The vanishing speech from the lips of the children,
The sign of betrayal, of hands in entreaty,
—For a hundred years' span his gaze it had haunted—
Stirred up a demon.
He smote at the boulder.
Down from the crag leapt the hideous prophet,
Nurtured from serfdom, from blood of betrayal;
He sobbed at the moon and he railed at the sunshine,
With a clench of his fist he threatened the heavens,
And each of the slayers, though golden their lustre,
And though at their feet were bowed down as to godheads
Yonder at Těšin the colliery bondsmen.
He clutched at the dust in his wrath and defiance,
The bounty for life that the demon had given him,—
Down from the crag leapt I!
(ii.)
In August, when sunrays are ruddy and slanting,
When spurtings of heat ooze out from the boulders,
The Morávka torrent is parched in its courses,
