Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/93

 

Nation and honour have vanished, the gods have gone with the language,
Nature alone doth remain—nature that ne'er can be changed.
Forest, stream, town and village unwilling their titles Slavonic
Altered; the form but remains. Spirit of Sláva is gone.
O who will come, these graves from a living dream to awaken?
Who will the rightful heir back to his country restore?
Who will tell us the place where Miliduch bled for his nation?
Who will a monument raise, keeping his memory fresh?
Where, in his wrath at reform, did Kruk in defence of traditions,
Take the command of the Slavs, fighting their cause to uphold?
Or how Bojeslav wielded in contest the sword of a victor,
And with statutes in peace guided his happy domain?
Now there are none remaining; the boorish countryman's ploughshare,
Crashing destructively on, breaks up the warriors' bones;
Wroth at the worthlessness of two generations, their shadows