ROMANTIC BALLAD OF CHARLES IV

King Charles, with his adviser, Bušek old

of Vilhartice, sat by oaken table –

many a draught they shared, inseparable,

and heartily gave voice to songs untold.

“So, page, bring golden goblets here,

and pour the wine out – brimming full –

Now, trusty Bušek, you’ll be schooled!”

quoth Charles, in mirthful sneer.

“This here wine, Bušek, pay good heed,

our sunlight here at home did gild last year –

these very first Czech grapes raised for good cheer –

let’s raise our cups, to drink proceed!”

They did – the king spat, grimacing –

“What wine is this? Such dregs? Such bile?

It makes the mouth cringe, deadly vile!”

Irate, his hand did fling.

“Oh – why, from Burgundy I brought

the grapevines here,” the king berates his deeds,

“to see them turned into such bitter weeds

by vaunted Czech soil, highly sought!

I have no doubt, if peaches one proposes,

to grow here, all one gets is the odd sloe,

and if thou wouldst contemptuous laughter know,

I tell thee, here plant roses!

And not only the land – the people, too!

If all the saints were to come here to preach,

would stubborn Czechs be moved, now that is rich –

a saint would gladly pass unbattered through!

With barren straw, no threshing gleans the grain!

Want what I may, it comes back swift,

for all my pains, I get short shrift –

Nought here to entertain!”

And yet the goblet comes back to his lips,

and having drunk, he turns his kindly gaze

furtively where his good companion stays,

who pensive silence keeps.

Only – so as his tongue to hold –

Bušek did wet his lips, reclined,

against his palate pressed the wine,

with it, his tongue cajoled.

“Good grief, alack,” the king went on to say

while swiftly beckoning for some more wine,

in haste, as if to thwart impending whines;

but a smile on his lips did play.

“Am I to die of thirst? – and how,

thou must be blind, page – I decree

my cup is empty, can’st thou see? –

and don’t hold back, for now!

Do drink up, Bušek – do not fret –

and listen well, to what thy wise monarch states:

I, as thou know’st, have quite selective tastes –

and I have found a taste for this wine, yet.

One must – explore, my trusty Bušek, hark!

This wine does have its quirky flavour,

bitter at first, then fine to savour –

we have, it seems, now found its mark!”

““My king, indeed: it does our folk attest!

Peculiar souls – somewhat uncouth, one finds –

to blossoming in their own ways inclined –””

He roused up from his rest

and gleefully, up Vilhartice spoke –

““Hold this folk dear, as nought to miss,

and thy affection’s kiss

thou shalt not more withhold!””