# The Soul Of A Century/Christmas Day

Shortened translation of the ballad Štědrý večer from the cycle The Garland of National Legends.
CHRISTMAS DAY
Part 1
’Tis dark as a grave . . . A wintery gale moans; From the hearth glowing warmth slowly spreads . . . The fire-place roars . . . grandmother nods and drones While the girls spin flax into threads.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel, The end of Advent soon shall peal And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
To spin is a joyous task for a girl During the long wintery eves, That not in vain her spinning-wheels whirl The maiden firmly believes.
A day will come when someone shall say To the busy maid: “Come rejoice! You, be my loving bride today, Let me, be the man of your choice.
I will be yours and you will be mine, Give me your hand our love to betroth.” And the shy young maid who spun yarn so fine, Is now sewing a gown from the cloth.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel, The end of Advent soon shall peal And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
Part II.
Hail you wondrous Christmas Eve, You holiday of myth, What varied gifts you bring each one To recollect you with?
To the master, Christmas bread, Fodder to his cattle, To the rooster, garlic spread, Peas to hens which prattle.
To the fruit-trees in the grove Bones from the repast, Gold reflections on the wall To him who keeps the fast.
Oh, I am a youthful maid With heart as yet untaken, In my restless, care-free mind Other thoughts awaken.
Yonder, where the forest ends And the sluice-gate forms a gap, Venerable willows stand Each crowned with a snowy cap.
One of these, a gnarled old tree Wearily is nodding Downward, where beneath the ice The cold blue lake is plodding.
There, they say, when midnight comes And the moon shines bright above, Within the waters’ depth appears A maiden’s future love.
Midnight does not frighten me, I scoff at superstition, With an axe I’ll chop the ice And fulfill my mission.
Deep into the icy waves I’ll gaze with hopeful eyes, My destined lover to behold Where his image mirrored lies.
Part III.
Midnight set in . . . The Heavens are gay With the glory of stars brightly strewn, Like sheep straggling home at the close of a day, Their shepherd, the glistening moon.
Midnight set in . . . a night holy, supreme, Christmas night peaceful and still; Across the white snow fresh footprints gleam, Marking a trail toward the lake ’neath the hill.
One girl is kneeling where the ice shows a break, Impatient, the other stands by. “Hannah dear, Hannah, for our friendship’s sake Tell me what meets your eye.”
“I see a cottage, as yet hazy and far, It looks like my Václav’s home . . .
The vision grows brighter . . . the door stands ajar, Now I see a man’s shadowy form.
He is wearing a coat of dark green cloth, His hat’s to one side . . . Now I see, On the hat are the flowers I myself had bought Good God! It is Václav! . . It’s he!
She leaps to her feet, heart wildly athrill, The waiting girl kneels in her place. Good luck dear Marie! Tell me, if you will, What future you shall face.”
“I see something there . . . so faint in the haze. A flickering ray that streams Out of the mist . . . Red lights are ablaze . . . I have entered a church, it seems.
All is somber and black, pierced with flashes of white, It dawns upon me . . . It is clear! The white are the maids . . . and the vapory light . . . My God! A cross and a bier.”
Part V.
Winter set in . . . A wintery gale moans; From the hearth glowing warmth slowly spreads . . . The fireplace roars . . . grandmother nods and drones Once again girls spin flax into threads.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel, The end of Advent soon shall peal And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
Hail you wondrous Christmas Eve, You night of magic art, Whenever I think of you Something stabs me through the heart.
Like today it was we sat A year ago together, And before a year passed by Two are gone forever.
One with a shawl about her head, Her infant’s clothes is heaping.
O’er the other, for three long months The Earth and the Skies are weeping, Yonder where Marie is sleeping.
Like today it was we sat As now and yesterday, And before a year goes by Whither shall we stray?
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel, All in this world has a short appeal, And human life is but a Dream.
’Tis better to dream in hopes that are vain, In sheerest darkness to grope about, Than to have our future revealed starkly plain And to know our unchangeable lot.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.