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! thou queen of many rivers—thou

Of all Slavonia, venerable mother!

Why to a foreign ocean dost thou flow,

Why leave thy native home to seek another?

O! if thou love thy birth-place, if thou know

Pity for these thy sorrowing children—glide

Not to the Osmans, but these tears of woe

Bear to thy cradle on thy silver tide.

Dost thou seek wreaths of fame?—it is no fame

To bear a hundred ships upon thy face

While it is water'd by a single tear—

Yet this is glory—when Wletava here

Joins to thy name its own fraternal name,

And thy bride Saale speeds to thine embrace.