Thou art heartless and shameless—by lightning mayst thou be rent.
From the Beskyds am I, and a son of serfdom and woe,
I toil in thy forges and down in thy mine I toil;
Gall seethes in my veins and yet I toil for thee still,
I seize on thy wood by the side of the foaming rill.
I am black, I am poor, and the sweat on my forehead appears,
But no children because of my deeds in the Beskyds shed tears;
I oppressed no widows nor seized on their land with might,
So I am a beggar, and thou art my master to-day.
Hast thou come to the mountains? O get thee gone from my sight;
I wear a Phrygian cap—get thee hence from my way.
I (iii.)
I am the first who arose of the people of Teschen,
The first Beskydian bard who uttered his strains;
They follow the stranger's plough, the slaves fare downwards,
Naught but milk and water flows in their veins.
