Ring, o noble Zygmunt, with thy all three voices,
Sweep the people’s faces with mighty gusts of noises;
So they wake up each morning to Lord and to His praise,
And in the Kingdom of Poland spend all their earthly days.
Thou can hear it happen; the peaceful days are ending,
So brittle is the thread by which fate left us hanging.
The chime of smaller bells makes our attention scatter,
And lifts our minds away from all important matters.
Kraków’s City Hall
This place was for order and righteousness designed,
Thus should it by this one unspoken law abide:
That Justice stands here tall upon its glorious nest,
While pitiful Corruption in shame can find no rest.
But one should start with rulers who came here to be,
As if chosen by powers which mortals cannot see.
When the trunk is in decay the fruit is also rotten,
And bad soil gives birth to nettles misbegotten.
English translation: Robert Olechnowicz