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Proud be this Age of mine, beyond all other age;
It shall have martial memory, the Poet’s song engage;
For in Bellona’s cradle was bred a brood of eight,
She tended them and nursed them while the big world did wait -
Napoleon, Duke Wellington, Charles, Blücher, Souvorov,
Karageorge, the tyrant’s scourge, Schwartzenberg and Koutozov.
Strong Ares made them drunken, intoxicate for glory,
The whole wide earth did give to them as theatre for their story!
’Tis from the jungles great that lions great appear,
And ’tis the peoples mighty who genius should rear;
Great realms may breed the hero, grant space for glorious deeds.
Triumphal wreaths down casting as onward still he speeds;
His path beset on every hand, attained a nobler throne;
He raised his people in Christ’s Name, broke the Barbarian’s chains,
Brought back from Death the Serbian folk, reviv’d their pale remains -
Secret of fame immortal - arous’d to nobler part,
When knightliness was languishing brought his people lion heart.
Pharaoh’s flashing heat ’fore Karageorge cool’d down.
When with high ardour chivalrous he nerved the Serbian arm,
Before him trembled Stamboul, father of plague and gore,
And e’en the Turks swore by his sword, no other oath they swore!
Original Dedication written in Vienna, New Year, 1847.
Осветило всю страну.
Воевода Караджордже
Собирался на войну.
Собирался за свободу и за веру воевать
Собирался из неволи
Он народ свой вызволять.
Труден будет путь к победе,
Много жертв он заберёт,
Много крови и страданий
Он с собою принесёт.
Но, свобода золотая
И священный Крест честной
И ведут их за собой.
Крепость веры Православной
И молитвы прочный щит
Сербский люд в бою неравном
От врага оборонит.
Встанут рядом Вождь и пахарь
Встанут в строй и стар и млад,
Не боясь меча и плахи,
Смело в битву полетят.