My native land they buried you
Beneath an ebon cover,
And blooms of blood on wounded soil
You struggled in the fettered yoke
And quiet grew with sighing,
And fell at last into a sleep
The slumber of the dying.
Six hundred years had passed алуау
And still you lingered sleeping,
But there was a story secret, strange,
Among your people creeping.
How once the people had been free.
The brave Estonian nation,
How on a soil that was their own,
They built their habitation.
Lydia Koidula [Lydia Emilie Florentine Jannsen] (1843 - 1886) Estonia
Translated by Ernest Howard Harris
Source: Literature in Estonia, E. Howard Harris, Boreas Publishing Co. Ltd., 1943
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