A bird was caught in nature free,
Put in a cage, locked up to see.
Forced he was to sing to all
From his new den so dark, so small.

The bird, alas, was struck with grief.
He hung his head, found no relief.
The Błotka thus they took from him,
Estranged him from his friends by whim.

When chirping he in truth did weep,
Entranced in loneliness so steep.
His heart was wont to break, I fear,
When singing of his Błotka dear.

I am just like this lonely bird,
Away in foreign lands unheard.
Oh yes, I lost Lusatia dear;
My heaven’s charm is no more here.

Translation from the Mato Kosyk website (from Sorbian)

Spěwarik bu lapjony
a do klětki zawrěty,
nuzkany bu k spewanju
w snadnem smojtem domcyku.

PtaŁ¡ack pak se tuŁ¾aŁ¡o,
głowka jomu wisaŁ¡o;
Błotka su jom wezeli,
z towariŁ¡kow wunjasli.

Z tsikotom jan płakaŁ¡o
samotniwe ptaŁ¡acko;
złamas co se wutŁ¡obka,
gaŁ¾ won spewa na Błotka.

Ja som ak to ptaŁ¡acko
w cuzej zemi daloko,
ow ja zgubich ŁuŁ¾ycu,
mojog njebja kŁ¡asotu.