John Bowring

“ Sonnet 37.
Negen že ge kinene slowanského.
'Tis not alone that of Slavonia's stem, She is a simple and a smiling flower;
Tho' the obdurate frank and saxon's power
Have sought to rose the impress of the gem.
Oh! many erring sons of Slawa know
Too little of her glories—they conspire,
Her language—their sire's fame—to overthrow,
Nor heed the frownings of celestial ire.
A heart as pure as are the pearls of dew—
An english spirit in a child-like guise—
A magic on the lips and in the eyes,
And friendship's strength, and beauty's sparkling hue.
Ye fame-full tribes and tongues! ”

“ Be present to my eyes—as to my mind—
⁠Hither again—O hither bend thy way.
'Midst the dark foliage in the full-moon's light
⁠Thou didst first fan the fire of holiest love;
There did my pure lips pledge their early plight,
⁠While listening nightingales were group'd above.
Hear (saidst thou) hear my words than blue-bright heaven;
⁠Hear them, thou moon! whom yon fair stars attend;
And if I leave thee—curs'd and unforgiven
⁠Let poison with each breeze, each breathing blend.
O thou wilt see, bewitching, blinding maids,
⁠Maids who o'er youth's fond dreams supremely reign ”

“ There are many blind wanderers through unbounded fields of instruction, who can discover nothing but nakedness—nothing but barrenness around them. Fertility itself offers no attractions to them—how much less can they understand the power of that benign principle which makes the waters gush forth, fresh, pure, and sparkling, from the very rocks of the desert.
If one purpose more than another has been ever present to my mind, in the attempts I have made to glean some stalks among the foreign harvests of literature, it has been, to extend the circle of benevolence and of generous affections. ”

“ To suffering he the stamp of joy has given,
And poor'd on earth the sunny light of heaven.
Sonnet 27.
Gešté spj! O ticho srdce hlasné.
She sleepeth! cease, thou noisy heart! to beat; Let every step be silence—birds! be still;
Ye guardian spirits, on your pinions fleet,
Fly—hurry back the sun-light from the hill.
It were a sin to lose an hour so sweet:
Ungrateful not love's mandates to fulfil;—
Disturb her not—kiss gently, eager will,
Those lips—that brow—both love and beauty's seat. ”

“ And tarry not a moment night or day.
"Speed thee—I bid thee speed; and say the prince—
The prince himself will wed th' unparallel'd:
Fly for the god-like child—fly swiftly—since
Till thou return I am in misery held.
Take thou this ring—I charge thee not to linger—
This princely ring, and place it on her finger;
And bring her swiftly to the castle gates,
Where welcome, with her marriage song, awaits."
He springs—he spurs—he speeds—he flies along, O'er plains, and changing fields, for many a day,
And sometimes he is followed by a throng
Of peasants thro' the dark and doubtful way ”

“ Sonnet 118.
Na tě mysljm, když tmy šeré hynau.
I think of thee when night's dark shadows fly, And morning's ray spreads slowly o'er the hills;
When girt with stars and clouds, the morn on high
Smiles on the birchen grove and gilds the rills.
I hear thee in the gentle music, made
By streams that rush to other streams—by flowers
That whisper to the winds, or catch the showers—
Or green leaves rustling in the vernal glade.
Thee do I see—thee would I recognize—
A pilgrim hasting to a holy shrine;
When mists that seem all-sacred wrap the skies,
With thee I dwell, and I am ever thine ”

“ What is narrow or exclusive in benevolence I would widen; all that is selfish I would fain control. The virtues become more intellectual—the intellect becomes more virtuous, by sometimes travelling beyond the little limits of family, and tribe, and nation. It is most delightful and most improving to feel concerned in the well-being of those who are removed from us—to hail them as part of the great family of man. To influence their felicity is the lot of but few—to rejoice in it and so to share it, might be the privilege of all. ”

“ In love's own madness—danc'd with gladness—smil'd but 'twas to sigh:
Nights all-sleepless—chas'd the error—sad and lone was I.
At morning ere the matin bell—and ere the matin prayer [2]
I rose to hear the choral songs of minstrels of the air.
The forests shaded—I invaded—and my hapless eye
Ah! false maiden—wretched lover—saw—O agony!
'Twas in the valley's deepest dell [3] she sat—and not alone;
I heard the vow—I saw the kiss—she smil'd—he said 'Mine own'
He fondly press'd her—I address'd her—'Wretched, wretched be;' Sown not gather'd—lov'd not wedded—luckless doom for me. ”

“ With a poor maiden, are the proud and mighty:
O how my cheeks were burning, when he said,
'Time may tell other tales, thou lovely maid!"
And then his voice was silent—but her cheeks
Crimson'd—aye! crimson'd like an early rose:
Her heart beat high—she bids it rest—she speaks
In vain—its beating loud and louder grows.
The prince mov'd slowly o'er the fields—moved only
In erring steps, but sorrowful and lonely—
While every eye but his was gay and bright,
And every, every heart but his was light. ”

“ Their court—that silver bell in deep repose
⁠Lies cold and voiceless ages without number;
The ancient woman in the water throws
⁠Her flaxen threads—and wakes it from its slumber.
'Twas the last time its awful accents broke—
⁠"John, John—is for the greyhound gone," it mutter'd,
And never more to mortal can it spoke,
⁠Nor noise, nor word, nor whisper has it utter'd.
The neighbours seek the well—their pitchers fill,
⁠They wash their flax—and fear pursues them never;
They know the bell's mysterious tongue is still. ”

“ Vain dreams! for I thro' darksome woods am creeping—
I have no mansion, but the clouds' wild hues.
Turn not, O turn not back—shine, day-star, shine!
Ye birds of heaven pour out your loudest songs—
Lift, thou fierce storm, that awful voice of thine—
Shout mountains, shout! what pang to man belongs,
Man may bear bravely—I resolve—and yet
Turn back—and then I feel my eyes are wet.
Sonnet 54.
Lasko! lasko! ó ty sladký klame. ”

“ The flowers are mirrors, made by dewdrops' ray,
The bolts and bars of human dwellings fly,
And noise rolls o'er the lately silent way:
The darkness and the weariness are past
Of yesternight—and now the morning breaks
In light and beauty undisturb'd—a vast
And glorious renovation; but for me
No morn of hope—no day of brightness wakes—
'Tis an eternal night of misery.
Sonnet 110.
Dunagi, ty i wšech toků knjže.
Duna! [9] thou queen of many rivers—thou Of all Slavonia, venerable mother!
Why to a foreign ocean dost thou flow,
Why leave thy native home to seek another? ”

“ And let thy smile—cheeks, lips, and eyelids kiss.
Sonnet 72.
Sláwie! O Sláwie! ty gmeno.
Slavonia! glory-breathing name, surrounded With mingling mists of pleasure and of pain:
Now torn by sorrow—now by treachery wounded—
Now, breaking into light and strength again.
From the Karpathian to the Ural brows,
From sandy wastes that wake the summer's heat;
To where its ray falls powerless on the snows—
Thou art enshrin'd in thy majestic seat! ”

“ Žižka! Bohemia's chief—arise!
Of murdered [1] Hus th' avenger thou!
Thou hast o'erwhelm'd thine enemies
In the fierce battle-field, and now
They perish in the dust below.
And the whole world has seen how great
A patriot's victory may be;
When arm'd, Bohemia!—arm'd for thee. ”

“ And many, many ages pass'd away, ⁠Their gloomy shades o'er our Bohemia flinging,
That church in melancholy ruins lay,
⁠The tower o'erturn'd—thebell had ceas'd its ringing:
Yet when that church and tower in fragments fell,
⁠A heavenly angel, clad in light, appearing,
Convey'd the silver relic to the well—
⁠Žizkians! that bell will toll not in your hearing. ”

“ Of bullets—while like seeds of thistles o'er
⁠Torn limbs fly by—thy love shall be my bliss.
Should I return to our bohemian land, ⁠When the blest trump of peace is heard again,
What bliss—what bliss supreme to take thy hand—
⁠How will my spirit thrill with rapture then!
Thy rosy lips my eager kiss shall press,
⁠My arms around thy smiling form shall be;
Thine eyes—thy cheeks—the kiss of love shall bless;
⁠O! the unutterable extasy!
Hark! hark ! ”

“ He had some reputation as a writer of german verse, at a time when the language and literature of Bohemia appeared rapidly hastening to decay. But he abandoned the teutonic field to labor in that of Slavonia, and he has received marks of distinction as a poet in his vernacular tongue, which never honored, and never would have honored him, as a german writer. Doubtless the true instrument of poetry is the language taught us in childhood—the language in which alone the finer shades of sentiment and passion can find appropriate expression. ”

“ When Etna opens wide his fiery lips—
Turns pale the star-hair'd moon and shakes the sphere!
Yet this, and more than this, my soul can bear—
But not thine innocent look,—thy gentle smile—
What magic, might, and majesty, are there:
A trembling agitation shakes me, while
Confus'd amidst thy varied charms I see
The powers of earth and heaven all blent in thee.
Sonnet 12.
Malug obraz, genž se zářj hrawau.
Mould thee of brightest dreams an airy creature, The loveliest soul in loveliest body dress;
Bid beauty overflow from every feature—
Bid mind uplift them from earth's narrowness. ”

“ Like other great men, and especially like those greatest of men, who have devoted themselves, and sacrificed themselves to an unsuccessful popular cause, he has been delivered over to ages of calumny, from which some after and more enduring ages of glorious fame will rescue his memory. To the name of Žižka, rebel attaches—to that of John Hus, heretic—to that of George Poděbrad, usurper. Time will tear away the scrolls which falsehood has attached to their histories—and write Patriot—Reformer—Hero:—and the words will be indelible. ”

“ Disease curtails the gathering years of some, Some fall a rival's enmity beneath,
Sharp steel, or pinion'd-lead sends others home—
Poison and thunder fill the nets of death:
Some are o'erpower'd by wasting pestilence—
The murderer's bloody stroke is some men's doom,
The headsman summons others to the tomb,
But I—am called by love to speed me hence. ”

“ We have been rendering to each other evil passions and evil deeds; we, who ought to have been refreshing and invigorating and exciting one another by the interchange of high and holy thoughts, of generous purposes, of warm affections, of beneficent doings. The debt of justice is due from England to the North. Our men of science and of song have found their way over all Scandinavia, while Scandinavian genius has not received its merited welcome here. ”

“ In 1818 he was appointed librarian of the national museum at Prague. His poetical productions are not numerous, but flowing and national. It is to him that the literature of Bohemia owes the great debt of the discovery and elucidation of the Kralodworsky MSS., which may, without hesitation, be deemed the most remarkable contribution modern times have made to the ancient literature of Bohemia. He is a thorough master of the literary antiquities of his country, and by his Starobylá Skládanie has admirably filled one of the blanks in the history of letters. ”

“ Happily the period of hostile rivalry appears passing away. The history of by-gone centuries is not the history of friends and brethren. We have met in bloody bravery, to exchange hatred for hatred and injury for injury. ”

“ Expressions like these are frequently employed by men who scorn all instruction but that which flows from classic sources, and such expressions are too often only the exhibition of proud ignorance and idleness. It is easy to despise what we do not comprehend; and to contemn an unknown language and literature is a lighter task than to study them. ”

“ Where bravery scarce dares stay alone,
O what a woeful page they are,
Of man in passion's fierce career:
The very winds that whistle thro',
Seem shuddering midst the gloomy pile:
There spectra meet—and sigh awhile ”

“ Our great ones live—how beautiful and bright
Their course, and thus the wandering thoughts of day
Roll into steady shapes in dreams at night;
But let the years roll on, our fate controlling
They will bring peace at last, while onward rolling ”

“ They were the stamina whose seed is gone forth to the ends of the earth, subduing and creating magnificent nations, and planting the Gothic family in every quarter of the globe. Wherever they have gone, they have carried civiliaation with them; wherever they have rested, they have laid the foundation of freedom and of happiness. ”

“ His father (he tells me) was a farmer, whom, up to his 16th year, he assisted in the labours of the field, and had no time for study but the wintry hours which he could dedicate to the school. From the spring to the autumn he kept his father's sheep. The elements of the latin tongue he learned at home, and afterwards completed his knowledge of it at Hradeckrálowé (Königgratz) . He studied philosophy at Prague—law at Vienna: his mother-tongue was always the object of his admiration, and in early life he "moralized in song." ”

“ The place of our birth is accidental, and uncertain is the history of our ancestry; but in human improvement and happiness we have each and all of us a common interest and heritage. From the moment that nationality intrudes upon the general weal, it is pernicious, and unless closely watched, may become profligate. ”

“ Youth from youth's blood—the stars above
⁠Have told it—I shall be, in truth,
A, maid of beauty and of love,
⁠Wash'd in the blood-streams of the youth."
The youth he chang'd as pale as death, ⁠Few words his anguish. could impel ”