Jaroslav Vrchlický

“ Within my soul a sorrow—
A bitterness there dwelt.
And while I look it changes;
My mother’s face I see.
The features calm in prayer—
That prayer is for me.
The eyes with tear-drops heavy,
The lips drawn for a kiss ”

“ From a persecuted land we call,
⁠Where the terrible fiend we must gorge—
Where the Dragon is master of all,
⁠We beseech thee, help us, St. George!
Give us strength that we may do our work,
⁠That each be filled from on high with strength. ”

“ Then he quickly spoke in the common speech,
“Never as whips will your son’s manhood reach.
“No more we will murmur—this we will do,
Cut your whips before they grow strong and true.
“For our children’s backs scorpions we’ll not rear—
Nor see them made to cripples—have no fear!”
Šamonice’s bells are gladly ringing—
The lords mourn, but the farmers are laughing. ”