Continental Monthly, Vol. III, No IV, April 1863

In conclusion, take the benediction of serene old Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, in his preface to 'Don Quixote' (could we possibly have a better?): 'And so God give you health, not forgetting me. Farewell!'

THE CHECH

"Chcés li tajnou véc aneb pravdu vyzvédéti, blazen, dité, opily ćlovék o tom umeji povedeti."

"Wouldst thou know a truth or mystery,
A drunkard, fool, or child may tell it thee."

    Bohemian Proverb.

And now I'll wrap my blanket o'er me,
And on the tavern floor I'll lie;
A double spirit-flask before me,
And watch the pipe clouds melting die.

They melt and die – but ever darken,
As night comes on and hides the day;
Till all is black; – then, brothers, hearken!
And if ye can, write down my lay!

In yon black loaf my knife is gleaming,
Like one long sail above the boat; —
– As once at Pesth I saw it beaming,
Half through a curst Croatian throat.

Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling,
And wilder, wilder turns my brain;
And still I'll drink – till, past all feeling,
The soul leaps forth to light again.

Whence come these white girls wreathing round me?
Baruska! – long I thought thee dead!
Kacenka! – when these arms last bound thee,
Thou laidst by Rajhrad cold as lead!

Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling,
And wilder, wilder turns my brain;
And from afar a star comes stealing,
Straight at me o'er the death-black plain.

Alas! – I sink – my spirits miss me,
I swim, I shoot from sky to shore!
Klarà! thou golden sister – kiss me!
I rise – I'm safe – I'm strong once more.

And faster, faster whirls the ceiling,
And wilder, wilder turns my brain;
The star! – it strikes my soul, revealing
All life and light to me again.

* * *

Against the waves fresh waves are dashing,
Above the breeze fresh breezes blow;
Through seas of light new light is flashing,
And with them all I float and flow.

But round me rings of fire are gleaming:
Pale rings of fire – wild eyes of death!
Why haunt me thus awake or dreaming?
Methought I left ye with my breath.

Aye glare and stare with life increasing,
And leech-like eyebrows arching in;
Be, if ye must, my fate unceasing,
But never hope a fear to win.

He who knows all may haunt the haunting,
He who fears nought hath conquered fate;
Who bears in silence quells the daunting,
And sees his spoiler desolate.

Oh wondrous eyes of star-like lustre,
How ye have changed to guardian love!
Alas! – where stars in myriads cluster
Ye vanish in the heaven above.

* * *

I hear two bells so softly singing:
How sweet their silver voices roll!
The one on yonder hill is ringing,
The other peals within my soul.

I hear two maidens gently talking,
Bohemian maidens fair to see;
The one on yonder hill is walking,
The other maiden – where is she?

Where is she? – when the moonlight glistens
O'er silent lake or murm'ring stream,
I hear her call my soul which listens:
'Oh! wake no more – come, love, and dream!'

She came to earth-earth's loveliest creature;
She died – and then was born once more;
Changed was her race, and changed each feature,
But oh! I loved her as before.