 Cast ye not stones at your prophets, 
 For like the birds bards are alone: 
 They never will return to him 
 Who casts but once at them a stone. 
 10 
 
Vitezslav Hdlek 
 
 A nation seeks God's punishment 
 When unrevered its bards it wrongs; 
 And direst is the curse of God, 
 Whenever he withdraws his songs. 
 
 A poet's heart is truly pure, 
 And likewise from all wrath apart, 
 And from his heart whate'er he sings, 
 That carry thou within thy heart. 
 
 A hundred years passed 'ere I came 
 Upon the grave that once was mine; 
 The sexton sang my song and piled 
 My bones with others in that shrine. 
 
 "O sexton, find for me that heart 
 From which you snatched the song you sing!" 
 The sexton wondered long and sought, 
 Save bones he could not find a thing. 
 
 Then from his grave he rose and spake: 
 "That, sir, with us no difference makes, 
 Ten hearts can'st thou perchance possess, 
 The grave wastes all of them it takes." 
 
 He finished digging, and I sighed: 
 "O heart of mine, there thou didst end." 
 The sexton as consoling adds, 
 "When hearts stop song, so all doth tend." 
 II 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 SONGS OF THE SLAVE 
 
 v 
 
 SVATOPLUK CeCH 
 
 Slaves. — Good it is to rest the weary body in the 
 light of the moon 
 
 'Neath the palms here. Feasting over, our custo- 
 dian sleeps now; 
 
 Sit down 'mongst us, tuneful comrade, and thy 
 sweetly sounding strings tune; 
 
 Let thy song reveal the golden thoughts spun in 
 your dreamy brow. 
 
 A Slave Girl. — Sing of flowers and stars! 
 A Young Slave. — Praise sing thou to a maid's fair 
 form and eye. 
 
 Another. — Ring the bells of jest. 
 
 An Old Man. — Disclose the deeds of ages long 
 gone by. 
 
 The Bard. — Other themes by far to-day resound 
 
 through my unhappy soul, 
 Like the roar and rumble of the storms that o'er 
 
 the heavens roll. 
 Far from these are flowery adornment, girlish grace, 
 
 and heroes' pride: 
 12 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 Sighs, groans, gnash of teeth and clash of chains 
 now in my themes abide. 
 
 Slaves. — Clash of chains is but a common strain 
 
 to us, yet play and sing; 
 Subdue thy voice, lest our sleeping lords and guard 
 
 the whip to you bring. 
 
 II 
 
 Well then, burst through lips obstructing, 
 Storms, that through my bosom roll, 
 Thoughts, that flash like rays of lightning 
 Through the darkness of my soul, 
 Fire of Shame and Wrathful Teeming, 
 Rouse my string from idle dreaming 
 And its heavy swoon control! 
 
 Hatched my songs not in a nest weighed 
 With scented tresses softly pressed, 
 Warmed them not the heart of maid 
 Dreaming sweetly on my breast. 
 Flashed were they through weary head 
 When 'neath haughty blows of fists, red 
 Flushed the cheek with blood compressed. 
 
 Yea of blood and tears and gall, 
 When times were bad, they were born; 
 When I saw the tyrant install 
 Tortures on my brothers forlorn; 
 When I gnashed my teeth in vain 
 
 13 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 As the brutal beadle in disdain 
 Laughed at us suffering and worn. 
 
 I know there'll be no gratitude, 
 I know many of you will say, 
 In the tortured croaking rude 
 There's no art or beauty's lay, 
 Above troubled turmoil's time 
 Should the singer strive to climb, 
 To the sunny height's clear way. 
 
 'Tis the truth perhaps, but freely 
 How may soar one to the sky, 
 When on breast he feels painfully 
 Heavy night's hobgoblin lie? 
 No other strain with me abides 
 Until storm in soul subsides; 
 Sing no other strain can I. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Of a slave begot, gave 
 Me birth likewise a slave; 
 Childhood's lullaby song 
 Was but clash of chain, — 
 Through my life extended 
 Rusted shackles sounded 
 Morn till nightfall along 
 Life's deserted main. 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 Scarce felt my nape at length 
 Youthful power and strength, 
 Yoke of steel was firmly 
 Bound about my neck: 
 Taught to bow my head low, 
 Kisses did I bestow 
 On the lash that smote me: 
 Brow beat earth at beck. 
 
 I, a weakly slave, grew 
 'Mongst my brother serfs true; 
 Chains for jewels clinked just 
 At each sister's side; 
 And where'er my gaze dwelt 
 Anger, shame, pain I felt, 
 As with heads bowed to dust 
 Slaves dwelt nation wide. 
 
 Ill did I bear my fate — 
 My bond's music grate, 
 Chasing from my cabin 
 All the charm of life. 
 When with stormy feeling 
 I sought my lyre's healing, 
 In my song accursed, din 
 Of my chains was rife. 
 
 Still my eye would often beam 
 With a flickering gleam: 
 I would strain my ear past 
 Woods and streams along: 
 I deemed that yon somewhere 
 
 15 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 Triumphs 'neath the heav'ns there, 
 Flies our hollow at last, 
 Freedom's sunny song. 
 
 When my head I would lift, 
 Low again would it drift; 
 On in shame and sorrow 
 Years succession gave. 
 Clings the yoke still to me 
 And the eye waits vainly 
 Dawn's redemptory glow: 
 I will die a slave. 
 
 My head e'en now bends low, 
 White locks my temples show; 
 Hopes no longer attain 
 Autumn's riper hue, — 
 Shackled my hands I know 
 Cursed the yoke I'll never o'er throw, — 
 In my grave shall that chain 
 Rest beside me too. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Oft here and there freedom is an empty name, 
 
 And liberty a hollow, idle sound; 
 
 Yet day by day 'mongst us feels this watchword 
 
 same 
 Each heart with stormy throb anew rebound; 
 Where'er one's gaze doth fall, 'tis writ in fire there, 
 And round about eternally it peals ; 
 Each morn we breathe a sigh for this our first care, 
 At night our final prayer with it deals. 
 
 16 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 Whene'er the boundless sea draws us from afar, 
 And free the wind doth toss our locks apart; 
 Whene'er the steeds that roam the plain, know no 
 
 bar, 
 With flowing mane on the horizon start; 
 Whene'er before our gaze proud soars the eagle 
 And flaps his wings in bluey heights above: 
 The fettered hand the while then shakes its shackle, 
 And quivering the lips with "Freedom" move. 
 
 O Freedom, like a wondrous myth art thou borne 
 
 Enchantingly to us from times now wan : 
 
 Dim as an echo of paradise forlorn 
 
 That sleeps concealed within the heart of man. 
 
 Our spirit grown with chains in one scarce trusts 
 
 too 
 That more than rumors could these tidings be, 
 That what in yonder distance dawns was true, 
 That we were once a nation of the free. 
 
 Thou didst appear within the tales of childlore 
 A shining fairy with a star above 
 Whene'er the grandsire read chronicles of yore; 
 Wast thou and thou alone youth's own true love, 
 Thy sunny gaze did ever before him beam, 
 And dreams of thee his martial moments filled; 
 For thee his shining sword he drew in dream, 
 In dream his warmest blood for thee he spilled. 
 
 In slav'ry's night wast thou a star to man, 
 Though far, though unattainable, alas! 
 'Twas thou that through his thoughts forever ran, 
 
 17 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 The goal of all his hopes to thee did pass; 
 
 And as a promised land beckst thou afar 
 
 The head that's gray, when wrapped o'er chains in 
 
 dream; 
 And e'en on dying eyes earth's last rays are 
 United with thee in a twinkling gleam. 
 
 O Freedom, let be that with lapse of time came 
 Thy name to lose its tone, once pure a part; 
 Let greedy egoists desecrate thy name 
 Who must suspend thy emblem in their mart ; 
 Let be that slanderers of true liberty 
 Weave thee upon their flag in false acclaim; 
 And those who at length escape the yoke, wildly 
 Then throttle other nations in thy name: 
 
 To hold thee ever pure in our hearts we seek, 
 Taught constantly thy fuller worth to know 
 Through rain of blows, the sting on the sunken 
 
 cheek, 
 And rapacious hands that grasp all from us so. 
 The blows that day by day are dealt with lash, 
 The thorns that daily pierce our brow, — all see 
 Each after each through the soul thy image flash, 
 And from the depths the sigh wells, "Liberty." 
 
 O Freedom, daily, thy opposite beneath, 
 We learn thy full and lustrous charm to admire, 
 In that hollow moan, in the gnash of teeth 
 With which we gnaw our bit our life entire. 
 
 18 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 When foreign heel can trample our nape in dust 
 And every comer scorn and torture deals, 
 The lips are closed 'neath hangman's lash unjust, 
 Though through the heart storm's longing, "Free- 
 dom," peals! 
 
 XVII 
 
 When dark above the earth the piling clouds clash 
 
 Like raging hosts of Satan in array, 
 
 Their shields with thunder peal and fiery swords 
 
 flash, 
 Then forth on high my fettered hands I lay: 
 
 Rise up, O Storm, in all your horror and might, 
 The elements' eternal rage awake! 
 Let earth be tumbled down in ruin, fire, night ; 
 The sea and rivers' floods the lowlands take! 
 
 Whate'er our master's is, destroy speedily, 
 
 Tear soil with waves, the meads to wastes condemn, 
 
 Shake blossom from its branch and fruit from 
 
 palm tree, 
 Break, fell, disroot with might each graceful stem! 
 
 Burst high his golden dome with muffled pealings, 
 Consume the master's stately home with fire, 
 With raining gravel of his marble ceilings 
 Crush low the tyrant and his hosts of hire ! 
 
 19 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 May foe with wrathful elements too unite, 
 And round with steel and fire-brand rage and rend, 
 Let be who will, success attend still his fight : 
 Our lord's assassin then will be our friend! 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Our master too designed for us our god, 
 
 And even bids us to believe 
 That god had placed within his hands the rod, 
 
 Our arms within their bonds did leave. 
 
 Abase yourselves, O bow yourselves, 
 
 Before the Lord of starry dome ! 
 
 Abase yourselves, O bow yourselves, 
 
 Before the lord of earthly home! 
 
 Humility, obedience, 
 
 Alone heaven's gates will open; 
 
 And for the master reverence, 
 
 Is the soul's most precious token. 
 
 Humanity's noblest feeling, perchance, 
 Is thus within the slaver's grace; 
 
 Within his God's eternal countenance 
 Is carved his domineering face. 
 His priests too in adulation 
 With stooping backs his praises say 
 In song and in emulation. 
 They are the pillar of his sway : 
 Upon each head destruction send 
 That will but raise itself more free, 
 And his success with prayers attend, 
 And bless his rod in piety. 
 20 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 The lips of a pious prophet once taught 
 Equality of all men, 
 
 And shattering the chains of a slave sought 
 To bind all with love's bonds then. 
 But his disciple's cunning clan 
 Upset his laws and his command, 
 Extols to us the sacred plan, 
 Although coerced its legal stand, 
 Rejoices with its filthy gain 
 Along with friendly lord's acclaim, 
 And so it consecrates the chain, 
 Mockingly, in the Master's name. 
 
 O God of ours, Thou our true God, give heed! 
 Thou God of slaves that are poor, 
 
 Who decks His altars not with gold indeed, 
 Nor priests in silken vesture; 
 Who reigns in nature's own beauty 
 And in the heart-throbs of the simple, 
 Thou, O greaft God of Liberty, 
 Lift up Thy hand so powerful, 
 Release us from our ancient shackles, 
 Raise high our heads up from the dust, 
 And to the world in Freedom's temples, 
 Proclaim Thy laws so true and just! 
 
 21 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 XXIII 
 
 I stand at dusk upon a cliff, 'gainst which mid 
 
 rumble of rain 
 And smoke is dashed in roaring spray the water's 
 
 vast hurricane. 
 Just as a bird that seeks in vain for rest the isle's 
 
 seclusion, 
 My gaze dips gloomily in mists, of clouds and 
 
 waves confusion 
 Which dark extends ahead into unbounded space 
 
 and which teems 
 Belike a witches' caldron with waterspouts and 
 
 seething streams. 
 
 As here I stand and backward gaze, in slav'ry 
 
 groans the land there; 
 I gaze ahead, there the threatening elements mad 
 
 strife prepare. 
 A tempest wild draws nigh; e'en now blows the* 
 
 wind my locks about, 
 While the voices of the storm my chain's eternal 
 
 clash o'ershout. 
 But I those fettered hands forth to the coming 
 
 deluge extend, 
 And my cheeks, like maids on kisses bent, to the 
 
 lashing winds I lend : 
 Welcome, storm. Your ghastly sight but promises 
 
 redemption only, 
 And in your rumble and roar, 'tis freedom's song 
 
 saluting me. 
 
 22 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 And now suddenly a sparkling mist begins to fill 
 
 my eyes; 
 I feel how my throbbing temples burn with sudden 
 
 fire; how rise 
 From my bosom to my trembling lips fantastic 
 
 murmurings, 
 And how my soul soars to future realms on 
 
 thought's prophetic wings. 
 There's a twinkling, glimmering, dawn, beyond 
 
 that mass of clouds and spray, 
 Just as if through them were breaking forth the 
 
 heavy birth of day. 
 The angry sea clothes itself in a ruddy, weirdly 
 
 beauteous glow, 
 As if in the broad water's stead blood and only 
 
 blood did flow. 
 The lengthy crests of monstrous waves, rain dashed 
 
 into spray anew, 
 Raging waterspouts and bursting clouds, — all are 
 
 a bloody hue; 
 And crash and din deafen the ear, as when in the 
 
 battle's fray 
 Clash countless spears and lances of raving armies 
 
 without array. 
 But anon the drumming of the storm grows still, 
 
 the seething ceases, 
 The sun's golden shield, peeping from the rosy 
 
 vapors, increases. 
 Victorious day rends the clouds and mists in flow- 
 ing tatters, 
 Just as in flying fringe are torn the battle-worn 
 
 banners. 
 
 23 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 The scattered hosts of darkness flee; silent grows 
 
 the stormy scene ; 
 Blue is the sky, blue is the sea, gold the atmosphere 
 
 between. 
 
 But what do I behold? A new strand there. The 
 sun's smiling form 
 
 Of coming years illumines another world reborn 
 from the storm. 
 
 And yon palm's gorgeous growth of green, glisten- 
 ing with fruit of gold, 
 
 Surveys its pleasing charms in the deep blue water's 
 peaceful fold. 
 
 The country round with 'bundance beams — blos- 
 som, grain and grape of vine; 
 
 And there in gratitude urgent work and merry 
 song combine. 
 
 All hands are free from fetters, pleasant is the 
 laborer's brow, 
 
 Nowhere custodian with whip, nor sleek the slave- 
 holder now; 
 
 Nowhere glistens the savage soldier's lance and 
 spear, nor appear 
 
 The white folds of the Brahman's robe hypocrit- 
 ically near; 
 
 Nowhere is writ in colors diverse the mark of 
 caste, 
 
 'Tfs the happy native land of brothers equal and 
 free at last. 
 
 24 
 
Svatopluk Cech 
 
 Peacefully in those throngs are mingled diverse 
 
 speech and color, 
 The beggar does not wind in rags, nor wastes his 
 
 wealth the idler; 
 Gone are the wretched huts, tidy homes though 
 
 plain are everywhere; 
 And where a stately palace proudly towers to the 
 
 skies, not there 
 Is a haughty egoist's abode, opens wide its gates to 
 
 all; 
 The people's parliament deliberates free their rise 
 
 and fall; 
 From there the glow of knowledge spreads about 
 
 a benevolent light, 
 Ennobling the human feelings, there in art soul 
 
 finds delight. — 
 The clash of chains has wakened me, the beautiful 
 
 dream is effaced, 
 So sadly interchanged, by the present shame and 
 
 woe replaced. — 
 
 But no! 'Twas not a mere illusion of my o'er- 
 
 yearning dream. 
 I know that the morning star of those better days 
 
 will yet gleam; 
 That the greater part of that vision's splendor will 
 
 be fulfilled, 
 Though from my aged neck to shake the yoke, I 
 
 shall not be willed. 
 My silvery gray head will bow unto the dust of 
 
 a slave; 
 
 25 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 Slaves too will cast the handful of earth to my 
 
 fetters in my grave. 
 But, you, O younger comrades, ere your course 
 
 shall know time no more, 
 You shall ascend with happy tread upon freedom's 
 
 sunny shore. 
 Then may the rude fist with whip around about 
 
 in darkness reign. 
 But let each cherish faithfully for the future that 
 
 blessed refrain; 
 Let all minds be united by the bond of our great 
 
 endeavor, 
 And till time bids thee to action, gather your forces 
 
 together ; 
 All peoples free shall fraternize, the bonds of slaves 
 
 will fall, 
 And our flag too, O brothers, will wave in the 
 
 clear heights o'er all. 
 
 26 
 
Petr Bezruc 
 
 ONE MELODY 
 Petr BezruC 
 
 Bad verse at times I write, I know, 
 I'm read but little luckily, 
 Into a dying flame I blow, 
 Though laughs at me nobility. 
 
 At times a silent song I sing. 
 If bad the note, forgive me, pray, 
 A miner black to work I cling 
 From Saturday to Saturday. 
 
 In stormy times, when roaring sounds 
 The jam of thought and fantasy, 
 In dismal monotone abounds 
 For me the selfsame melody. 
 
 On my people's nape 's one dragon ill, 
 One fist about their throat is twirled; 
 And from my verses one dactyl, 
 One sorrow stares into the world. 
 
 27 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 SILESIAN FORESTS 
 
 Thou art as I, Silesian Forests! 
 Sorrow clings to thy trunks and crests; 
 You look depressed and you look severe, 
 Just as my thoughts and my songs appear. 
 Spine falls from thee in the night and the mist, 
 Tears of a race in subjection list. 
 
 Fallen art thou by the ax at Vienna's wish, 
 Slowly you perish, peacefully you perish, 
 Silently perish, thou pine forest sea, 
 Endless, Silesian sorrows are ye. 
 
 28 
 
Petr Bezruc 
 
 A RED BLOSSOM 
 
 In a dark window, in a gray flower-pot, 
 
 Frowned a rough and thorny cactus. 
 
 Once on a morning 
 
 Red was the chalice that burst from the stalk, 
 
 Red was the blossom. 
 
 Came to us once a poet whose view differed, 
 
 Who adored fragrant and gorgeous roses. 
 
 In sounding distichs 
 
 Praised the rose and proudly censured 
 
 That ruddy blossom. 
 
 There are rough souls that have trod life's path 
 
 alone, 
 Thorns and prickles enveloped them entire. 
 What did their hearts hold? 
 Bloomed they but once and bloomed they at night, 
 
 look! 
 Red was the blossom. 
 
 29 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 YOU AND I 
 
 Out of my way now: 
 
 Black are my hands and damp is my clothing. 
 Only a miner am I, to-day noble thou; 
 Thou'rt from a palace, a hut is my dwelling. 
 Frigid's the cap I wear, with a visor on, 
 Orphans' lamenting prayers do not follow me; 
 Eaten up fields for them have hares of thine. 
 Heartless and soulless thou'rt, lightning smite thee! 
 I am from Bezkyd, thralldom and sorrow's son. 
 I slave in foundery, I slave in thy mine, 
 Gall seethes in my veins, but still I slave, 
 I catch thy logs on the foaming river's wave. 
 Black am I, poor am I, sweat pours from my brow, 
 Children in Bezkyd weep not on my account now. 
 Widows oppressed I not, nor did I seize their share, 
 And so a beggar am I, a noble thou to-day. 
 Did you arrive in the mountains? Then take care. 
 Frigid's my cap. Get thee out of my way. 
 
 30 
 
Petr Bezruc 
 
 70,000 
 
 There 're seventy thousand of us 
 Before Tesin, before Tesin. 
 A hundred thousand Germanized, 
 A hundred thousand Polanized, 
 A holy peace rests in my heart. 
 When we remain but seventy, 
 Of thousands only seventy, 
 May we live ? 
 
 They're digging seventy thousand 
 Graves for us all before Tesin. 
 At times some one sobs to the space 
 Above. His plea remains unfilled: 
 A foreign god laughs in his face. 
 And bluntly we gaze in a flock 
 How they place our heads upon the block, 
 As ox at slaughter of an ox. 
 
 And marquis Gero is so rich: 
 Give casks to us for seventy, 
 Give casks for thousands seventy. 
 A half of us will Germanize, 
 A half of us will Polanize, 
 A hundred lips will peal for thee : 
 Hail, marquis Gero, hail to thee! 
 But first before we perish thus, 
 May ruddy wine intoxicate us, 
 Bond-woman, daughter, man and son, 
 Before Tesin, before TeSin. 
 31 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 ON GOLGOTHA 
 J. S. Machar 
 
 It was the third hour when the cross was raised 
 
 Betwixt the crosses. 
 
 Red from exertion 
 
 The soldiers sat upon the much trampled 
 
 And bloody ground. They parted His raiment. 
 
 And for the coat which was without seam they 
 
 Cast lots. 
 
 And many of the multitude 
 
 Passed gazing up at Him and wagged their heads 
 
 And said, Ah, come down from the cross! For 
 Thou 
 
 Didst style Thyself king! Thou, that wouldst de- 
 stroy 
 
 The temple and then build it in three days 
 
 Well, save Thyself! 
 
 Stood by also chief priests 
 
 And scribes with long and flowing beards, and said 
 
 Amongst themselves: True, true, He saved others; 
 
 Let Him then save Himself now. — There also 
 
 Were many women looking on afar, 
 
 Who ministered to Him in Galilee, 
 
 Salome, Mary, and Magdalene, and who 
 
 Came up with Him unto Jerusalem. 
 
 Crucified, naked, shorn, He was numbered 
 With transgressors. And crusted blood clung to 
 His scourged body, while ruddy streams oozed from 
 
 32 
 
7. 5. Machar 
 
 His hands and feet and dripped upon the ground. 
 His dying eyes gazed out into distance, 
 Across the white city, hills and woodlands, 
 And ridges of the peaceful peaks in whose 
 Lap lie the blue waters of Galilee. 
 
 He bowed His head. 
 
 A winged rustling reached 
 His ear. 'Twas not the Father's angel with 
 Refreshment's chalice for a weary soul — 
 An unclean spirit with its batlike wings 
 Outstretched upon the air flew unto Him. 
 He had to suffer Satan to sit on 
 His cross, lean toward His head. For faint within 
 Him was His spirit and weak to resist. 
 
 And Satan then said: Woeful Sufferer, 
 Upon Thy cross of wood we meet again! 
 To-day the last time. 'Tis settled to-day. 
 The battle has been fought. 
 
 Rememberest Thou 
 Three years hence, when I carried Thee yon in 
 The wilderness upon a high mountain 
 And shew x ed Thee mighty kingdoms, promised 
 
 Thee 
 All of the glory of this world, shouldst Thou 
 Fall down and worship me? Thou didst refuse. 
 
 33 
 
Songs of the Slew 
 
 Thou wouldst proclaim the coming kingdom of 
 Heaven to the weak, wretched. Thou wouldst be- 
 stow 
 Imperishable gifts upon clean hearts. 
 Thou wouldst show humble souls the way into 
 Thy Father's glory and erase the curse 
 Of Adam from each generation's brow! 
 
 Thou didst go to Thy death quiet, resigned, 
 Just as the lamb that openest not its mouth. 
 Thou pourest out Thy blood even like the dew 
 To moisten Thy young and early sprouting seed. 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth, behold the throngs 
 
 That surge continually about Thy cross ! 
 
 Not long ago, when Thou didst enter in 
 
 The city in triumph, they strewed palms 'neath 
 
 Thy colt, cried praises unto Thee, and then 
 
 Proclaimed Thee David's son. For they thought 
 
 'mongst 
 Themselves the kingdom of God was at hand, 
 The cherished time of milk and honey was 
 Now come. And then Thou didst refuse again. 
 The disappointed throngs next in anger 
 Cried, "Crucify Him!" into Pilate's ears. 
 And now they come and wag their heads and say: 
 Here the king of the Jews is crucified. 
 Let Him save Himself. He would be the Son 
 Of God. But God seems to forsake Him now. 
 
 And God forsook. 
 
 34 
 
/. 5. Machar 
 
 Behold that heaven where Thou 
 Didst deem He reigns in all of His glory! 
 Cloudless, serene, it smiles quietly on 
 With its insensible blue smile. As 'twas 
 Before, so 'twill be after Thee. So too 
 The fowls flying the air and every beast 
 Inhabiting the earth has lived and lives 
 According to one law, that is my law. 
 The strong forever shall absorb the weak. 
 'Tis so with man. And this whole wide, wide 
 
 world 
 Is my kingdom. Because I am the Life. 
 I rule. I sit enthroned in hearts, in souls. 
 No one shall ever banish me, nor Thou, 
 Nor Thy Father. Thy kingdom of God is 
 A dream. That dream I leave to man for e'er! 
 
 Behold, how calmly Rome's centurion 
 Speaks with the scribe in white beneath Thy cross! 
 'Twill ever be thus. They are now heirs of 
 Thy words, Thy dreams. One shall change his 
 
 idols, 
 The other his Jehovah for Thy name, 
 And on the world shall live as I ordain. 
 
 Why didst Thou not then take all those kingdoms 
 And this world's glory from my gen'rous hand? 
 Thy youthful life would not have thus been spent 
 In shameful torture. Happily couldst Thou 
 Have lived and brought millions Thy happiness. 
 But what bring'st Thou? Death and discord 
 Thou spreadst, 
 
 35 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 Thou fallest first. And for Thy name, Thy 
 
 dreams, 
 Hundreds upon hundreds shall spill their blood 
 On crosses and arenas and scaffolds. 
 And when 'twill seem Thy dream has been fulfilled, 
 Then in Thy name, and only in Thy name, 
 The carnage shall go on. So far as eye 
 Can see, there rows of flaming pyres extend 
 Where sacrifices are burned in Thy name; 
 And in Thy name numberless wars shall rage, 
 And in Thy name cities and towns shall burn, 
 And in Thy name countries shall be laid waste, 
 And in Thy name curses shall be uttered, 
 And in Thy name there shall be slavery 
 Of body and of spirit. 
 
 For behold 
 The centurion and the scribe! The one 
 Shall murder in Thy name, the other bless 
 Him in Thy name. Wretched millions shall pay 
 For Thy dream with their most precious estate, 
 Their lives. 
 
 And o'er the blood that is thus spilled 
 Thy dream of God's eternal kingdom and 
 Heaven's glory shall rise up like a phantom 
 That shall reward the dead. A lure to them 
 In life thruout and on till ends the world ! 
 Why then didst Thou not take all those kingdoms 
 And glory of this world? For life is mine. 
 I am the life, the lord of all below. 
 And forever I sit in hearts, in souls! . . . 
 
 36 
 
/. S. Machar 
 
 And then forthwith Satan arose and spread 
 His great, dark, batlike wings, that extended 
 With swiftness of the wind in distance vast 
 And ghastly great. O'er Golgotha entire, 
 O'er city and valley and o'er the hills, 
 O'er regions round about, o'er distant peaks, 
 O'er waters blue of lakes of Galilee, 
 O'er realms beyond afar and seas remote, 
 There was projected then a dark, black veil. 
 
 And there was darkness over all the land, 
 Which trembled then. 
 
 And in the end Jesus 
 About Him gazed and with a loud voice cried: 
 Eloi, Eloi, lama Sabachtani, 
 And yielded up the ghost. . . . 
 
 37 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 A FANTASTIC BALLAD 
 
 Its first night now away from wealth's gleam, 
 The graceful form of that proud belle, 
 Cold, 'neath its flowery mound, in deep dream, 
 Within its casket there did dwell. 
 
 And weird the moon from heights above viewed 
 The night, by breath of fragrant bowers 
 Made tremulous; the light, livid-hued, 
 Slept soft on grave and cross and flowers. 
 
 When suddenly upon that mound — lo! 
 The buds upon each twig and shoot 
 Began to burst, and each flower tapped slow 
 Upon the casket with its root. 
 
 "Admit me now to that fair cheek/' spake 
 The rose, "to drink a bit of blood, 
 My bud begins to ope; for its sake 
 I seek to have her color's flood." 
 
 The violet whisp'rs low in the gloom : 
 "My root shall pierce her eyes of blue, 
 There shall the hue be drawn for their bloom, 
 Since bursts my throng of buds now too!" 
 
 38 
 
/. S. Machar 
 
 "And I," the tender lily speaks, "want 
 My flowers that precious gloss to own 
 That 'dorns her breast of snow. Pray, recant, 
 O Casket! Hear the plaint I moan!" 
 
 "The lips purple!" the peony cries; 
 The rosemary, "The hair's sweet scent." 
 "O casket, grant our prayers. Sudden rise 
 Our throngs of flowers in bloom. Relent! 
 
 "To let this belle thus fade in her tomb, 
 In blinding night — a sin at best. 
 Well lift her to the sun, and shell loom 
 Aloft upon each gayest crest!" 
 
 And with a sinister chuckle, slow 
 
 The hemlock rose — before all hid: 
 
 "I seek the heart. Didst ye forget? Ho! 
 
 The poison for my flowers I bid." 
 
 39 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 A SONNET OF THE PAST 
 
 You sigh as backward gazest thou: 
 Ah, after all times then were best. 
 But, my dear friend, be not depressed, 
 You said it then as say you now. 
 
 And in that "then" not otherwise, 
 You longed for only what was past. 
 Thus further back you will surmise, 
 Till reach you swaddling clothes at last. 
 
 And in those clothes perhaps you'd prate, 
 Couldst thou but speak or meditate, 
 Oh, but times then were better still. 
 
 'Tis fate's old witticism ill. 
 So, it may be a better fate 
 When hearts will cease to meditate. 
 
 40 
 
/. 5. Machar 
 
 A SONNET OF LIFE 
 
 How strange and feverish the haste appears, 
 With which our modern living flies. 
 Gaze back adown the row of bygone years 
 And you begin to feel a longing rise. 
 
 As if you rode a train that could not stop 
 Or knew not whither it was rushing thee. 
 As regions pass thee by, perchance you'd stop, 
 But then a stop impossible would be. 
 
 A few friends now ride in the car with you, 
 A few fleet girlish glances you behold, 
 They leave as others then in turn will do. 
 
 At length thou'rt weary, — all a sameness takes, 
 
 You feel the heart is quickly growing old 
 
 And fills with longing when remembrance wakes. 
 
 41 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 My mother, aft long rows of years I plant 
 To-day a sonnet 'neath thy name of gold. 
 Only a sonnet where hymn I should chant, 
 But verses, where should sacred prayers be told. 
 
 Ah, one must tread adown the path of woe 
 And bury much in many storm accursed, 
 Curse all that once he would have fondled so, 
 Despair, and oftentimes in weeping burst. 
 
 Then ridicule he must cynically 
 
 That frivolous, yet frightful song of life, 
 
 To accent the word "mother" properly. 
 
 And loathsome must that song to him remain, 
 To say he hears forever in the strife 
 That "mother" sound as a sacred refrain. 
 
 42 
 
/. 5. Machar 
 
 THE SPIRAL 
 
 or 
 
 ON THE DECLINE OF A CENTURY 
 
 A spiral is a regular endless curve beginning at 
 the center and running in diverging rings contin- 
 ually in a circle so that the distance of a point on 
 any one revolution from the second is as great as 
 the second from the third and so on. — A Definition 
 of a Spiral. 
 
 It was ages ago. 
 'Twas the moment perhaps 
 That Darwin describes: 
 White was the beast 
 That suddenly raised 
 Her head on high, 
 Stood firm upon 
 Her hind feet 
 Gazed up above 
 To the shining ball 
 In its vault of blue, 
 Gazed all around 
 On luxuriant earth, 
 On the fruits thereof 
 And all its creatures. 
 A mighty feeling 
 Of dominion and strength 
 Stirred her to the depths. 
 43 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 And from her breast 
 First welled the joyous, 
 Broad, powerful, 
 Victorious: I, 
 Which seemed to her 
 The final center 
 Of things all around. — 
 And from the white beast 
 At that time arose man. 
 
 And life began. 
 
 The embittered power 
 Of afflictions and pains 
 (Which unbeknown 
 Each "I" enclosed 
 As a soul within) 
 Drove them on and on. 
 Life fled before it 
 As flees the hare 
 From the light weasel 
 Which sits at its throat. 
 From a small point 
 Life flew in a curve 
 Of broad expanse. 
 The curve unwinds, 
 Unwinds and unwinds 
 In a whirling spiral 
 Along which man rushes, 
 Impelled by pain 
 And strengthened by hope 
 Of peace and brighter aims. 
 44 
 
J. S. Machar 
 
 And the spiral spreads 
 Through space without bounds, 
 Without depth and height, 
 Without breadth and length, 
 On into the unknown. 
 
 The embittered power 
 Of afflictions and pains 
 Impels it onward. 
 It crumbled souls, 
 Created gods, 
 Crushed masses, 
 Established kings, 
 Impressed the steel 
 Into the hands of man 
 Which he in turn 
 Plunged into himself; 
 Led spirits into 
 Sciences' labyrinth 
 And to streams of art, 
 But nowhere to fortune. 
 
 Mankind rushes along 
 The whirling spiral 
 Through space without bounds, 
 Without depth and height, 
 Without breadth and length, 
 On into the unknown. 
 
 Counseling gods, 
 That gave not fortune, 
 Overturned thrones, 
 That gave not fortune, 
 45 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 Blood that was shed 
 
 And brought not fortune, 
 
 Sciences and arts 
 
 Where man found not fortune, 
 
 All lies casts aside 
 
 Along life's frightful way. 
 
 A monster huge 
 Of bluish color, 
 And called the past, 
 Creeps aft mankind, 
 Devours it all 
 With mighty jaws, 
 And, insatiable, 
 Grows day by day. 
 
 Mankind rushes on 
 And ever onward. 
 And again new gods, 
 And new kings, 
 And new battles, 
 And new arts, 
 And new sciences, — 
 And again all lies 
 Behind him far 
 In the spiral's path 
 As the monster's prey. 
 
 And the spiral spreads and spreads 
 Through endless space. 
 And wretched mankind 
 Thus chases fortune. 
 Joyful cries at times 
 
 46 
 
/. 5. Machar 
 
 Sound from a hundred throats, 
 And strained nerves 
 Tremble with bliss. 
 Wretched mankind! 
 Some sort of phantom, 
 Fata morgana, 
 
 Glittered somewhere for thee 
 In the boundless desert! 
 
 Wretched mankind I 
 
 The following hour 
 
 Again art thou further on, 
 
 Ahasuerus of thy fable, 
 
 In thy flight! 
 
 And the deceitful phantom 
 
 Will find itself in the jaws 
 
 Of the bluish past, 
 
 As all things else! 
 
 And the spiral spreads and spreads. 
 The nineteenth circle, 
 Which we call enlightened, 
 Runs into the twentieth. 
 'Tis an age of steam, 
 Chemistry and physics, 
 And a god grown old, 
 And several kings, 
 And rows of fine battles, 
 And full of knowledge, 
 And nerves unstrung, 
 And of vain hopes, 
 47 
 
Songs of the Slav 
 
 And full of misfortune 
 As all the rest. 
 
 The embittered power 
 Of afflictions and pains 
 Drives us from it 
 Onward and onward 
 Along the whirling spiral. 
 
 That bluish past 
 With gigantic jaws, 
 With a great belly, 
 Follows in our footsteps. 
 It will at least find 
 A profitable spoil. 
 
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