NA SERSKU LUŽICU BEAUTIFUL LUSATIA
Handrij Zejler trans. Robert Elsie (from Sorbian)
Rjana Lužica,
sprawna, precelna,
mojich serskich wótcow kraj,
mojich zbóžnych sonow raj,
swjate su mi twoje hona.

Bitwu bijachu
horcu, žcleznu
nehdy serscy wótcojo,
wójnske spewy spewajo.
Štó ha pójda waše spewy?

Zrudny sylobik
ma netk Hromadnik,
sowa laka z Prašicy,
ma tam swoje škaloby.
Hori, što wój pomnitaj?

Boha Corneho
stare kralestwo
rapak netko wobydli.
Stary moch so zeleni
na skali, kiž woltar bese.

K luda nadobi
njejsu zhódali
hódakojo, što so ma
docakac wot prlichoda.
Sami netk sej wešcic mamy!

Caso prichodny,
budzeš zakcec ty?
Ow, zo bychu z twojeho
klina wušli mužojo,
hódni wecnoh wopomnika!
Beautiful Lusatia,
righteous and loving,
land of my Sorbian forefathers,
blithe paradise of my dreams,
blessed be your meadows.

Our Sorbian ancestors once
won victory with the sword
in pitched battle,
chanting martial tunes.
Who remembers your songs now?

The melancholic nightingale
now holds sway in Hromadnik,
in Prašica the owl
has found its haunt.
Mountains, what are your thoughts?

Corny Bóh,
ancient kingdom,
I now inhabited by ravens.
old moss grows green on the cliffs
where once an altar rose.

The prophets
could not augur
the destiny of the people,
or what the future would bring.
Now we ourselves must turn to prophesy!

Oh future,
will you now blossom?
Oh, may great men
be born of your womb,
worthy of eternal memory!

Trans. Copyright © Robert Elsie 1990 - publ. Forest Books


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