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KAREL HYNEK MCHA MJ PDF

Karel Hynek Macha. Translation by Edith Pargeter Czech original. 1. Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love. Meltingly called the . Karel Hynek Mácha was born in in an old part of Prague where his father was the foreman at The epic romantic poem Máj (May) was written in Czech. Karel Hynek Mácha Every Czech child, by the time he or she is nine or ten, can quote the opening lines of May, “Byl pozdní večer – první máj.

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Lone hoof-beats by the lake troubled the silent time.

A moment proves Now as the stork’s grave flight it looms, No dove so flies nor lily blooms, But a white sail rocked by hasting breezes. The reason he is to be executed is because he killed the person who seduced or betrayed Jarmila before she met him. Tomorrow sets him free from living. Sometimes from far away the cuckoo’s greeting sounds here, Flung from the flowering vale, sometimes the owl’s grave warning; From many a farmyard near the bark of dogs rebounds here; Out of the dust arises a sweet incense of mourning, The little tears of the Virgin upon the hill are flowering, Deep in the heart of the lake a secret light is burning; And the fireflies, shooting stars, about the wheel are showering, Glittering in their play, touching the yhnek skull brightly, Lighting to launch again, and launch kwrel ac lightly, Like fiery falling tears, all his spent tears embowering.

Why, then, ah, why Out to this hideous death go I So soon-and, ah, for ever? The words build an atmosphere. Moravian Christmas — how different is it from that in Bohemia?

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His heavy guilt and yours he carries: Over the wide and watery plain The girl has fixed her weary gaze; Over the wide and watery plain Only the glint of starlight plays. Lord of the Woods, the lord of fear, Is one with us at dawn of day.

May 1st – The Time of Love

The gaoler’s light before him goes, And on the prisoner’s face it glows. Articles containing Czech-language text.

Why at my father’s hands deflowered? Broadcast in English Broadcast Archive. The aspiring author focused on law from to Over the dark hills rosy day Arises, the May valley wakes; Above the woods, as morning breaks, Like mist lies long the dream of May.

K.H. Macha : MAY

The clamour stills around—a hush falls on the crowd— Till babel bursts anew, with many a cry and loud: Down from the height the guards their prisoner lead By a wide pathway through young pinewoods threading, Down and still down; now on the mound they’re treading; And now the multitude is hushed indeed.

The Hangman was four volumes long. Far fled is his dream, a shadow no more found, Like visions of white towns, deep in the waters drowned, The last indignant thoughts of the defeated dead, Their unremembered names, the clamour of old fights, The worn-out northern mchha, after their gleam is fled, The untuned harp, whose strings distil no more delights, The deeds of time gone by, quenched starlight overhead, Heresy’s pilgrimage, the loving, lovely dead, The deep forgotten grave, eternal board and bed; As the smoke of burned-out fires, as the shattered bell’s chime, Are the dead years of the dead, their beautiful childhood time!

Under the stake I sat, just as the sun descended, Under the wheel which bore the skeleton and skull there, Gazing sad-eyed on Spring, whose cup was fair and full there, Even to the misty rim where earth and heaven blended. Into the earth, so beautiful, so beloved. Close the hills lean to each other, Hyek a dark cloud hiding, Like a vaulted ceiling riding Taut from one peak to his brother.

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Column by column the sombre vault’s hynfk Melt into darkness. Tomorrow sets him free from living. That fact is reason enough to read the poem. Share your thoughts with other customers. This month we are celebrating a major Czech literary anniversary. In this edition this can be seen with the original Czech version alongside the translation, and one doesn’t have to understand Czech to see the playfulness that Macha, forever young, utilized in this.

Karel Hynek Mácha: A leading poet of Czech Romanticism

More from Radio Prague. There I sat on, until the young moon’s light Blanched both my face and his with rays as pale as bright; Now like a snowy pall its whiteness spreads before him Over the vales and woods to the distant hills that bore him.

How hyne the night! Wherefore a prisoner he lies, Doomed to the wheel’s embrace that kills; Lord of the Woods, at dawn he dies, At the first kindling of the hills. He studied law and philosophy at Prague University. Long as he lived, he told no word Of what his ears this night had heard: Hushed are the waters, dark, forlorn, In deep dusk all things crouch to cover.