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LYRICAL POEMS.
91
When the glorious times were set,
Men must needs the tombs forget;
Where their fathers’ blood was spilt,
There the lads a church have built.
Storm, why shatter’st thou it not?
Tempest, why destroy’st it not?
Nation, why in glorious war
Driv’st thou not thy shame afar?
But in vain our calls resound,
Still the mountain sleepeth sound,
Firm the church abideth there,
And from tempests nought doth fear.
Mountain, mountain, thou art high!
See’st thou life and vengeance nigh?
When thy church in ruins lies,
Slawa from her grave shall rise.
