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future generations of our sons,

From old Slavonia's ruins, shall re-build

Her temple—from the congregated stones

The bards shall speak; and be their songs fulfill'd!

Regenerate now your country—for its name

Is glory —shield her from a stranger's grasp,

And O! let never selfish avarice clasp

Slavonia in her arms of sinful shame!

To many members she hath one sole head—

Her nervous limbs from one sole body grow—

From one sole source her mingled waters flow!

Why should her sons through tortuous pathways lead?

Divide?—'twere nobler far—a close link'd band,

To claim one glorious, father-land.