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gold, nor precious drinks, nor costly food,

Nor titles—no; nor diadems—vain things!

I would not have such trifles if I could;

But glory! thou, my mother! give me wings,

Yes! give me wings, and I will fly and greet

Slavonia's scatter'd brothers—I will go

Where Chekians, Servians, and Khrowatians meet,

And whence the Visla and the Volga flow.

So, like a bee, from flower to flower I’ll fly

To all Slavonia's children 'neath the sky,

Dispensing music as I pass along

And sweet my task and great my bliss will be

To pour out smiles on every family,

And cheer each mother and each maid with song.