Maps of Europe
Historical boundaries of Serbia
1914 boundaries of Europe
1919 boundaries of Europe
Bojic’s poem, “The Complaint”, in English translation by Bernard Johnson, from the book above.
WITHOUT COMPLAINT 1917
Nothing are for us is new or strange,
All lands to us are dear and kindred:
In the bright sun, beneath the wild storms’ range,
We were as calm as in our native land.
Within us through our wanderings we bear
Our homeland and its sufferings’ renown;
And now, I beg you, Fate, lay her to rest,
Stained with the blood of our eternal wounds!
And so for us the oceans are not strange,
Nor yet the graves of centuries long dead;
Calmly we sit at table in the world’s great hall
While still the foe drinks in our flowers’ scent.
With trumpets like a solemn church parade,
Alone, or with our children, wives, and herds,
We wander on from place to place, from town to town,
Bearing the banners of our greatness and our fall.
The scale we learned of old we now play out once more,
The scale of fate with others less than kind;
And so for us today nothing is strange,
It seems we passed through everywhere before.
And when we stir anew the ashes of our hearth,
And tell again the tales of olden days:
We’ll listen to the fire, hear its mirth,
Just as the master, homewards from the hunt
Carries upon his lips the self-same song.