Part 1

Chapter 13,970 wordsPublic domain

EVENING SONGS

VÍTĚZSLAV HÁLEK

_From the Czech Original_

TRANSLATED BY

DR. JOSEPH ŠTÝBR

BOSTON

RICHARD G. BADGER

THE GORHAM PRESS

Made in the United States of America

The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

INTRODUCTION

Vítězslav Hálek, whose little volume of verses is herewith presented to the reader in English translation, belonged to the romantic and lyric school of Czech poesy during the second half of the last century. He was born in 1835 and died in 1874. From his first appearance in literature in 1858 he held his nation at attention and enjoyed its admiration and love for twenty years. During that time he produced a line of works touching upon nearly all classes of writing; however, the lyric string of his lyre proved to be the most charming one, and this little volume of Evening Songs proved to be his culminating point. As an expression of fragrant effusions of feeling it always appealed to the tenderness of youthful hearts and was eagerly sought and read, so that the book in the original appeared in many editions.

Should the little volume bring real pleasure to the reader and induce others to open wider the doors to the rich and charming Czech literature for the readers in English, the effort of the translator would be well rewarded.

THE TRANSLATOR.

CONTENTS

PAGE

AS IN THE SKY RISES THE MOON 53

AT PROPHETS CAST YE NEVER STONES 71

BLEST IS THE MAN WHOM THE LORD’S HAND 67

DAY AND NIGHT WENT EACH THEIR WAY, THE 55

DEEP SILENCE REIGNS--IT SEEMS TO ME 48

DON’T WONDER, SHOULDST THOU CHANCE TO HEAR 58

FROM HEAVEN ANGELS COME TO EARTH 72

GOD SUMMONED ME TO PARADISE 17

GOD’S WORLD IS SO FAR AND WIDE, THE 59

GREATEST HERO IS NOT HE, THE 32

HEAVENS ARE REPLETE WITH STARS, THE 33

HE’S GOING FAR FROM HOME 75

HE WHO CAN STRIKE THE GOLDEN STRINGS 70

HEY, IN THE ROUNDS WHAT PLEASURE 60

HUMMING OF THE TREES HAS CEASED, THE 13

I AM A LINDEN WITH LARGE CROWN 21

I AM THE KNIGHT FROM THE OLD TALE 12

I BADE THE TRUMPETS TO BE BLOWN 69

I DO NOT KNOW, WAS IT A DREAM? 45

I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, WITH NO LOVE 50

IF ALL THE WORLD LOST ITS DELIGHT 37

IF THAT POOR NIGHTINGALE 18

IN THE SKY THE MOON WAS STANDING 74

IT HAPPENED. MY SOUL MINUS THEE 26

IT SEEMED TO ME--GRIEF HAD GROWN OLD 49

MOON SAILS SLOWLY IN THE SKY, THE 76

MUCH HAS BEEN TRUSTED TO THY HANDS 68

MY GOD, OF ALL THINGS I ASPIRE 66

MY LIPS WERE LOCKT A LONG, LONG TIME 64

MY PILLOW WAS OF SORROW MADE 62

MY SWEETHEART, COME, KNEEL DOWN WITH ME 20

MY SWEETHEART, COME, SIT CLOSE TO ME 29

MY SWEETHEART, I DREAMT THOU HADST DIED 39

MY SWEETHEART, LOOK AT THOSE TWO CLOUDS 77

NIGHT IS FAIR AND TRANSPARENT, THE 43

NOW GO, MY DARLING CHILDREN, GO 73

OF MY SONGS I SHALL BUILD THY THRONE 57

ONCE AS I THROUGH THE GOLDEN STARS 30

SCORCHING HEAT OF NOONDAY SUN, THE 35

SHOULD I TELL THEE THE SECRET TALE 19

SO MANY, MANY THINGS THERE ARE 41

SO OFTEN IT APPEARS TO ME 22

SPRING CAME FLYING FROM AFAR, THE 11

STARS UPON THE HEAVENS THERE, THE 31

STARS BY THE HUNDREDS DOT THE SKY 15

TELL WHEREIN THOU HAST SINNED, MY HEART 36

THAT DEEP AND DARK BLUE HEAVEN’S BOWL 46

THAT LITTLE BIRD SINGS ALL THE TIME 47

THAT NIGHTINGALE HAS NOT RETIRED 24

THAT YOUNG LITTLE SINGER THERE 52

THERE WERE TWO THOUGHTS, TWO THOUGHTS OF GOD 51

THOSE STARS, THOSE FAIR WEE LITTLE STARS 44

THOU ART STILL BUT A YOUTHFUL BUD 23

THOU HAST LAID THY HAND ON MY HEAD 56

THOU MAIDEN, CHARMING MOST OF ALL 25

THOUGH ALL THE WORLD HAS GONE TO SLEEP 14

THY BEAUTIFUL EYE IS A LAKE 28

’TIS WRONG FOR MEN TO LACK IN SONG 63

UP IN THE OAK TREE A DOVE WAILED 42

UPON THE SKY THE MOON AND STARS 34

WHAT CHARM IS THERE IN LOVE FOR US 16

WHAT MATTERS IT WHAT IN SWEET SONGS 38

WHEN GOD FELT HIS SUPREME DELIGHT 40

WHEN I GAZE AT THEE, DARLING MINE 27

WHEN I SHALL TRUST MY CORPSE TO EARTH 65

YE ALL WHO DEEM YOURSELVES OPPRESSED 54

YE LITTLE, YE WEE LITTLE STARS 61

EVENING SONGS

The spring came flying from afar; With fresh desires all’s teeming; All things pressed forward to the sun-- So long all had been dreaming!

The finches flew out of their nest And children from their bowers, And on the meadows sweetest scents Breathe countless little flowers.

Young leaves press their way from the twigs And from birds’ throats their voices, And in the heart with budding love The youthful breast rejoices.

I am the knight from the old tale Who proudly to the far world rode To see the lass who’s like a rose And to discover her abode.

Who would behold her--said her fame-- Would by a ban at once be struck; His heart would be rent from his breast, Or he would change to be a rock.

Thought I to myself, possibly For clemency there might be room. I ventured out and for my sin-- Became a bard by rigid doom.

III

The humming of the trees has ceased, Their leaves breathe calmly, neatly; The bird is dreaming its fair dream So quietly, so sweetly.

The heavens’ stars have all come out, All things rest in calm gladness, But in the breast the sorrow wakes And in the heart the sadness.

The fragrant blossom’s pretty cup Receives dew in its centre-- My God, and I, too, feel that dew In mine eyes gently enter.

Though all the world has gone to sleep, The heart wakes in the body, And God himself knows that the heart Ne’er sleeps for anybody.

The whole God’s world is silence-bound, The heart still goes, well rated, And God himself knows that the heart Gets never fatigated.

Sleep is the conqueror of thought, Night is day’s alternation-- But in the breast the heart e’er wakes And guards its love’s sweet passion.

Stars by the hundreds dot the sky With sister Moon at leisure, And God and angels view the world From heaven’s height with pleasure.

A smiling angel’s coming down To earth as heaven’s vision-- Fair as the fragrant breath of spring, And love is his sweet mission.

Wherever he just passes by All’s stricken with sweet passion, And nightingales and fair white doves All sing with animation.

And he whom his white wing does touch Is transformed all over, And something sweet enters his breast That human words can’t cover.

What charm is there in love for us, My God, and why we love it? The world would all dissolve in it And lives all in love of it.

The little cloud sails through the sky As though love’s message drove it; The little bird that sleeps in twigs Is dreaming only of it.

And here, too, on the earth the man, While death his head does covet, He weeps, rejoices, longs and lives And dies for the sake of it.

Indeed, the heaven’s angel choir With their harps’ music prove it-- What would they sing, if not allowed To play and to sing of it!

VII

God summoned me to Paradise To get me educated. “’Tis hard for me to be alone!” The Lord then Eve created.

He took not one rib from my breast, My heart in half he parted. That is why my heart still tends back From where Thine once had started.

And that is why such strange desires So oft in my heart gather, And I feel as though both our hearts Should grow again together.

And that is why when I’m away Pain to my heart is creeping, My foot does of itself turn back, And I am sad--to weeping.

VIII

If that poor nightingale Lived always with her mate, Her love songs would not sound So sad and desolate.

If that poor heart but would With Thee wake through the night, Instead of pain it would Resound with sweet delight.

Should I tell Thee the secret tale As nightingale in the oak forest-- Or should I weep in bitter tears What sways my heart and gives it no rest?

Or, kneeling down, with ardent words Should I in prayer spell my passion-- Or in a fair and tranquil night Out of my dream breathe my confession?

Or should the hidden paradise Sleep in my heart’s depth, never uttered, Like in a grave, and far from Thee My love in secret be but muttered?

O angel mine, I do confess My love for mankind, never dying; But toward Thee--O, don’t chide me, That my mind’s weak and undefying!

My sweetheart, come, kneel down with me, Now is the time for us to pray-- The moon has risen o’er the woods, And my time has just passed away.

But, darling, do not clasp Thy hands; Embrace me as I Thee with mine-- And thus, instead of clasping hands, Two hearts will in one prayer join.

Thy lips then press Thou close to mine; From one mouth let the prayer rise-- Let me the words press on Thy lips, And Thou send them to Paradise.

Our prayer shall be strong, indeed, Our offer purest in that case-- For angels, too, when they do pray, Are praying just in such embrace.

I am a linden with large crown, In style dressed in the meadow: Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May, Come to my cooling shadow.

Here each green leaf does odor breathe And swarms of bees are humming, And, nightly, little birds arrive-- Those are my thoughts, home coming.

They fly far-off as children do From home until they hunger, But, with Thee seated close to me, They will depart no longer.

XII

So often it appears to me, As I embrace and love Thee, That Thou art for me in the world And I for the sake of Thee.

’Tis difficult through life to pass Avoiding all deflection; But to give others happiness Is greatest satisfaction.

And if the king enjoys his crown And God has heaven’s Eden And birds have forest in the spring, I do have Thee, my maiden.

XIII

Thou art still but a youthful bud Just into the world looming, And yet upon Thy cheek appears A beautiful rose blooming.

And it is such a dainty rose And such a fragrant blossom That soon a fire burns in the soul And yearning in the bosom.

XIV

That nightingale has not retired And she’s with song all ringing; That song of love, so long, my God, When will she be done singing?

From one twig to another twig, From upper to the nether-- And I believe that the same plight In hearts we bear together.

And turning up her serene eye She looks in each direction-- And I believe that I could guess What is her eyes’ attraction.

Thou maiden, charming most of all, O Thou, world’s greatest treasure, In Thee I found my sweet delight, Thou art my cherished pleasure.

Thou art as pure as morning drops That come from heaven’s dewing And graceful as the turtle dove When she her song is cooing.

Thou art fair as the lily white That in sweet odor guises And noble as the morning star-- The day dawns as she rises.

XVI

It happened. My soul minus Thee No longer feels itself as whole; To think myself without Thee once Would be as to have lost my soul.

Yes, Thou art woven in my soul Thou art her pride and her delight-- Thou art my solace, my desire, My happiness--my pain and plight.

From joyless days Thou heaven weav’st As does the bride her wedding dress; In me Thou wak’st, in me Thou dream’st; What I’m, what Thou, is hard to guess.

It matters not what my fate be-- For I know well its weaving hand. And should Thy hand destruction bring, On that, too, heaven might depend.

XVII

When I gaze at Thee, darling mine-- Thou art a dove--though sweeter-- Delightful, playful, gentle, tame, When her mate comes to meet her.

And I can scarcely gaze enough At Thine eyes and cheeks’ blossom-- Thine eyes are but two dark blue gates To Thy deep charming bosom.

And I can scarcely gaze enough At Thy sweet face reflection-- Through it Thy whole heart speaks to me And soul without deception.

When I gaze at Thee, darling mine-- O manna’s sweet dispenser!-- Are not those the same lips, indeed, That gave me “yes” for answer?

XVIII

Thy beautiful eye is a lake In darkness gently waving; In it the bright lights of the night And heavens’ blue are laving.

And as pure crystal it is clear, One sees the bottom in it-- But who attempts to look in deep Will shortly be drowned in it.

XIX

My sweetheart, come, sit close to me, Allow me to embrace Thee; The Lord gave Thee an angel’s soul From heaven, just to grace Thee.

I feel that I should speak to Thee And make confessions often, But my words stay locked in my mouth And dead as in a coffin.

And often what I’d like to say Appears unutterable, For, though the soul is filled with it, The tongue to speak’s unable.

But as I wind my arm ’round Thee And my soul in Thine enters, I feel as though Thou knowest all What on my tongue then centres.

Once as I through the golden stars Up heavenward was gazing, It seemed to me Thou wert a saint And I an angel blazing.

Then I a harp took to my hand And songs to Thee I chanted Until the saints’ songs died away And all eyes to us slanted.

And God the Father for a while Himself ceased in creation. And down His cheek there seemed to roll A diamond of compassion.

XXI

The stars upon the heavens there Are worlds of greatest features, And I would only like to know What kind they have of creatures.

If some one from that height up there At us ’way down here gazes, And if he up there like I here His voice in love songs raises.

XXII

The greatest hero is not he For blows with blows who’s paying, But he who, hundred times betrayed, Himself knows no betraying.

Who after love can send a curse He never felt love’s passion, For love is able to forgive And knows no condemnation.

Who will not bring a sacrifice To him no love be proffered; Bad is the priest who thinks he’s more Than that what he has offered.

And should e’er love demand of me My life and share in heaven-- I would go as the lamb for Thee To whom my love I’ve given.

XXIII

The heavens are replete with stars As spring time is with daisies; Thus everything in God’s great world For love has its own praises.

The violet’s replete with scent And dew in little blossom, And that dear nightingale sings love From overflowing bosom.

The heavens are replete with stars, With blazing lights all sweeping, And here on earth the living men Are singing and are weeping.

XXIV

Upon the sky the moon and stars, The forest full of voices, And God spreads only love around In which the world rejoices.

The murmurs in young foliage Change to low sweet narration; The world is gay and jubilant And melts in osculation.

And yet I know that somewhere grief Some youthful heart oppresses, And that a secret bitter tear Some young pale cheek caresses.

XXV

The scorching heat of noonday sun Is my love’s blazing passion; The night--fair shadow of the day-- Thy love’s sweet moderation.

Thou hast set fire within my breast, Earth’s centre’s heat assuming, But that fire, unnursed by Thy love, Will die, itself consuming.

I dreamt of banquets with Thy love And have but crumbs collected; What wonder, then, if only grief Is in my face reflected.

The heart, indeed, can suffer much, Oppressed by love’s great hunger, And whether I am day or night I now can guess no longer.

’Tis written thus. The day and night Proceed, each other missing-- But as the evening’s dusk arrives, They meet, each other kissing.

XXVI

Tell wherein thou hast sinned, my heart; My God, such tribulation! That what forever should be joined Must live in separation.

How beautiful the life would be In love without distressing! But to forever yearn and live-- Where is therein a blessing?

XXVII

If all the world lost its delight And had no other pleasure And love alone was left behind-- The life would have its treasure.

And if all other things were truth And love but dreams’ delusion-- I would be ready to lie down And sleep to life’s conclusion.

And if till now I’ve only dreamt-- My dreams had their sweet flavor, And who sang me my lullabies I shan’t forget forever.

XXVIII

What matters it what in sweet songs The nightingale is telling, Since my own heart has left its place And now with Thee ’tis dwelling.

And if her call rang e’er so sweet And into mine ears chanted: What matters it, since in my heart And soul now Thou art planted!

And there Thou art, so charmful, Beyond imagination, That I’d give the sky’s stars, my soul, To Thee in admiration.

XXIX

My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died; I heard the death-knells pealing, And there were tears and wails and cries And signs of saddest feeling.

For the low mound o’er Thy strange bed They picked a tombstone blindly, And a verse for Thine epitaph To write they asked me kindly.

Oh, folks! Oh, folks! yourselves of stones, My heart take, with grief raving, And what I have not sung before Use for the stone’s engraving!

You trusted not in my pure love And scorned my word and letter-- Now if the stone will speak to you, You’ll understand it better.

XXX

When God felt His supreme delight, The human heart He molded And for eternal memory His love in it He folded.

And as He gazed upon the heart With eyes divine, forseeing, He wept, for He was overjoyed To see the blissful being.

But as He wept, one of His tears, Unnoticed, the heart entered, As dew falls in a flower cup, And near the bottom centered.

That is why love is a great grief, But grief so sweet and charming That pitied must be all the hearts That have escaped its harming.

That is why love is half of bliss And half of grief a token, But if the tear swells to a wave, Then some heart may be broken.

XXXI

So many, many things there are To which the keys are lacking; Deep silence answers all man’s knocks And foils his undertaking.

Thou human heart! There sorrows howl As wolves, by hunger driven, And yet that same heart, oh, my God! To love alone is given.

’Tis capable of so much love That man’s wit may be failing, And he may as the lonely dove In vain roam, ever wailing.

XXXII

Up in the oak tree a dove wailed-- Below, a brooklet muttered-- Don’t wonder, when I was to speak, That not a word I uttered.

Can he speak from all his soul’s depth Who does in strange lands wander? And man’s too human that he should At paradise not wonder.

XXXIII

The night is fair and transparent-- One sees the heaven’s sainted; The song, the odor, and the buzz Hold the whole heart enchanted.

O pity, Thou art not with me, To hear with me and wonder How everything here tells its tale To the clear heavens yonder.

How the whole world is but one song The universe pervading, And that from human hearts but comes An echo, faint and fading.

XXXIV

Those stars, those fair wee little stars, The heavens’ blue dome lighting, They look to me down with sweet eyes, Me up to them inviting.

Oh no! ye fair wee little stars; You love that wheel of heaven, While I prefer to stay down here Where I find all I’ve craven.

You don’t know, fair wee little stars, And think not what you’re missing; We have here heaven on the earth In sweet, delightful kissing.

XXXV

I do not know, was it a dream? But in my mind it lingers-- I saw and read the nations’ fates, Decreed by God’s own fingers.

Thoughts, earnest as was God himself, Passed through His great head, thronging And beautiful as nights of spring For a sweet body longing.

Some thought--great as the universe, Some--music sounding gently, Some--future human history, By human eyes seen faintly.

There, too, I met with my own love And with Thy heart, ne’er failing, That love of ours appeared there As two small bright clouds sailing.

And God, observing our sweet love, Himself with grace relented, And throngs of young angels their hymns Before Him on it chanted.

XXXVI

That deep and dark blue heavens’ bowl-- And stars as golden blossoms; As man looks at them from the earth, His heart strange feelings bosoms.

And all the time more and more stars Appear without a bound there-- And yet not ev’ry little star Can easily be found there.

But whene’er in two youthful hearts First breath of love does enter, A new star is said to appear In heavens’ dark blue center.

And if in one of the two hearts Love’s blossoms starts to wither, Then from the dark blue heavens’ bowl One golden star drops hither.

XXXVII

That little bird sings all the time As one song with life ringing; So wonder not, if one does love, That he’ll pass life in singing.

And that bird speaks from heart to heart, And it knows how, directly, So that man hardly keeps back tears, If he knows hearts perfectly.

Yes, often it appears to me That I am as its fellow, For my songs, too, can move to tears, So soft they are, and mellow.

XXXVIII

Deep silence reigns--it seems to me Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting, As does a bird come to its mate In their home softly nesting.

The night’s soft bed is ready made-- The heavens, with stars covered. Maybe that some heart will forget For what this day it suffered.

Maybe that some heart will forget, And if it found no treasure, Maybe it finds it in its dream And with it finds its pleasure.

XXXIX

It seemed to me--Grief had grown old, Soon would come its last countin’, And tears--so many had been shed That dry must be their fountain.

Then suddenly I thought of Thee, And soon my whole soul shivered, And as though I should lose Thee soon An echo in it quivered.

And mine eyes promptly filled with tears, My joy to grief is bending, And I am finding out with pain That tears shall have no ending.

I thought to myself, with no love How’d look that world of ours: It would be as a dreary waste Without a trace of flowers.

The heart would wander through that waste And always on grief border, It would be sad as the world was Ere God to light gave order.

It would be so sad that on earth Man would not like the livin’, And God the Father would not like To stay as God in heaven.

XLI