A Verse- I Am A Polish Woman! (Continued) pg. 30

In the clang[1] Once there was glory in the clang of Polish swords

Fear, dynamic[2] and pale, fell on the enemy

And whoever humbly did our bidding

Could stand with a smile before the ancient courts

            And today! Today a sorrowful crown

Is not lacking us on the steps of the altar

Our people are amidst cinders, pale, without color[3]

Whose slavery has grown old[4] on their face

Women in sorrow shatter their lutes

Stride slowly, in gloomy mourning

And in cemeteries to sadly incline[5] their heads

They cry and sob at the homeland’s grave

Today, in shame, the son of the ancient knights

Already sated with pleasure, is slothful and dozes

And the enemy, scoffing, looks on and believes

That of Poland there hardly even[6] remains the name

But in spite of this, Oh dear homeland

The Polish woman will never stop loving you

And every day I send prayers to God

Have mercy, have mercy, give us freedom, Lord

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[1] Crossed out in the original

[2] Literally “happening”

[3] Literally “ruddiness”

[4] The word translated as “has grown old” is usually a reflexive verb (used here as an ordinary verb)? Poetic license?

[5] Sic for “they sadly incline”?

[6] Literally “only”