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.