Not gold, nor precious drinks, nor costly food,
Nor titles — no; nor diadems — vain things!
I would not have such trifles if I could;
But glory! thou, my mother give me wings,
Yes! give me wings, and I will fly and greet
Slavonia's scatter'd brothers — I will go
Where Chekians, Servians, and Khrowatians meet,
And whence the Visla and the Volga flow.

So, like a bee, from flower to flower I'll fly
To all Slavonia's children 'neath the sky,
Dispensing music as I pass along
And sweet my task and great my bliss will be
To pour out smiles on every family,
And cheer each mother and each maid with song.