High hast thou built thine eyrie,
Eagle of the Northern Slavs,
Wide hast thou spread thy wings,
High into heaven hast thou soared.
Fly! But in the lofty deep of ether,
Where thy scarce-breathing breast
Is warmed by the passage of Freedom,
Forget not thy younger kin!
Look to the Southern Steppe,
Look to the far-off West:
Many are there, where the Danube rages,
Where the Alpine clouds gather way,
In the mountain dells, in the dark Carpathians,
In the Balkan defiles wood-clothed,
In the clutches of faithless Teutons,
In the steely chains of the Tartar,
And thy brothers walk in fetters
Till thy voice shall sound in their ears,
Till thy wings thou shalt spread protecting
O'er their heads grown feeble with bondage.
Forget them not, Northern Eagle,
Send them thy resonant call
And in slavery's night console them
With thy free and cheering light.
Feed them with thoughts elating,
With the hope of happier days,
And warm with loving kindness
These hearts whose blood is as thine.
Their hour shall come: their pinions
Wax strong, and their talons sharp,
They shall cry, full-grown, and shall sunder
At a breath the bonds that now bind.