Ivan Trnski (Rača near Bjelovar, 1819 – Zagreb, 1910), Croatian poet, translator, military-frontier administrator and first župan of Bjelovar County, was a presence in Croatian literature from the Illyrian movement of Gaj's era to the modernism of Matoš's day. He wrote numerous occasional poems that were set to music and are now sung as folk songs (Oj Banovci, Junak sam iz Like, U jesenske duge noći), and one of them he dedicated to our own Okić. It was first published in the journal Vijenac (1871), signed only with the initials I. T., but he later included it in his collection Popijevke i milosnice mlađenke (1881), thereby confirming his authorship.
Not to the sound of maple gusle
Nor to the voice of the tamburica
Is that castle named in glory,
Okić does not exalt us;
It holds no tale within it
To touch the heart.
Who was lord there,
Who its welcome guest,
Did one dream fairly of his lineage
Building a bridge up to heaven,
Of power and of honour
There is no story told.
You cannot know whether righteous
Order and peace held sway there,
Whether some young nobleman
Celebrated a splendid feast,
Or whether his lady
Bore him a brave son.
You cannot know whether those nobles
Ever bloodied their sword,
Or whether by their labours they dreamed a paradise
Where thick thornbush grows today;
Nor does any song praise
A son for their good deeds.
The walls stand desolate there —
Beneath the walls a grave here and there,
The devil's power long since spent,
The serf sleeps beside the tyrant,
In the night along the stones
A shadow sometimes flits!
What drives that nocturnal shadow
Around those ruins,
Does it perhaps shed tears
And for some heavy sin,
That cannot be discovered —
It is a secret of the black night.
Whether the soul of some worthy Croatian
Wanders here
And a strong spirit yearns and strives
To find gold for his people,
Even for such hopes
Nothing is known hereabouts.
Only the fame of the vine
Has brought renown to Okić Castle,
A place of joy, a place of dread,
The fruitful vineyard blooms,
By the beauty of its wine
Okić is celebrated!
So by the ringing of bright goblets
The fairy's touch sets me free,
From the great lords of former days
Comes Okić's dear drop to us,
With it beards are stroked
Around Okić Castle.
So I raise a cup now:
Honour to Okić Castle,
Above its fruitful vineyards
May its desolate dominion endure,
Famous through native skill
And celebrated for its wine!
