Thus they will assemble around their chiefs;
Their silver-mounted arms, their burnished
Swords flashing resplendent in the sun.
The gun, faithful companion of all Albanians,
Must be placed in the hands of every youth who
Has attained three times the age of five years.
They must, like a furious torrent, rush precipitantly
Towards the danger which menaces them.
Our dear country is in peril. The enemy hides
His designs, and sends ambassadors; but behind
Them are the chains with which they will bind
Us should they attain their desires;
They will make us serfs, slaves, for such is their intention.
And shall we calmly await such dishonor?
What is Death to us? Does not the memory
Of our forefathers rise and reproach us for our
Indolence and lack of courage?
Our dear country is the Mother who nourished
Our children, and who inspires us to loyal and
Pure sentiments, and filial love. Shall we not
Then shed our blood for our country?
Hark! bitter cries are borne on the wings of the
North wind. The dust whirling in nebulous globes
Announces the coming march of an army.
It is the thirty-thousand Albanians of Scutari marching to meet the enemy.
But see! Who is this mounted officer approaching,
Bearing himself with such dignity and repose of
Mien; yet who withal can inspire such terror?
He of colossal stature, with eagle glance, who
With uplifted sword leads on to battle.
This is Ibrahim Pasha, most illustrous of
Warriors, distinguished as much for his virtue as for his courage.
Advance, then, ye Bosnians, ye Roumelians!
Asiatics, all of ye. We fear you not, though
Ye were thrice as numerous. We shall be victorious;
Death to us is nought.
The carnage is terrible, Amhed succumbs,
And there with their great general lie the
Brave dead of the Ottoman Army.
The rage of the combatants ceases suddenly.
A panic seems to have seized them. The
Ottoman troops take flight. They are overcome by fear.
Why do they depart? Rather they should remain
And learn of the valour and prowess of the Albanians.
Their brilliant standards are mingled with
Those of the victors. They are trophies, spoils of
The enemy, abandoned upon the field of battle.
Return we now to the bosom of our families.
Welcome us (youths and husbands) who desire
To rest after the heat of the Battle. And, oh
Faithful wives, we will teach our children to
Follow in our footsteps and imitate our courage.
