Prendoi dielli, n' qiell duel hâna,
In the sky the sun set, moon rose,

N' Veleçik po pingron Zâna:
On Veleçik chirped the zana:

Ehu! ju malet e Shqypnís,
"Oh, you mountains of Albania,

N' t' cillat strukë shqypja e lirís
On which once perched freedom's eagle,

N' t' bardhat kohë qi kan prendue
In that golden age now vanished,

S' lête anmik, jo, me i u afrue!
You let not the foe approach you.

E di shpat e di edhe prrue,
Both the slopes and torrents know it,

E di landë e di edhe gúr,
Both the woods and cliffs bear witness,

Shqyptarís kryq e terthuer,
How much blood the foe left flowing

Se sa gjak atbotë i anmikut
Everywhere, throughout our homeland,

Vojti rrkajë prej t' bardhë çelikut,
Blood spilt by a flashing sabre

Qi flakote n' dorë t' Shqyptarit
Brandished by Albania's fighters,

Porsi rrfeja majes s' Sharit.
Lightning from the peaks of Sharri.

A kisht' mujtë kurr n' at kohë t' lume,
Were marauding hands e'er able

(Me lot gjakut sod t' lotueme!)
In that blessed age to plunder

Veç nji troe t' tokës shqyptare
(Age with bloody tears wept over)

M' e rmue dora grabitçare?
Of Albania's soil a handful?

Ah! jo kurr; t' ish' çue mbarë bota...
No, no, never, all had risen,

Pse ndo 'i Lekë, a 'i Gjergj Kastriota
Some Lekë, some George Castriota

Do t' kisht' dalë, at dorë rrembyese
Would have leapt up, arms triumphant,

M' e cungue me armë ngadhnyese,
And have lopped that thievish hand off,

T' cillat n' shekull do t' permenden
Feats to be forever told as

Hânë e hyj sa qiellve t' enden.
Long as moon and stars do orbit.

Por kan ndrrue sot moti e stina
But the times have changed, the seasons,

Per dhé t' ngrît, kû rreh Martina!
O'er this languid land clash rifles.

Gjinde e mbajtun me lot t' shumit
Off the poor man's tears folk live now,

Qi n' djersë njomë bûcat e umit,
Tears of sweat upon the tilled soil,

Ja qi n' kullmë rreshket kumuese,
Off the blacksmith broiled at anvil,

Ja nper dét bjen valës shkumuese,
Or on foaming waves the sailor

Per me mbajtë nji grue te shpija
Trying wife at home to nourish

S' cilles bukë i lypi fmija,
While for bread do beg her children,

Edhe i lên ndoshta me kjá,
She perhaps must let them yammer

Perse e mjera bukë nuk ká:
For she has no food to feed them,

Gjinde, s' cilles Zot i âsht ari,
Folk who none but gold do worship,

T' zezen tokë qi i ngratë Shqyptari
Want to parcel out their poor land,

Shtrêjt me gjak e pat fitue,
Dearly which in blood was paid for

Pa ndo 'i dhimë, kjoshin mallkue!
By Albanian farmers paltry,

Sod m' e dá duen copa copa:
Ruthless folk, I damn and curse them!

E perse? Pse don Europa...
You ask why? Well, Europe wished it.

Uh! Europë, ti kurva e motit,
Europe, aging whore, it's you that

Qi i rae mohit besës e Zotit,
On your word and God have trampled.

Po a ky â shêji i gjytetnís:
Is it sign of all your culture

Me dá token e Shqypnís
That you parcel out Albania

Per me mbajtë klysht e Rusís?
Just to rear the cubs of Russia?

Po ti a kshtû sod na i perligje
Is this how you've paid them back now,

Njata burra qi m' kto brigje
All those men who died to save you,

Per tý vehten bâne flije
Fallen, slain up in the hills while

Kur ti heshtshe prej ligshtije?
You yourself, too weak, kept silent?

Ti qi i a kalle flaken diellit
Thou who kindled fire for sunlight,

E i shestove rrathët e qiellit
Thou who drew the spheres of heaven,

Ti, prej eshtnash t' t' ngratë Shqyptarve,
From the bones of our dead fighters,

Qi bânë deken per dhé t' t' parve,
Men who perished for their homeland,

Bân sod t' bîjn fatosa t' rí,
Cause to rise now hale young heroes,

T' cillt nji troe t' ksajë Shqypní
Who'll not let an inch of homeland

Mos t' a lâjn Shkjaut n' dorë me i rá
Fall into those Slavic clutches,

Krejt në gjak nji herë pa e lá!
Ere they bathe in blood the foemen!"

Lum, oj Zâna e Veleçikut,
Blessed zana of Veleçik,

Qi m' i a lshon ti namët anmikut,
You who at the foe hurl curses,

Qi m' i uron djelmt e Malcís,
You who wish well Highland fighters,

Qi m' i a kján hallin Shqypnís;
You who mourn Albania's sorrows,

Ksaj Shqypní, e cilla motit,
Mourn that land which in past ages

N' zâ kah pushka e besa e Zotit,
Was for faith and arms remembered,

Pat kênë çmue prej fisesh t' tâna
Was esteemed by all our tribesmen

Kah bjen dielli e kah mârr hâna!
Where the sun shines and the moon glows,

Por, sado qi poshtë ká rá
Now, behold, look how she's faltered,

Sod me sod, e rrin tue kjá
How she's languishing and weeping

N' pluhen t' tokës, prej njerzve shá,
In the dust, by men derided.

Prap, oj Zânë, shkndija e burrnís
But that spark of courage, zana,

Nuk â shkimë n' male t' Shqypnís,
Is not dead up in the mountains,

Qi, manà, edhè n' kto kohë t' reja
Even now, upon occasion

Ka 'i herë ndezet flakë si rrfeja.
Does it sparkle, flash like lightning,

S' kan mbetë shkret, jo, armët besnike,
Faithful arms are not abandoned,

Perse Arbnorja grue fisnike,
For Arbënia, noble woman,

Bân se bân fatosa t' rí,
Always brings forth new young heroes

T' cillt trimnisht per ket Shqypní
Who in valour for Albania,

E per besë e t' bardhen Fé
For their word and blithe religion,

E bâjn deken si me lé.
View as birth their own extinction.