YOU AND I
Out of my way now:
Black are my hands and damp is my clothing.
Only a miner am I, to-day noble thou;
Thou’rt from a palace, a hut is my dwelling.
Frigid’s the cap I wear, with a visor on,
Orphans’ lamenting prayers do not follow me;
Eaten up fields for them have hares of thine.
Heartless and soulless thou’rt, lightning smite thee!
I am from Bezkyd, thralldom and sorrow’s son.
I slave in foundery, I slave in thy mine,
Gall seethes in my veins, but still I slave,
I catch thy logs on the foaming river’s wave.
Black am I, poor am I, sweat pours from my brow,
Children in Bezkyd weep not on my account now.
Widows oppressed I not, nor did I seize their share,
And so a beggar am I, a noble thou to-day.
Did you arrive in the mountains? Then take care.
Frigid’s my cap. Get thee out of my way.