From Tisa to the Nistru’s tide
All Roumania’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 apread 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 Săcele 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 Roumanian 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 blazen two
That the forests follow you;
Let your trumpet blazen three,
That our foes demolished be
From the crows may hear their knell
And the gallows-tree as well.
translated by Corneliu M. Popescu