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The Song of the Walloons

Of our Wallonia we are proud.
Rever’d are Her children o’er the world.
Behold the triumph of Her industry,
The grandeur of Her arts!
Though our land be small, yet Her science
That of many a populous nation surpasseth
Our freedom is what we yearn for most
’Tis why we’re proud to be Walloons!
 
We, Walloons, brothers to each other
And assuage one another in disaster
Without boast we succeed
And try to keep it classified
Charity a poor cottage visiteth
By night and cautiously goeth
A bit we may give, but from the heart it cometh.
’Tis why we’re proud to be Walloons!
 
O humble land of Wallonia,
O land of our hearts’ desire, with prudence we hail Thee.
Saddened we are when men speak ill of Thee.
’Tis heartbreaking truly!
But fear not the foe’s attacks
Thy children shall defend Thine honour arch.
Who dareth our anger pique?
’Tis why we’re proud to be Walloons!
 
As brothers in Wallonia we love each other
We’re pleased to shake hands with one another.
Yet we’re content of not often revealing so.
When it wants to do good no one appeareth.
The house that charity entereth
That to night with a thousand cares goeth.
The little that giveth no one in secret giveth:
’Tis why we’re proud to be Walloons!
 

Limburg My Fatherland

Where the little nightingale sings in the bronze green oak forest,
Where the lay of the lark sounds over the tender cornfield,
Where the shepherd's horn echoes, along the bank of the little stream:
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
 
Where the broad stream of the Meuse flows stately towards the sea,
Where the lush, juicy field crops, deliciously grow and flourish,
Where the flower garden and meadow and forest delightfully shine:
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
 
Where the fine language of the forefathers sounds with clear strength,
Where one by nature prudent and proud, despises foreign pageantry,
Where our own customs, our own beauty pleases the heart of the people:
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
There is my fatherland, Limburg's dear place!
 

The Flemish Lion

Ne'er shall they tame him, the proud Flemish Lion,
Even if they threaten with chains and roars his freedom.
Ne'er shall he be tamed, so long as one Fleming liveth,
So long as the Lion can claw, so long as he hath teeth.
 
[Chorus:]
Ne'er shall he be tamed,
so long as a Fleming liveth.
So long as the lion can claw
so long as he hath teeth.
 
Time devoureth cities, ne'er shall thrones last,
Armies may topple, but a folk dieth not.
Besieged by grievous danger, the foe cometh marching in