Their peaks in proud and gloomy wise
'Mid Yule-tide stillness to the skies
The Cheskian hills in distant haze
Northwards raise.
'Tis thence the victors’ tread doth rise.
All hail, our souls 'mid contest cheer,
And man to man be ever near,
Pure-souled to toil devote thyself,
Unbrided by pelf—
All hail, for now the time is here.
Karel V. Rais (b. 1859).
WINTER EVENING
The heath lies far and wide bestrewn with snow,
From the full moon there falls a gentle glow.
Amid the white expanse of snow-clad plains
Only a naked pear-tree trunk remains.
In the white gardens, by the valley’s side,
Huddled in sleep our tiny homes abide.
In the small easements not a spark is gleaming,
The wearied people lie serenely dreaming.
O'er snowy plain the air doth gently sweep—
The Cheskian country breathes it in, how deep
