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country calls me, Kraska! dry thine eyes,

Disturb not with thy tears youth's quiet flow;

Rend not my heart—nor chill thine own with sighs;

Thy rosy cheeks are mantled o'er with snow—

Weep not because thy Českian leaves thee—No!

The mighty lion on the flag unfurl'd,

Roars with loud voice, and bids the warriors go—

Wealth, heart, and blood—our country—and the world.

sweet and silent were our early days,

Gliding like meadow streamlets soft and still;

Enjoyment threw o'er every hour its rays,

Anxious, life's cup with flowing bliss to fill.