Enthronement of the Sovereign

To my old homeland I return again

enshrouded by autumnal fragrance.

Blood trickling down from bleaking woods

to the drenched soil - squandered - and seeps away.

On the field through accomplished

cruelty an eminence grise

strides, scattering ash on fallen heroes.

Is he the spirit of forgotten ancestors

which takes charge of a conquered land?

Is it in his mind to end up destruction

which dominated the last centuries?

He should be the comrade

of our blood enforced with

honor and strength of old days.

He wields his ceptre, ash eclipses sunset

and commands silence over this decease.

It makes me shudder in consideration

of this deed of the source of all fullfillment.

I retreat and bow down in reverence

for the new sovereign.