Mor Ho! (Kill them!) Poem

Eagles flew from Tatra, heading for the plains,
over higher mountains, over even straights,
crossing Danube river, the broad water stream,
landed there beyond, Slavic descent rim.

Roars the Danube, and moon after moon leave,
over it glows, strong castle on a high cliff.
Underneath, the Roman – Emperor deploy his camps
in white shines wide and long rows of his tents.

On the edge of camp, the Emperor on golden chair,
round him rulers guard, tough men, strong and fair.
In front of the ruler, tiny maine stands,
each in shiny armor, champs of different lands.

Whitty hair their necks are whipping
Blue eyes swiftly roundly swiping.
Raised as fir tree, hard as stone,
looked all from one mother born.

Gorgeous land – its borders washed by Danube strong,
And the rocky Tatra, like a wall runs round along.
These lands, those proud mountain walls,
that´s their homeland, the cradle for sons of Slavs.

Sent by Slavic tribe, from the famous council,
to deliver greetings, to emperor fearsome.
They don´t harm their foreheads, nor falling to the knee,
don´t recognize such slavery in Slovak country.

Gods gifts bringing with them, bread and salt to emperor,
and proudly talk to him, to the distant wanderer:
„Slovak nation, priesthood and elders of ours,
send their greetings to you, emperor famous!

The land on which your foot want to step,
is ours, from thy God the Slavs did it get.
Look: here the borders by the mighty Danube are washed,
there, the Tatra mountain as rocky wall is slashed.

Its a blessed land, thank to Lord in heavens,
through the honest work, we starve never.
We don´t lay, on what´s others, our hands,
Slav only own sow and reaps only own lands.

But if on our door, in best intention stranger knocks,
whoever, from the table Gods gifts at him always looks.
Cause the true, given by Gods to the Slavs is,
To have master is injustice, to be one even bigger is.

And for us, there is no dominance of man over man,
our holy creed is: freedom and fame!
Many times our homeland attacked savage killer,
to a desert turned, our life full rivers.

Cities turned to ash, and tribe our sad
beaten by the misery, harder moments had.
Fooled the victor proud, fooled himself for long,
that he stays forever, Slavic overlord.
That he´ll reap the blisters, but how wrong he was,
God give us a better day, broke our beared cross.
And those who ruled us, by the cruel mace,
where are they? Gone! And our tribe stays!

Cause ages confirm, in the books of destiny,
so stands about Slavic folk written in it:
The lands given to the Slavs by the Lord above,
those lands will became, to any murder grave.

So tell, mighty ruler, what brings your hand to us?
Whether is it sword, or a twig of peace.
If you comes with sword, you will find some here!
And you´ll find out soon, that will cost you dear!

If you come with peace, let the Lord of heaven and earth,
greets you even better, than we ever could.
These God gifts of ours, are signs of our favor,
thankfully are given, thankfully do take them.

Didn´t take the gifts, ruler with a glum face,
offended and proud, full of anger glance.
From his chair of gold to the Slavic heralds,
opened his mouth, leaning to them forwards:

„Mighty ruler, to which God give all lands,
and destiny of nations, laid in his hands,
this ruler commands you! Slavs! Look around the World!

Did you saw a folk, to avoid the chains or death,
which stand against the Rome, which did I met?
You will bow your heads, and those gorgeous plains,
your elders motherlands, will become others heirs.

Your defiant tribes, will go serve to Rome,
to guard our herds, to clean up our home.
And the young of yours, will be join to mine,
To protect our mighty Roman country reign.

And those, who oppose my orders, let them be aware!
Since they will be surely doomed, for what they want to dare.
For I´m the ruler of the Rome, and Rome rules to the World,
This will be my answer to you! This is of my word!

Thunders proud the emperor, from his golden chair,
but the Slavs about his pride, do not really care.
Boiled the Slavic blood, in their veins so wild,
looked the boy to ruler, from his eye to eye.

Divine shot had fired, from his lightning eye,
hand his go straight up, hit the armor shine.
With one big emotion their hearts together burned,
with one fearsome voice, their mouths him returned:

Kill them! Roared the Slavs all at once,
and swords appeared in all their hands.
Kill them! Shouted, hurling on the emperor,
that’s the Slavic answer on your endeavor.

Prove now you are so strong, with your hand on sword,
as you had of boast, emperor, in your selfish word.
But no! Feared of arms is wicked soul,
still, here he comes to ask for more.

Jumped the ruler, dead white, behind his own guard,
fell to dust his golden chair, hitting really hard.
With the sword, the Slav, is piercing after him
leaving doom, and to opponents fate awful, grim.

Roars the horns, roaring loud, calling all to arms,
whole emperors army, standing there at once.
Waves and waves of savage attacks enemies do bring,
where the Slavic offspring reaches for the king.

Dense clouds of a dust, raised up from the field,
Feet are shaking with the earth, heavens torn the scream.
And there, our clump, the small Slavic company,
already is circled, by assassins, too many.

Hundred swords are shining, above, at the front,
though the Slavs don´t count, foes on battleground.
But kill.

Kill them offspring of my home,
who tries to steal your freedom
Don´t care if you will survive,
And to be slave, rather die.

Rages battle, lads surrounded
knowing well they will be grounded.
But if have to fall in battle,
fall with pride, not as a cattle.

Our boys take one last glance
on their homeland, in distance.
On those mountains, the grey towers,
guarding borders, gens of ours.

Holly forest, woods of ages
secret temples, home of sages.
Over river, white house stands,
all his tribe, family, friends.

In a clean field, elders stone,
standing there now, on its own.
Elders helping with their wisdom,
younger also guarding freedom.

The are long gone, rest in earth,
though still live in peoples word.

Ancient glory on lad blow,
holly fire sparks his soul.
Sword in hand is shifting faster,
lightning, thunder spread disaster.

Broken lances, ringing shields,
Roman helmets hit the fields.

Ours dies to, of course they do,
no sound of pain comes them through.
Gladly spilling faithfull blood on destiny field,
to die for your motherland, you can no pain feel.

Struggle weakens, storm is calming
savage battle slowly dying.

Where are those, who fought the Rome,
to prevent him seize their home?
Where? Hey, Tatra! Eagles mother!
They wan´t return to their brother.

River banks are spilled with blood,
your sons are there, laying dead.
No one lives to deliver word,
died for homeland, by the sword.

All of them have comfort bed
by their sword on piles of dead.
The face so pale, though no more living,
give his sword is still not willing.

Emperor with eyes low stands.
Still afraid of our dead friends?

Just hundreds of his own he sees,
Victory he can not feel.
Die by shame, you soul of evil!
Who dare to take my men freedom.

Let eternal glory shines,
on those who give sacrifice.

And you!
Kill them offspring of my home,
who tries to steal your freedom
Don´t care if you will survive,
And to be slave, rather die.