Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/68

With the lady, pale Ludmilla,
all forlorn and comfortless;
Grave-like silence, deathlike stillness,
fills the chamber of distress.
Hark! the oaken door is creaking!
lo! it opens in their sight!
On the threshold stands a stranger;
sure he is a noble knight;
Stands awhile with arms extended,
ere he can the inmates meet;
Flings him down then at the old man’s,
flings him at the lady’s feet.
Is it not the heir? O heaven!
Is it not the dead believ’d?
It is Jan; it is the lost one,
home again with joy receiv’d!
Can we tell the old man’s feelings?
or the happy thoughts that swell
The true hearts of wife and husband?
or the speaking joys that dwell
In the sacred glance of welcome?
he who can, the tale may tell.
Then a long, long silence over,
and a happy fond embrace,
Jan his father to the window,
and his true wife leads apace;
Points beneath into the courtyard
of the castle, shews him where
Holds a squire two Tatar coursers;
one doth now no rider bear;