Slovene original
Krasna si, bistra hči planin,
brdka v prirodni si lepoti,
ko ti prozornih globočin
nevihte temne srd ne moti —
krasna si, hči planin!
Tvoj tek je živ in je legak
ko hod deklet s planine;
in jasna si ko gorski zrak
in glasna si, kot spev krepak
planinske je mladine —
krasna si, hči planin!
Rad gledam ti v valove bodre,
valove te zelenomodre:
temna zelen planinskih trav
in vedra višnjevost višav
lepo se v njih je zlila;
na rosah sinjega neba,
na rosah zelenih gora
lepoto to si pila —
krasna si, hči planin!
Ti meni si predraga znanka!
Ko z gorskih prišumiš dobrav,
od doma se mi zdiš poslanka,
nesoča mnog mi ljub pozdrav —
Bog sprimi te tu sred planjav!
Kako glasno, ljubo šumljaš,
kako čvrsto, krepko skakljaš,
ko sred gora še pot imaš!
A ko pridereš na ravnine,
zakaj te živa radost mine?
Kaj trudno lezeš in počasi,
zakaj so tožni tvoji glasi?
Težko se ločiš od hribov,
zibélke tvojega valovja?
Mar veš, da tečeš tik grobov,
grobov slovenskega domovja?
Obojno bol pač tu trpiš,
V tej boli tožna in počasna,
ogromna solza se mi zdiš,
a še kot solza - krasna!
Krasna si, bistra hči planin,
brdka v prirodni si lepoti,
ko ti prozornih globočin
nevihte divje srd ne moti!
Pa oh, siroti tebi žuga
vihar grozán, vihar strašán;
prihrumel z gorkega bo juga,
divjal čez plodno bo ravan,
ki tvoja jo napaja struga —
gorjé, da daleč ni ta dan!
Nad tabo jasen bo obok,
krog tebe pa svinčena toča
in dež krvav in solz potok
in blisk in grom — oh, bitva vroča!
Tod sekla bridka bodo jekla,
in ti mi boš krvava tekla:
kri naša te pojila bo,
sovražna te kalila bo!
Takrat se spomni, bistra Soča,
kar gorko ti srce naroča:
Kar bode shranjenih voda
v oblakih tvojega neba,
kar vode v tvojih bo planinah,
kar bode v cvetnih je ravninah,
tačas pridrvi vse na dan,
narasti, vzkipi v tok strašán!
Ne stiskaj v meje se bregov,
srdita čez branove stopi
ter tujce, zemlje lačne, vtopi
na dno razpenjenih valov!
English translation
Beautiful are you, clear daughter of the mountains,
graceful in your natural beauty,
when the dark fury of storms
does not disturb your transparent depths —
beautiful are you, daughter of the mountains!
Your course is lively and light,
like the step of girls descending from the mountain;
and you are clear as mountain air,
and loud as the vigorous song
of mountain youth —
beautiful are you, daughter of the mountains!
I love to gaze into your spirited waves,
your blue-green waves:
the dark green of mountain grasses
and the bright blue of the heights
have beautifully mingled in them;
from the dew of the blue sky,
from the dew of green mountains,
you drank this beauty —
beautiful are you, daughter of the mountains!
To me you are a most beloved acquaintance!
When you rush down from the mountain groves,
you seem a messenger from home,
bringing me many a dear greeting —
may God welcome you here among the plains!
How loudly and sweetly you murmur,
how firmly and vigorously you leap,
while your path still runs among the mountains!
But when you burst out upon the plains,
why does your living joy depart?
Why do you crawl wearily and slowly,
why are your voices sorrowful?
Is it hard to part from the hills,
the cradle of your waves?
Or do you know that you flow beside the graves,
the graves of the Slovene homeland?
Perhaps you suffer both these pains here;
in this sorrow, mournful and slow,
you seem to me an enormous tear,
yet even as a tear — beautiful!
Beautiful are you, clear daughter of the mountains,
graceful in your natural beauty,
when the wild fury of storms
does not disturb your transparent depths!
But oh, poor river, there threatens you
a terrible storm, a dreadful storm;
it will roar in from the warm south,
rage across the fertile plain
watered by your channel —
alas, that day is not far away!
Above you the vault of heaven will be clear,
but around you there will be a hail of lead,
a rain of blood and a torrent of tears,
and lightning and thunder — oh, a blazing battle!
Here bitter steel will strike,
and you will run red with blood for me:
our blood will feed you,
the enemy's will cloud you!
Then remember, clear Soča,
what your warm heart commands you:
whatever waters are stored
in the clouds of your sky,
whatever water lies in your mountains,
whatever there is upon your flowering plains,
then let it all rush forth,
rise, boil up into a terrible torrent!
Do not confine yourself within your banks;
in fury step across your barriers
and drown the foreigners, hungry for land,
at the bottom of your foaming waves!