Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/63

In the troublous times of slaughter,
all around thy banners crowd.
But, behold! a knightly hero!
good amongst the best is he;
’Tis the grey-hair’d knight, Sir Berka,
bow’d in deep, deep misery.
On the battlements in sorrow,
on the battlements in woe,
Lo! he stands all sadly gazing
at the far, far woods below,
Whose broad gloomy sides discover
where the fleeing Tatars go.
At the old man’s side Ludmilla
sit’s in bitt’rest grief forlorn,
Fair Ludmilla, spouse belovéd
of his Jan, his eldest born;
And the eyes of that pale lady,
like the old man’s looks of woe,
On the far, far woods are gazing,
where the Tatar’s wild hordes go,
Where they drag her own belovèd,
Jan, her spouse, her hero brave,
On their flight to distant regions,
as a captive and a slave.
To his other side is clinging
Wratislaw, his youngest son,
On whose locks so bright and golden
Spring her flow’rs twelve times hath strewn;
In whose bright blue eyes the summer
sun twelve times hath mirror’d been;