"Thou thief from Krásná! Is this the wood thou possessest?
Cast thyself down, and the earth In humility kiss,
Out of the woods of thy lords and away to Friedek!"
Thou Who art up on high, what say'st Thou to this?
Thine evil speaking offends thy masters,
Thy guardian angels it doth offend;
Cast it off, for this will better avail thee,
On thy son will the penalty first descend.
Thus 'twas done. The Lord wills it. Night sank o’er my people,
Our doom was sealed when the night had passed;
In that night I prayed to the Demon of Vengeance,
The first Beskydian bard and the last.
WHO WILL TAKE MY PLACE?
So scant is my blood, and now from my mouth
It flows.
When there grows
Above me the grass, when my body decays,
Who in my stead,
Who will my scutcheon upraise?
