pozejnas

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!