<\/p>\n

O malet e Shqip\u00ebris\u00eb!<\/p>\n

O malet’ e Shqip\u00ebris\u00eb e ju o lisat’ e gjat\u00eb!
\nFushat e gj\u00ebra me lule, q’u kam nd\u00ebr m\u00ebnt dit’ e nat\u00eb!
\nJu bregore bukuroshe e ju lumenjt’ e kulluar!
\n\u00c7uka, kodra, brinja, g\u00ebrxhe dhe pylle t\u00eb gjelb\u00ebruar!
\nDo t\u00eb k\u00ebndonj bag\u00ebtin\u00eb q\u00eb mbani ju e ushqeni,
\nO vend\u00ebthit e bekuar, ju m\u00ebndjen ma d\u00ebfreni.
\nTi Shqip\u00ebri, m\u00eb ep nder\u00eb, m\u00eb ep emrin shqip\u00ebtar,
\nZ\u00ebmr\u00ebn ti ma gatove plot me d\u00ebshir\u00eb dhe me zjarr.
\nShqip\u00ebri, o m\u00ebma ime, ndon\u00ebse jam i m\u00ebrguar,
\nDashurin\u00eb t\u00ebnde kurr\u00eb zem\u00ebra s’e ka harruar.
\nKur d\u00ebgjon z\u00ebthin e s’\u00ebm\u00ebs qysh e le qengji kopen\u00eb,
\nBleg\u00ebrin dy a tri her\u00eb edhe ik\u00ebn e merr dhen\u00eb,
\nEdhe n\u00eb i prefshin udh\u00ebn nj\u00ebzet a tridhjet\u00eb vet\u00eb,
\nE ta tr\u00ebmbin, ajy s’kthehet, po shkon n\u00eb mes si shigjet\u00eb,
\nAshtu dhe z\u00ebm\u00ebra ime m\u00eb le k\u00ebtu tek jam mua,
\nVjen me vrap e me d\u00ebshir\u00eb aty n\u00ebr viset e tua.
\nTek buron uj\u00ebt e ftoht\u00eb edhe fryn veriu n\u00eb ver\u00eb,
\nTek mbin lulja me gas shum\u00eb dhe me bukuri e m’er\u00eb,
\nKu i fryn bariu xhuras\u00eb, tek kullosin bag\u00ebtija,
\nKu m\u00ebrzen cjapi me zile, atje i kam ment e mija.<\/p>\n

TRANSLATION\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

Oh mountains of Albania!<\/p>\n

Oh mountains of Albania and you, oh trees so lofty,
\nBroad plains with all your flowers, day and night I contemplate you,
\nYou highlands so exquisite, and you streams and rivers sparkling,
\nOh peaks and promontories, and you slopes, cliffs, verdant forests,
\nOf the herds and flocks I’ll sing out which you hold and which you nourish.
\nOh you blessed, sacred places, you inspire and delight me!
\nYou, Albania, give me honour, and you name me as Albanian,
\nAnd my heart you have replenished both with ardour and desire.
\nAlbania! Oh my mother! Though in exile I am longing,
\nMy heart has ne’er forgotten all the love you’ve given to me.
\nWhen a lambkin from its flock strays and does hear its mother’s bleating,
\nOnce or twice it will give answer and will flee in her direction,
\nWere others, twenty-thirty fold, to block its path and scare it,
\nDespite its fright it would return, pass through them like an arrow,
\nThus my wretched heart in exile, here in foreign land awaiting,
\nHastens back unto that country, swift advancing and in longing.
\nWhere cold spring water bubbles and cool breezes blow in summer,
\nWhere the foliage grows so fairly, where the flowers have such fragrance,
\nWhere the shepherd plays his reed pipe to the grazing of the cattle,
\nWhere the goats, their bells resounding, rest, yes ’tis the land I long for.<\/p>\n