That is the temper of it. Palaces grow by the Danube nourished by his blood. He goes from labor to labor, he rebels, he hears a voice mocking:
I should find my senses and go to the mine once more—
And in another powerful invective:
I am the first who arose of the people of Teschen.
——————
They follow the stranger's plough, the slaves fare downwards.
He thanks God he is not in the place of the oppressor, and ends:
Thus 'twas done. The Lord wills it. Night sank o'er my people. Our doom was sealed when the night had passed; In the night I prayed to the Demon of Vengeance. The first Beskydian bard and the last.
This poet is distinctly worth knowing. He is the truth where our "red-bloods" and magazine socialists are usually a rather boresome pose.