Trocnov’s forest peaceful lay,
Bathed in fading sunset’s glow;
E’en the treetops lay as still
As their roots deep down below.
Lost in thought a horseman neared,
On his arm reins loosely wound,
Pacing slowly, dreamily
Sinks his steed’s head t’ward the ground.
Suddenly the rider halts;
As from dreamland he awoke,
Leapt his blade from out its sheath,
Haileth thus an ancient oak:
Here at this oak’s gnarled trunk,
On a stormy thunder night,
By sharp birth-pains overta’en
Mother brought me forth to light.
Heard alone the wood her groans,
Midwife was the bitter blast,
That as blessings on the child
Lightning flashes round it cast.
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