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English language
Limba Romana
From Tisa to the Nistru's tide
All Romania's people cried
That they could no longer stir
For the rabbled foreigner.
From Hotin down to the sea
Rides the Muscal cavalry;
From the sea back to Hotin
Nothing but their host is seen;
While from Dorna to Boian
Seems the plague has spread its ban;
Leaving on our land a scar
That you scarcely know it more.
Up the mountains down the dale,
Have our foes flung far their trail.
From Sacele to Satmar
Only foreign lords there are;
While Roumanians one and all
Like the crab must backwards crawl.
And reversed is everything:
Spring for them is no more spring,
Summer is no longer summer,
They, at home, the foreign comer.
From Turnu up to Dorohoi
Does the alien horde deploy
And our fertile fields enjoy.
With their rumbling trains they come
Making all our voices dumb,
And our birds so much affray
That in haste they fly away.
Nothing now but withered thorn
Does the Christian's hearth adorn.
And the smiling earth they smother;
Forest-good Romanian brother -
You too bend before their tide,
And the very springs they've dried.
Sad is this our countryside.

Who has sent them to these parts,
May the dogs eat out their hearts;
May the night their homes efface,
And with them this shameless race.
Stephen, mighty emperor,
You in Putna reign no more.
While his holy Prelacy
Guards alone the monastery,
Where the priests in fervent prayer
Of the saints take pious care.
Let them toll the bells away,
All the night and all the day,
And the gracious Lord invoke
That he come and save your folk !
Stephen rise up from the ground,
And your battle trumpet sound
All Moldavia gathered round.
Blow your trumpet just one blare,
All Moldavia will be there;
Let your trumpet blazed two
That the forests follow you;
Let your trumpet blazed three,
That our foes demolished be
From the mountains to the sea,
That the crows may hear their knell
And the gallows-tree as well.

Translated by

Corneliu M. Popescu
De la Nistru pan' la Tissa
Tot Romanul plansu-mi-s'a,
Ca nu mai poate strabate
De-atata strainatate.
Din Hotin si pan la Mare
Vin Muscalii de-a calare,
De la Mare la Hotin
Mereu calea ne-o atin;
Din Boian la Vatra-Dornii
Au umplut omida cornii,
Si strainul te tot paste
De nu te mai poti cunoaste.
Sus la munte, jos pe vale
Si-au facut dusmanii cale,
Din Satmar pan' in Sacele
Numai vaduri ca acele.
Vai de biet Roman saracul!
Indarat tot da ca racul, 
Nici ii merge, nici se 'ndeamna,
Nici ii este toamna, toamna,
Nici e vara vara lui,
Si-i strain in tara lui.
De la Turnu 'n Dorohoi
Curg dusmanii in puhoi
Si s'aseaza pe la noi;
Toate cantecele pier,
Sboara paserile toate
De neagra strainatate;
Numai umbra spinului
La usa crestinului.
Isi desbraca tara sinul,
Codrul - frate cu Romanul - 
De secure se tot pleaca
Si isvoarele ii seaca -
Sarac in tara sarac!

Cine-au indragit strainii,
Manca-i-ar inima cainii,
Manca-i-ar casa pustia,
Si neamul nemernicia!
Stefane Maria Ta,
Tu la Putna nu mai sta,
Las' Archimandritului
Toata grija schitului,
Lasa grija Sfintilor
In seama parintilor,
Clopotele sa le traga
Ziua 'ntreaga, noaptea 'ntreata,
Doar s'a 'ndura Dumnezeu,
Ca sa 'ti mantui neamul tau!
Tu te 'nalta din mormant,
Sa te aud din corn sunand
Si Moldova adunand.
De-i suna din corn odata,
Ai s'aduni Moldova toata,
De-I suna de doua ori,
Iti vin codri 'n ajutor,
De-i suna a treia oara
Toti dusmanii or sa piara
Din hotara in hotara -
Indragi-i-ar ciorile
Si spanzuratorile!

(data necunoscuta)

Mihail Eminescu
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