"Struga, the grand lady of the Lake" Top 5 Page for this destination Struga by MacedonianUK

T'ga za Jug

Orelski krilja kak da si metneh
i v nasi st'rni da si preletneh!
Na nasi mesta ja da si idam,
da vidam Stambol, Kukus da vidam,
da vidam dali s'nceto i tamo
mratcno ugrevjat, kako i vamo.

Ako kako ovde s'nceto me stretit,
ako pak mracno s'nceto svetit:
na p't dalecni ja ke se stegnam,
i v drugi st'rni ke si pobegnam,
k'de s'nceto svetlo ugrevjat,
k'de neboto zvezdi posevjat.

Ovde je mracno i mrak m' obviva
i temna m'gla zemja pokriva:
mrazoj i snegoj, i pepelnici,
silni vetristca i vijulici,
okolu m'gli i mrazoj zemni,
a vg'rdi studoj, i misli temni.

Ne, ja ne mozam ovde da sedam!
Ne, ja ne mozam mrazoj da gledam!
Dajte mi krilja ja da si metnam
i v nasi st'rni da si preletnam:
na nasi mesta ja da si idam,
da vidam Ohrid, Struga da vidam.

Tamo zorata greit dusata
i s'nce svetlo zajdvit v gorata.
Tamo darbite prirodna sila
so s'ta raskos gi rasturila:
bistro ezero, gledas, beleit
ili od vetar sinotemneit:
pole poglednis, ili planina
-segde Bozeva je hubavina.

Tamo po s'rce v kaval da sviram,
s'nce da zajdvit, ja da umiram!

Konstantin Miladinov
1830 - 1862

Longing for the south (T'ga za jug)

If I had an eagle's wings
I would rise and fly on them
To our shores, to our own parts,
To see Stambol, to see Kukuš;
And to watch the sunrise: is it
Dim there too, as it is here?

If the sun still rises dimly,
If it meets me there as here,
I'll prepare for further travels,
I shall flee to other shores
Where the sunrise, greets me brightly,
And the sky is sewn with the stars.

It is dark here, dark surrounds me,
Dark fog covers all the earth,
Here are frost and snow and ashes,
Blizzards and harsh winds abound,
Fogs all around, the earth is ice,
And in the breast are cold, dark thoughts.

No, I cannot stay here, no;
I cannot upon these frosts.
Give me wings and I will don them;
I will fly to our own shores,
Go once more to our own places,
Go to Ohrid and to Struga.

There the sunrise warms the soul,
The sun gets bright in mountain woods:
Yonder gifts in great profusion
Richly spread by nature's power.
See the clear lake stretching white-
Or bluely darkened by the wind,
Look you at the plains or mountains:
Beauty' everywhere divine.

To pipe there to my heart's content!
Ah! let the sun set, let me die.

Konstantin Miladinov
1830 - 1862