Jemi në vjetin 1911-12. Dedë Gjo’ Luli me nji grusht Malsorë niset per Rapshë të Hotit per t’u takue me Marash Ucin, tashmâ në mosghë të shtyme. I kallxon se me ata njerz, qi kishte me vedi, kishte dà me i rà Turkut para afatit të caktuem nga Parija e Qafë . Kishës. Merr pelqimin e Mashit, i cili ngarkohet të kumtojë Shkrel e Kastrat. Gërset e para pushkë në Rapshë. Njizet vetë me te njehun janë luftetarët e Dedës; shtat janë pushkët në duer të tyne e nji alltì. Marrin dý postat e Mbretir dhe nxanë rob gjashtëdhetë ushtarë anadollakë, të cilvet u hjekin armët dhe i nisin per Shkodër. Luftimet ndezen aty – këtu , si flakadâjt e Shën Gjonit. Rojet turke bienë njana mbas tjetrës gadi në tanë Malsìn. Gruda merr Deçiqin, Hoti Krevenicën; bjen Tuzi, rrethohet Shipshaniku, vija e kufinit lirohet që nga Tuzi e deri në Gusì. Kryengritja i shkon në vesh Bedri Pashës, i cili thrret Parin në kalà të Shkodrës dhe, me anen e tallallit, çpàll në qytet luftën fetare per Dinin. Në thirrje të tij dymijë ushtarë e vullnetarë t’armatosun fillohen per Suka të Moksetit. Marrin Drumen e Deçiqin. Dedë Gjo’ Luli me Grudë e Hot i pret në Dinoshë, ku kallet lufta. Ushtritë e Pashës smprapen në Rrasë – Fik. Nikë Gjeloshi me djelmt e vet msyn Deçiqin dhe mbas luftimevet të përgjakshme kapet në maje, ku ngrehë flamurin e Shqipnìs. Fuqì të reja qeveritare arrijnë në Shipshanik, por Malsorët nuk thehen.
Nderkaq në Breg të Matit Dedë Coku i ven pushkën fuqive turke, tuj vrà Kajmekamin e Lezhës. Me vullnertarë kryengritsa drejtohet kah Durrsi. Në Rrushkull ndeshen me ushtrìn e Mbretit e me vullnetarë të vendit në krahun e Sulltanit. Vlon edhe këtu lufta. Bien dëshmorë prej Malsorëvet Kolec Marku e Zef Harapi nga Shkodra, varrohet randë Llesh Nikë Daka. Ky i fundit porosit shokët, para deket, t’a bàjnë në Rrubig, ku P.Pal Dedaj kishte ndezë votrën e levizjevet kombtare e rreth së cilës nxeheshin luftarët e shkrimtarët e Lirìs nga Kurbini, Mirdita, Zadrima, Krûja, Zhuba e Llezhja.
Taborre, nën Turgut Pashën. Të mrrijtmen në qytet, Turguti çon fjalë Malsorëvet të dorzojshin armët. Parija e Lekëvet mlidhen, me Luigj Gurakuqin në krye, dhe vendosin me i përgjegj Pashës me barut. Lufta ndezet mâ e mëndershme se kurr. Msyn Turku me furì, e pret Malsija me trimnì. Vendi kallet flakë: gjimojnë male e kodra, ushtojnë gryka e humnere, fishkullojnë plumba e gjyle topash. Et-hem Pasha msyn Kelmendin nga ana e Gusìs dhe Malsorët gjinden në mjes dý zjarmijeve, por s’ligshtohen. Shumica e tepërt e fuqive anadollake fiton, por toka shtrohet pllambë për pllambë në trupën ushtarësh. Europa habitet para gjith kësaj trimnije e merr shênjim punen e SHQIPTARËVET.
The spirit of resistance carries on in twentieth-century Albania in the figure of Ded Gjo’ Luli, champion of the cause against the Turks. It is 1910-1911, just before the Balkan wars in which the Turks will begin their last attempt to subject the Albanian Highlanders to Ottomon rule. With Ded Gjo’ Luli and his band of twenty ‘falcons’ is the aging Marash Uci of Rapsha in Hoti land, who appeared in Canto XII. Turgut Pasha with his seventy battalions demands that the Highlanders surrender within five days. He then prepares for the attack, but Europe now takes note of Albania’s plight.
Nderkaq në Breg të Matit Dedë Coku i ven pushkën fuqive turke, tuj vrà Kajmekamin e Lezhës. Me vullnertarë kryengritsa drejtohet kah Durrsi. Në Rrushkull ndeshen me ushtrìn e Mbretit e me vullnetarë të vendit në krahun e Sulltanit. Vlon edhe këtu lufta. Bien dëshmorë prej Malsorëvet Kolec Marku e Zef Harapi nga Shkodra, varrohet randë Llesh Nikë Daka. Ky i fundit porosit shokët, para deket, t’a bàjnë në Rrubig, ku P.Pal Dedaj kishte ndezë votrën e levizjevet kombtare e rreth së cilës nxeheshin luftarët e shkrimtarët e Lirìs nga Kurbini, Mirdita, Zadrima, Krûja, Zhuba e Llezhja.
Taborre, nën Turgut Pashën. Të mrrijtmen në qytet, Turguti çon fjalë Malsorëvet të dorzojshin armët. Parija e Lekëvet mlidhen, me Luigj Gurakuqin në krye, dhe vendosin me i përgjegj Pashës me barut. Lufta ndezet mâ e mëndershme se kurr. Msyn Turku me furì, e pret Malsija me trimnì. Vendi kallet flakë: gjimojnë male e kodra, ushtojnë gryka e humnere, fishkullojnë plumba e gjyle topash. Et-hem Pasha msyn Kelmendin nga ana e Gusìs dhe Malsorët gjinden në mjes dý zjarmijeve, por s’ligshtohen. Shumica e tepërt e fuqive anadollake fiton, por toka shtrohet pllambë për pllambë në trupën ushtarësh. Europa habitet para gjith kësaj trimnije e merr shênjim punen e SHQIPTARËVET.
The spirit of resistance carries on in twentieth-century Albania in the figure of Ded Gjo’ Luli, champion of the cause against the Turks. It is 1910-1911, just before the Balkan wars in which the Turks will begin their last attempt to subject the Albanian Highlanders to Ottomon rule. With Ded Gjo’ Luli and his band of twenty ‘falcons’ is the aging Marash Uci of Rapsha in Hoti land, who appeared in Canto XII. Turgut Pasha with his seventy battalions demands that the Highlanders surrender within five days. He then prepares for the attack, but Europe now takes note of Albania’s plight.
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Të shtatë Krajlat çue janë m' kâmë: Kah ká rá, medet! kjo gjamë? N' at Malcí, n' at Rrapshë të Hotit Dedë Gjo' Luli, burrë si motit, Me 'i çetë Lekë, bisha shkorretit, Ká nisë pushken m' askjer t' Mbretit! Shtremnon ksulen, del në shkallë, Bedri Pashës po i çon fjalë: Mirë nenshtrasha, or' Bedri Pasha! Amanet jam tue t' a lânë, Ket fjalë Mbretit me m' I a thânë: Se me sodjet, êmni iZotit! Shka jem' nipash s' Gjergj Kastriotit E « Shqyptarë » qi i thomë na vedit, Mâ duvá nuk i bâjm Mbretit. E as s' e njofim mâ per Mbret. Rrash po mbushen pesqind vjet, Qi na I bâjm atij hysmet E per tê na thyem rradaket, Si t' ki'n kênë kto poça Vraket, Nji të mire pá pesë prej tí. Na shkoi moti si â mâ zí: Ngranë pa ngranë, e kryet m' gershanë, Bje prej sherrit m' taksirát. Se aj s' po kisht' tjeter zanát, Veç pre e rip, e digj e piq: Rrxo, rreno, e vendin flligj Me mehmurë e me agallarë, Qi 'i punë kta kurr s' kan sjellë marë; Veç rrah m' shkop, e vár m' konop: Vidh, robit, e tokët plaçkit: Si mo' Zo' mâ keq per né, Qi a ndopak n' Shqypní kem' lé. Pasha Zotin: kjoftë levdue! Edhè kshtu s' mûjm me durue. Pushken sod un i a kam vû, Mandej dalët si kjoftë gjikue. Veshë e mbathë kishte qillue, Njet « alltín » në fletë t' sylahit Vên «mauzerren » mbi sup t' krahit, E me 'i çetë djelmoça mbrapa Ká marrë rrugen me t' mdhej hapa: Si njaj plajmi me duhí; Drejt kah Rapsha edhè u ká prî. Drejt kah Rapsha, Rapsha e Hotit, Qi, si heret si n' ditë t' sotit, Kjo po m' ishte 'i falme agzotit: Se aty vendi t' âsht ndezë zhari, T' janë herrë krenat porsi bari, Sa herë Lekët na janë perlá Grykë per grykë me Turk e Shkjá, Idhtë tue i bâ shkinat me kjá, Idhtë tue i bâ me fshâ turkinat, Kah n' dorë flakë u rín «martinat». At herë «Shêjzat» tue prendue: Dedë Gjo' Luli, flakë barotit, Marash Ucit n' derë ká shkue, Kû I trakllon edhe po i thotë: Çou, bre Masho! Sod s' âsht ngaja As me fjetë, besa, as me u kotë; Pse me Turk kem' do fjalë t' mdhaja. Mashi, rát si kishte kanë Mbí lkurë viçi, â çue mejhera, E vû krahve 'i gozhup t' randë, Jashtë ká dalë trimi ke dera: Po a me msy po do Stambollen Me kta djelm, 'or Dedë, mbas veti? Se, kudo qi këta ndollen, Aty gjâmë muer toka e deti. Mos më nguc, Masho, me fjalë, Se merzitshem kam qillue, Po i a kthen Deda kadalë, Mashit doren tue i shterngue. Edhè m' anesh shmangë pak gjâ, Ulun trimat kann zânë vend; Bâjn duhan, e at herë nen zâ Ká nisë Deda e çilë kuvend; N' at Qafë-Kishë mledhun Parija, Kuvendisht aty e pa'n dá, Burrë per shpí me dalë Malsija E so' 'i javë Turkut me irá. Po; por fort mue âsht tue m' u ngjatë, Edhè mendja m' kapet tel, Me i rá Turkut shi n' ket natë: Si, thue ti, puna na del? Osmanlís me i ra s' âsht heret Kurr, tha Mashi me fjalë të mara, Mos per deret, per penxheret Do qitë jashtë aj sa mâ para; Me t' a thânë pse due edhè 'I fjalë: Vetë na, po, e provojm mbi rrashtë, Se aj n' Shqypní t' ká ngulë, si halë Qi ngelë n' fyt, e s' zieret jashtë. Don dajak!... Mirë se po i bini Sande askjerit; por nuk dí Armë me vedi sa mund t' kini? Shtatë «mauxerre» e kjo «alltí» Qi kam n' brez, tha Dedë Gjo' Luli. Me aq pushkë, thom un, armët askjerit T' Rapshës u mirren, Marash Uci I a kthei Dedës. Un me ni herit Po kumtoj Shkrel e Kastrat, Po çoj fjalë edhè n' Kelmend Gjâs e gjindes me i dhan shpat, N' qafa burrat me zanë vend. M' tani, djelm! se, me ndihmë t' Zotit, Ksaj herë Turkun e kem' thye. Zbardhnja faqet gjithkund Hotit! Briti Mashi, e n' shpí u kthye. Dedë Gjo' Luli, si i u lut Zotit, Sod prej nadjet, pa zbardhë drita, Me 'izet djelm, po, 'izet petrita: Synin gacë, zêmren duhí, N' shtatë «mauxerre» e në nji «alltí»: M' askjer t' Mbretit ká sulmue, N' dý «kausha» kta ngujue: T' njehun rrafsh gjashtdhetë «nizamë». Fasha e Rapshës se ç' ká marrë gjamë; Veleçiku fort ká ushtue, Shtatë «mauxerret» rrebtë tue vlue, Kurr pa prâ, kurr pa pushue: Thue 'I taborr po ká qillue! Se me djelm qi ká mbas veti Dedë Gjo' Luli. kaçabeti, S' i ká Krajli, s' i ká Mbreti, S' i ká toka, s'i ká deti: Mjaft me thânë Kolë Marash Vata, Qi, si plajmi me shtergata, Me at Prêlë Kerin kaq t' kann msy M' dý «kaushat» n' askjer ndrý, Thue janë çerdhe cilikokash: Ke aspak gjygjin s' i a bâjn kokes. Kaq kje vrrima, po, e uturima, Kaq vikama edhè piskama, Kú t' janë lshue Lekët e Malcís Mbí atà shkretët «nizamë» t' Turkís, N' ato kulla kthelltë ngujue: Dy tue vrá, dy tue shitue: Sa qi t' mjerët zêmra I ká lshue 'Dhe malcorve n' dorë u rane, Me gjithë armë e xhebehane. Mbsì 'i herë rane në dorë, Atý prî u kan dy malcorë, E shtek m' shtek e koder m' koder, I percollen me kthye n' Shkoder. Nji ç' do burrë, qi din shk' â ndera, Hasmi armët mbasì t'i hjekë, Faqe t' zezë aj çon te dera, Po guzoi m' tê mâ me prekë, Mbas kanùs s' Lekë Dukagjinit. Porsì kúr naten e Sh' Gjinit Flakadanet shkojn tu' u kallë Jo p'r 'iherë, por kû mâ rrallë, Kû mâ shpesh e dorë mbas dore Atý-ktû neper terthore: Kshtu, si zhiri u bânë nji herë Dý «kaushat» n' Rapshë të blerë, Shì n'e nesre e pushkë pa shtî, Gjith «kaushat» në Malcí, Urë kufinit me Mal t' Zí; Kû mâ t' vogla e kû mâ t' mdhá: Nji mas nji në dorë kann rá. Mandej Grudës I a dhânka Zoti Prej Deçiqit turqt me I dbue; Krevenicen e muer Hoti ; Hyqameti n' Tuz u rrxue. Rrethue atherë t' a kan «nizamin», N' Shipshanik qi kisht' ngujue, Si edhè askjerin, qi «istiqamin», N' Dushkakuq kisht' pasë ndertue: E s' lanë zog ajrit me dalë, Jo mâ Turk me kalue gjallë. Kshtû p'r 'i herë, u zhduk Turkija Q' merr prej Tuzit te Gusija: Me pushkë n' faqe e dboi Malcuja. Bedri Pasha, kúr ká ndî Se ç' po bâte ajo Malcí, Per lirí e per at Shqypní, Fort âsht mbushë aj me mëní, Grushta krés, besa tue i rá, Askjer n' Shkoder ke s' po ká, Fesatin n' Malcí me dá. Thrret mishlicin, bâjn shurá: Si t' i a bâjm e tek t' i a bâjm? Kah të çajm e kah t' i a mbajm? Se Malcija âsht çue lugat Me dalë neser m' Rozafat: Edhè ktu, po, n' kalá t' Shkodres, Tue i rá surles edhè lodres, N' sy t' Europës e t' marë njerzís, Me ngrefë flamurin e Shqypnís: Shqypnín m' e qitë zojë më veti, Qi mâ kurr m' tê me urdhnue Mbreti: Se lê Pashë e veqilade, Lê mehmurë e kallavrade, Qi m' konop tash po t' i vjerrin, Njashtû si per kambet berrin! Hollë e gjatë si janë mendue, Si kann folë e bisedue, Se si punës me I a bâ hallin, S' mbrami t' gjith e kan pleqnue, Me nji herë me qitë tellallin: Qi, shk' â turk, me dalë n' Koplik, Pse po isht' nji i madh rrezik: Shqypnijet me u dbue Turkija: Shtet m' vedi me u ngrefë Shqypnija! Thrret «tellalli» sa ká n' krye: Kush âsht turk bashibuzuk, Me njeshë armët e n' luftë me dalë, Malcís hovin me i a ndalë; Persè dini â në rrezik, Ke s' po ká Shkodra «nizamë» Kshtu tellalli. Trup në kamë I a kan bâ nja dý mij vetë, Muhamedan, e pa marrë dielli, Vrap: thue u kan vû fletë: Per báll t' luftës janë nisun filli. Tue vikatë, tue u hallakatë! Kan dalë m' suka të Moksetit, Kann pushtue Drume e Deçiq: Mirë kann ngrefë topat e Mbretit: Me hjedhë gjylet m' Bukoviq! N' at Dinoshë na janë ngujue; Kan ngefë «tabe» edhè «istiqame» «Maje krahit» tue këndue, Tue prî vallet per gjith mbrame. M' kep t' njij shkami dalë s' kundruelli: Hajde, hajde o mori Shkoder Se na njifna prej q' kah motit; Se me surle edhè me loder, S' shtron Malcí ti, manà t' Zotit. Na â rreshkë shtati n' flakë t' barotit, Tuj u grî na e tuj u vrá Herë me Turk e herë me Shkjá. Kqyr, t' mos bijsh nper né n' belá; Se né hajrin s' na ká pá, Veç kush n' shpí per mik na rá. Kshtû tha Deda m' at rragam. Edhè pushka bâni «bam». Kúr janë lshue Grudë edhè Hot N' at Dinoshë m' bashibuzukë, Ç' ká ushtue mal e ç' t' â trandë sukë, Edhè toka ç' t' ká bumllue: Kaq pemnershem t' janë perlá, Si me u grî Turku me Shkjá: Jo ma t' gjith Shqyptár nji vllá! Shoq me shoq miq e kumarë, T' gjith bujarë, t' gjith pushkatarë, Kundra Shkjaut qi sa e sa herë Krah per krah kann rrâ n' poterë, E s' bashku kann derdhun gjak, Tuj u grî me Karadak. Perzet-a, t' dy krahët na thashin Né Shqyptarve: «turq» na thaçin, «Ortodoks» ase të «kshtênë»: Msue gjithmonë qi kemi kênë A me thye per t' huej'n rradaket: Edhè hor, pa farë nafaket: Ase, neper sherr të tí, Ndermjet vedit na me u grî!... Sido kjoftë, por turqt shkodranë At ditë thye kjenë në Finoshë: Disá u vrán, do rob kjenë zanë, Hiken tjerët në gjak perloshë. Veç nder suka të Moksetit Fort mâ shum zianë âsht bâ Kû mbí turq kû m' askjer t' Mbretit, Qi n' Malcí jyrish kin rrâ; Rreth e okolle pse atij shpati Msý kann Hot, Shkrel e Kastrat, Edhè lufta, manà, ngjati Rrash tridhetë e gjashtë sahat. S' mbrami turqit kjen thye E m' Rrasë-Fik shkuem me zatetë, Tue lanë dekun krye më krye Kund njiqind e pêsdhetë vetë. Si 'i lavë ujqish, qi mardha e ûja T' a ketë lodhë atjè në Shndré, Kndej lshon m' dhên, andej bjen m' ftuja, Ktû tue shkye, atjè tue pré: Kshtu, nji herë mbasì u a dhe Zoti M' u a shperthye turqve «istiqamin» Gruda shlligë, e gjarpen Hoti, Mbí Deçiq t' kann msý nizamin. U ká prî Nikë Gjelosh Luli: Vesh e m' vesh mustaku I tí: Qi veç pá t' a kish' s' kundruelli, Se edhè shum do tutë t' kisht' shtî. Njitë mbas tij vjen njaj Mark Gjeka, Trimi n' zâ Pjeter Nikë Daku, Maço Grizhi e Lulash Zeka, Qi, kû ndodhne, atjè rrmei gjaku. M' mitraljoz ç' t' i a dha atý askjeri, Ç' t' i a dha m' pushkë bashibuzuku, Rrfë kúr msý ká njaj Zef Peri, Prelë Kolë Shyti e Mirot Çuku: Burrë i fortë Pjeter Gjokë Toshi, Lucë Prêlë Nishku e Gjelosh Gjoka, Prelot Keqi e aj Ujkë Gjeloshi, Dedë Gjon Ujka e Marash Doka: Burra lé per çark t' «martinës», Fjalen fjalë, besen çelikut, Ballë per ballë e jo mbas shpinës Msue me I rá në luftë anmikut. Nikë Gjeloshi m' nja tue msý, N' nja tue u njitë malit perpjeta, N' llogor t' turqvet mbrendë ká kcye, Si kulshedra bjen nder kneta. Lum per Tý, o I lumi Zot, Se ç' ká krisun m' at Deçiq, Idhtë tue u grî turq, Grudë e Hot, M' pushkë, m' singija edhè me klliç! Kambë per kambë por me malcorë, M' Deçiq rrâ ká 'i djalë I rí: Qaj Hilë Mosi, pushken n' dorë, N' parsme flamurin « kuq e zí ». Se ky Hila, djalë shkodranë, Per lirí të ksajë Shqypnije: Mbathë e dathë, ngranë e pa ngranë: T' rít e jeten bâ kisht' flije. Gjindja ashtû sa i'n tue u coptue, Tuj u bâ atà paçariz, Asht turrë djali e t' ká flakrue, Porsì gjarpen, mu n' mjedis; E tuj i dhânë aj zjarm «alltís» M' nji «manov» vjellun nga azija, Zhvillon flamurin e Shqypnís E vrret t' madhe: Rrnoftë Shqypnija! N' at zâ turqt u vûnë me hikë, Pêsdhetë t' vramë tue lanë mbí dhé, Djelm të zgjedhun pikë e pikë: Per t' shituem pse pvetë nuk ké. Ofshe i mjeri! Por ká mbetë Vetë i shtati Nikë Gjelosh Luli, Trrim si aj mos me u gjetë, Marë Shqypnín ti n' e kerkosh. At herë n' qiell prej Veleçikut Tue lé dielli me msdhní, Dishka ushton drejt Shipshanikut: Shka do t' jetë un kish' t' a dij? Tue vozitë naten pa hanë, Diku atjè në Samoborr: M' breg t' liqênit per n' m' at anë: Paska zbritun nji taborr: Rrash nji mij dyqind nizamë, N' «peksimet» e n' armë mberthye; Djelm me bré hekur me dhâmë: Edhè fíll na paskan msy: Njani mbathë e tjetri dathë: N' Shipshanik atà me shkue N' dihmë do askjerit, qi si n' vathë Berret, mbetë kishin rrethue. Porsì lshojn orlat m' stervinë, Hot e Grudë, lshue fulikare, T' i kan rá nizamit m' shpinë, Tue i dhânë hiken n'p'r ato qare. Bedri Pasha, vall, shka ká, Qi rri e ndukë mjekrren pa dá? Gjithky idhnim kah thue iká rá? Kajmekami i Lezhës âsht vrá! Pushkë e top n' Malcí tue vlue, Kajmekami kênka çue, Në Breg t' Matës aj per me shkue: Me 'i taborr nizamë rrethue, Ngarkue mushkat n' xhebehane, N' «peksimet» e n' «karramane»; Edhè dalka n'p'r ato kneta, Per me mledhë xhelep e t' dheta, Bregut t' Matës e dér m' Patok, Pa dhânë vade, afat a orok. Se prej Lezhjet kaluer atit, Kajmekami vjen me ushtrí, Grue e fmij ká qitë aj shpatit, E me shokë e me «komitë»: Pika e djalit kû isht' qillue: Ka vojtë trimi e zanë në pritë; Mirë kû n' armë atà shterngue, Kann dhânë fjalen, jan betue, Pushken Turkut me i a vû, Prej Shqypnís Turkun me dbue. Ç' po shkon ati tue hingllue, Qafen kuk, bishtin ngerthye, Shkumë e verdhë nper gojë tue i shkue, «Shah» tue u hjedhë e tue këcye: Bardh trí kambët, në ballë «nishan»; Kajmekami pin duhan: Sy'n murtat, menden hajvan: Para e mbas ushtrín karvan: Ngarkuet mushkat varg permbrapa, Vithet mal, shkojn hapa hapa. Kúr janë kapun n' nji shêj vendit, Dikû andej per ballë Zejmenit, Bregut t' Matës teposhtë tue shkue, Prej pisís, kû isht' kênë ngujue, T' madhe Deda i bzân askjerit: Kushdo jush «Shqyptár» ká ndollë, T' shmanget m' anesh me nji herit; Pse luftë kem' veç me Stambollë. Edhè pushkët krisen batare. Kajmekami u vrá pikë s' parit, E rá dekun n' do zhavare: Kurr mâ n' mend me I rá qyqarit, Me lypë t' dheta neper Tale, Se atà Lekët po i'n fort havale... Fort u ndez lufta m' at hera, Shum u dha zhurma e potera, Shungullue ç' ká bregu i detit Kúr Malcorët msyn m' askjer t' Mbretit, Si ato bishat e shkorretit! Mbe'n nizamët e ngratë gardhiqeve, Mbe'n, po, knetave e hendiqeve, Vrap kah prroskave edhè shtiqeve I'n vû m' t'hikun poshtë perpjeta, N' zí tue pshtjellë nanat e veta. At herë mushkat plaçkë u bâne Randë ngarkue me xhebehane, N' peksimet e n' karramane. Shum u bâ por m' turq zijani, Llesh Nikë Daka, pehlivani, Kúr, ngujue n' mjedis t' aljerit, Nisi pushken kundra askjerit! Jo, po: mirë m' i ká pague Nji Búlk t' ve'n, kunatë e bí, Qi nizami a vrá a shitue I a pat Lleshit mu në shpí. N' at luftim rane dishmorë Per Shqypní nandmdhetë malcorë; Prej nizamësh m' aljer të thatë Mbe'n njiqind tetdheteshtatë. Por, medet e treqin halle! Punë m' e kjá me lot Shqypnija! Se nizamit, mbetë në Tale, U a muer gjakun n' Durrës «jallija». Kta malcorët e Bregut t' Matës, Per mbas Dedës e Llesh Nikë Dakës, Kênkan nisë per muzgut t' natës, Poshtë n' at Durrës atà me rá, Per t' dbuem Turkun, e m' kalá: Si lidhë besë ki'n me «jallí»: Me ngrefë flamurin «kuq e zí». Por n' at Rrushkull si kan mrrî, Atý rá kan në pusí: Isht' kênë çue «jallija» m' kamë, Me t' cillt besë ki'n lidhë e fé, E bâ bashkë me turq nizamë, Per mbas vedi atý i ká pré. Por, «jallija», n' besë e fé, Ofshe! at ditë preu malcorët udhës, Per t' a lânë prap Turkun n' Durrës! Per lirí të ksaj Shqypnije At ditë vedin bâne flije: Kolec Marku, shqype malit, Njaj Gjokë Doda, pika e djalit: Zef Harapi, bilbil n' Shkodrë, Mirë pa rritë qi shtatin n' votrë, Rroki armët e per Atdhé Mik mbas vedi rrugës u pré: Prêlë Delija, trim rrfé: Njaj Tomë Gjugji e Mark Prengë Dudi, Preng Nikollë Gjeçi e Mark Per Zefi, Me të cillt Gjekë Marash Haka, Pehlivana t' fortë si Zana: Trim mbí trima Llesh Nikë Daka Si kulshedra me shtatë krena, Qi turfllon neper boèna, Ky Llesh Nika shitue randë Me trí plume anë per anë, Shokve t' vet aj m' u ká thânë, Kryet m' «mauzerre» e shta'n per tokë: Amanet, o morè shokë! Me m' a xjerrë ju ktû nji vig, E n' kishë t' Fretenvet në Rrbig Ju me m' bartë e atjè me m' çue: Due me u rrfye, due me u vojue. N' hije t' kishës due me u vrrue. E kann bartë e atje e kann çue. Pater Pali ç' âsht mjerue! Me dorë ballit ç' i ká rá: E po thotë gati tue kjá: Oj Shqypní, e mjera Shqypní, Mjaft po drue, se me krye n' hî Per gjithmonë per t' mbetun ké, N' prêhen t'and q' se mûjn me lé Ksi gjarpîjsh, qi, besë e fé Lânë mbas dore, me trathtí Mund t' bâjn m'vllazen kshtu kerdí, Veç per t' lânë të huj'n n'Shqypní: Në Shqypní Turkun me lânë, Qi, q' se jeta e sheklli âsht zânë, S'ká bâ tjeter veç rrenue, Prishë, e çartë e rrotullue N' ujë t' pa fund, këtu e gjithkund. At-herë mjekun i a ká prû Larg prej Dibret, me e sherue Por jetë-shkurtë Lleshi isht' qillue, E si u rrfye edhè u ligjue, Atý trimi ká marue. Kúr ká dekë e ká marue, I kshtênë, po, e nip Skanderbeut, Dalë ká atý fisnikja e dheut: Me dorë ballin ç' po i a lmon, Hollë e gjatë ç' po e vajton: T' janë mbledhë miqt prej s' dij se kahit: Pse m' rri shtrî si drû prej ahit? Çou nji herë, per me ligjrue: Çou, djelmnín per me trimnue! Folja 'i fjalë babë Nikë t' motnue. Ty nuk t' trêmi gjylja e topit, Nuk t' ligshtoi duhmja e barotit, Kúr mbí turq msyne rrfé motit; Por, kúr ndeshe në t' ue vllazen, Shum bataren mbí tý shprazen: Atà s' t' vrán, por zemren t' plasen! Dýsh tý zemren t' a coptuen: Vllá tue t' pasun, të trathtuen! At herë trimin e vorruen. E vorruen m' at maje krepit Kû «komita», lodhë gazepit T' Shkjaut a t' Turkut, gjêjshin mproje, Strehë, pushim, e prap ndoj koje Bukë e zemer; e kû Frati Të vorruemve u rrite gati, Varrët tue u a lá edhè tue u a ndrrue: Krént me kshille tue i drejtue. Persè, ç' merr prej Sallsatikut E del m' Sh' Mark, n' Kuvend të Rrbigut E ki'n strofllin t' gjith njatà, Qi me puplë a me pushkë m' krah, T' kshtênë a turq, ishin betue, Jashtë Shqypnís Turkun m' e dbue: Kthellë, Mirditë, Kurbin e Krue, Me Zhubë t' Lezhës e me Zadrimë: Me Zadrimë, qi me marrë frymë S' e la Turku; gjithmonë «rajë», Persè e kshtênë, e qi në váj Moti i shkon: por qi n' ditë t' sotit, Qi po lypet me ngrefë krye Kundra Turkut, e me msye Me armë n' dorë, Krén e të Parë Të Zadrimës, sa kjenë gjith marë, Kan lânë shpijat me hambarë: Kan lânë kualt atà me shalë: Shekat plot, kotecat plot: Drithë në arë të bâm me u pré: Burgun ding me lopë e qé: Dhén e dhí, e lesh e lí: Qitu buken n' mal «komitës» Struki n' shpija zhegut t' ditës, Edhè n' mal «komitë» kann dalë: Kush me djalë, kush me mahallë: Ka rá n' mal, po, Mati Gjoka, Prenkë Matija,i shpís s' Milotit, Qaj Zef Prêçi e qaj Lekë Ndoka: Gjo' Ndue Vokrri, burrë si motit, Marka Tuku, uk shkorretit: Mark Pashuku e Shtjef' Haberi Qaj Kin Ndoci e Gjokë Dedë Goshi Gjoka i Tukut e Ndrecë Leci, Qi n' Hajmel, Rroboshtë, Kallmet Shum m' askjer bân do adalet. Nderkaq n' Shkoder I a ká befun Turgut Pasha, 'i xhemjetlí, Me shtatdhetë taborre t' njefun; E si mrrini nji herë n' Shkoder, Bujrí tue kersitë e loder, Fjalë malcorve aj u ká çue: Krye pêsë ditsh, si t' shkojn pêsë dit, Me rá n' Shkoder, me u dorzue Me gjithë armë; ase «gjilit» M' shpinë me askjer do t' u kisht' hypë, Hundë e buzë m' grushta me u shtypë, Me u zhbî trollin me temel M' «carâ t' votres» dér në stel, Mos me u kndue mâ as pulë as gjel, E atà vetë me i vjerrë m' çengel. Kúr kan ndîe Krént e Malcís Per lirí qi të Shqipnís I a ki'n vû pushken Turkís: Dedë Gjo' Luli, kuvendtár, Sokol Baci, mendeqár, Mirash Luca pushkatár, Mehmet Shpendi, bishë dervnedi; Frano Pali e Mirash Pali, Si dý plume n' «xheverdare», Me at Tomë Niken, harushë mali: Qaj Lukë Marku, rrfé zhgjetare, Me at Islamin Makalushi: Prej Shkodranësh, Luigj Gurakuqi: Edhè trimat janë bashkue, E ashtû m' kambë e pa e ngjatë tortë, Fjalë Turgutit kshtu i kan çue: Perzè, Pashë, boll burrë i fortë Mbahe e jé; veç shka se na Kurrkund, besa, s'e kem' n' mend Me rá n' godi me tý. Na S' thomë, si 'I palë, prap në ket vend Me ndêjë Turku; veç, si na Qi t' kem' qéf, me sundue aj. Ajo fjalë s' â gjâ, jo. Na Duem qi Turku t' hiqet kndej, E n' Shqypní t' jesim veç na Per me mûjtë, kshtû, mbasandej, Në Shqypní me sundue na, Gjithsesì t' kem' qefin na. Prandej, Pashë, der sa qi ti Mos t' thejsh zverkun prej ktij vend, Godi s' ká, jo, ndermjet nesh, Me shoshojn pa u bâ na pshesh; Pse na t' njofim kush jé ti. M' kambë ushtrín aj e ká çue, Malcís m' shpinë 'dhe i a ká lshue: Njanin krah drejt Veleçikut, Tjetrin nisë prej Shipshanikut. Si tallazi, qi, tanë shkumë, Vjen plandoset per ndoj gumë, E me ushtimë e me furí I dyndë skllafat per ajrí: Njikshtu atbotë ushtria e Turkís T' i u rras mbremdë ajo Malcís, Pushkë e top tue bumbullue, Mendt e krés me t' u trenue. Se njikjo âsht duhmja e Dauletit, E njikjo âsht dita e kjahmetit, Mâje mos me i pá ti vedit. Po a nuk ndîen? a s' shef me sy Sa nizami, korb i zí, Per gjith anësh tý të ka msy? Se kjo s' âsht ushtrija e Shkjaut, Por e Mbretit të Stabollës: Qi veç n' hîsh ti n' bryne t' kaut, Perse ndryshe hallin kokes, Manà pra, si i a bân nuk ké. Turgut Pasha ka bâ bé, Me të djegë me gúr e dhé: Fort ká vrâ ato vetlla t' trasha! Se me ndihmë të Perendís, Të kam xjerrë, bre, prej Malcís... Prej Malcís edhè Shqypnís! S' ká me thanë tash ktû fjalë boshe, Per shka don me bâ adalet: S' trêmet ujku, jo, prej shoshe! Mshoj, perzet, sa t' keshë kyvet; Pse edh' âsht kjo mâ e mbramja herë, Qi po t' bje me u pré e me u therë Me Shqyptarë njimend Shqyptarë, Qi mohue s' kan fis as t' Parë; E qi m' tý, besa, lum Pasha, Kann me xjerrë do dredha t' trasha: Palè, at herë, ku t' qet neshtrasha. Lshoi Malcija me trimní E ka' u ndeshen me mëní, Veleçiku, thue, u turshî: Kaq me t' madhe nji uturimë, Kaq me rrpame e me zhaurrimë Turr m' shoshojn qi kan sulmue, Ushtimë pushka aty tue vlue, Kobshim topi tue bumbullue, Edhe gjindja tue sharrue: Tue sharrue per t' madh gazep, Kush mbí curr e kush nen krep: Njani fushës e tjetri shpatit, Rreshkë per shûjtë e rreshkë per ujë: Çurril gjaku shkoju shtatit, Kush fjalë t' ambel mos u thuej! Aloberta flakë e zhig, Tranden shtojet kah Vitoja; Suka e Napllit të tanë nig, Veleçiku ushton e Broja. Ká marrë gjamë larg Bukoviqi, Tym e njegull maja e Qurkut, Tue msy Turku kah Deçiqi, Marrë aj turrin prej Kalturkut. Prêlë Nikë Prêtashi prej Kushet Fort po bân, trimi, gajret; Qaj Zef Peri, 'i drang harushet, Se ç' po qet, sa mirë i a njet: Sa mirë, trimi, krés i a njiti Atí yzbashit Saladinit: Tamth e m' tamth plumen I a qiti E e la shakull prroskës s' njij vrrinit. Shka ká thânë Pjeter Nikë Daku: Mirë e pat qaj Sinan Aja: Dy çurrilash po i shkon gjaku: Se kthen n' shpí s' e mban mâ uzdaja; Qaj Prêlë Keri, me trí zêmra, Shkon e vjen porsì duhija; Se atij lak nuk i bân thêmra As nder plume as nder «singija». Si 'i kulsheder dalë prej detit, Maça Grizhi t' madhe bzâni: Bini, djelm, m' askjer të Mbretit, Se ká mbetë, ofshe! Dokë Lani. Qaj Kolë Zefi, e forta skile: Me sa gjarpnit s' i a dán gjurmen: Me Kolë Kurtin zanë m' Bratile, Ç' po e perzïj n' askjer aj turmen; Ke pa dhimë nizamët po i vret E i lshon rreges dujë e dujë: Me bâ turket shum medet, Ke u mbe'n burrat n' dhé të huej. Ç' ká qi rreh topi e gopedra N' at Qafë-Ungrej, zjarr' pa e ndalë? Gjet' Mark Ujka, si kulshedra, Thonë ká msy aty me gjith djalë. Mbaja mirë, topçija i Mbretit! Ké verbue? As s' shef me sy Ç' po bâhet m' askjer t' Dauletit, Tash qi Gjetja andej ká msy? Si nji búlk, qi, gjetë n' hambar Nji frotë mîjsh, kapë n' dorë nji shkop E me tê, ashtû pa kandar Tue sjellë n' mîj, t' i bân aj skllop: Gjeto Marku me të birin Kshtû po i lshon «manovët» per dhé, Pa i a kqyrë kurrnjanit hirin, Veç qit m' ta porsì m' shkerbë. Por, rrezik! Se 'I nishanxhí Po kisht' kênë, besa, topçiu; Pse, vû topin m' terezí, Me gjith t' bir' dikúr e mshiu. Ç' t' ká lshue at here Gjon Ujk Miculi, Lulash Zeka e qaj Stakë Breci, Lik Mirashi e Gjok Dedë Luli, Gjon Ujk Çeku, e Kolë Gjo' Leci; Lucë Gjeloshi, 'i bishë prej malit, Dasha Nika e Pjeter Uci, Smajl Mustafa e Sokol Mali, Gjokë Dedë Luli, e Gjo' Nik Plluci: Edhè trimat, tue u berlykë, Si atà dêmat neper djerre, T' flakruen m' turq e grykë per grykë I a kan dhânë aty m' «mauzerre». Ilerí! Vrret komandari, Edhè turqit fulikare Msynë m' shqyptarë, e aty at herë, Zhari Ndezë, «mauzerret» vlojn batare. M' Samoborr e në Zagore Të tanë vendi â 'i gropë gelqere; Gjimon mal, ushton terthore, Shungullojn gryka e humnere. Fort po rreh topi e havani, Edhè gjylja derdhun breshen Dikû andejna kah Dragoni, Tash qi turqit m' malsorë u ndeshen. Et-hem Pasha prej Gusîjet Merr e msyn me askjer Kelmendin, Nsa Turguti atje prej shpîjet Flakadâ po e kallë t' tanë vendin. Tymi dyndet rê n' ajrí, Shamet trojet me temel; Kahdo bjen duhmani I tij, Aty s' kndon mâ as pulë as gjel. Shtyhen para turqt kamë kamë, Pushtojn vend ka pak ka pak: Por tue e shtrue vendin n' nizamë, Pllamë per pllamë por tue e lá n' gjak. N' mend habitun kqyrë Europa Si njikjo Malcia mixorre Veç me 'I pushkë, pa shûjtë pa topa, Mazull mban shtatdhetë taborre?! |
To their feet the Seven Kings sprang, “What is all the clamour in the Highlands up in the Rapsha e Hotit?” Ded Gjo’ Luli, ancient fighter, With his savage Leka band is Firing at the sultan’s soldiers. Ded Gjo’ Luli, living sabre, Cap over brow, upon the staircase Sent a word to Bedri Pasha: “Greetings to you, Bedri Pasha, To you do I send this message, Please convey it to the sultan. From today, and God’s my witness, All George Castriota’s children, All who call themselves Albanian, Will no more pray for the sultan, Will no longer recognize him. Full five hundred years have passed now That we’ve served the Turkish sultan, Served him, chopping heads off for him, Heads like jugs at Vraka market, Never from him an advantage. Time went by in dire misfortune, Sometimes hunger, sometimes peril, Always trouble, always fighting, For he knew no other pastime Than to murder, slay and ravage, Lay waste and our land dishonor With his agas and officials, Men who’ve done no other work than Whipping, beating, hanging people, Robbing serfs and stealing farmland, Worse conditions could not be for Those of us born in Albania. By the Lord, by Him we worship, We this can no longer suffer, Thus today I’ve seized my rifle, Let fate now decide our fortune!” Thus spoke Ded and donned his armour, In his garb and boots stood ready, Sheathed his pistol in his gun belt, Mauser rifle over his shoulder, With a band of lads behind him Swiftly hurtled down the roadway Like a snowstorm in a fury, Off to Rapsha did he lead them. Off to Rapsha, Rapsha e Hotit, To that venue of gunpowder Both in ancient times and present, Places where fires raged eternal, Heads like blades of grass were mowed down Every time the Leka’s struggled With the Turks and shkjas in battle, Causing grief to Slavic women, Putting Turkish wives in mourning, With Martini rifles firing. When they reached Brigja e Hotit As the Pleiades took refuge, Ded Gjo’ Luli, flash of powder, Went to visit Marash Uci, Knocked upon his door and shouted: “Wake up, Mashi! There’s no time for Sleeping of for doing nothing, With those Turks we have a problem.” Mashi, on a cowhide resting, Rose at once and over his shoulders Threw his heavy sheepskin jacket, To the door he strode and answered: “What? You want to take on Stamboul With those boys you’ve got behind you?” All they do is they cause ruckus Everywhere such lads are present.” “Do not trouble, vex me, Mashi, I’m not in the mood for teasing,” Ded in slow response admonished, Offering his hand to Mashi. To one side withdrew the heroes, Took their seats and sat together, Rolled tobacco. In a whisper Ded began the conversation: “Gathered at the Church Pass, have the Elders taken counsel calling From each Highland house a fighter To assault the Turks in battle In a week. In my opinion Much too slow. I’d rather see that We this very night attack them. Do you think that we could do it?” “Never is attack too early,” Marash mused with words of wisdom. “We must throw these Ottomans out Through the door or through the window, Cast them from us quick as can be. Yes, indeed, for this our country Suffers from them like a fishbone Wedged within our throats and choked on. They could use a beating! It would be Good if you tonight attacked them. But what weapons have you with you?” “Seven Mausers and this pistol In my belt,” said Ded Gjo’ Luli. “With them I think you’ll disarm those Turkish soldiers up in Rapsha,” Marash Uci said to Ded, “so I will tell Kastrati, Shkreli, Send word also to Kelmendi That they hide their herds and kinfolk, That their men guard well the passes, Let’s be off, lads! God be willing, We’ll defeat the Turkish forces. May all Hoti take pride in you!” Mashi yelled, and vanished indoors. Who’s now firing in Rapsha e Hotit? Ded Gjo’ Luli, after praying, Set out just before the sunrise With his lads, those twenty falcons, Eyes a-glowing, hearts like windstorms, Seven Mausers and a pistol, Preyed upon the sultan’s soldiers Holed up in their Turkish barracks, Sixty soldiers rightly counted. How the plain of Rapsha echoed! Velecik resounded loudly, Seven Mausers in wild volleys Ever firing, never ceasing, You’d have thought a whole battalion. Ded Gjo’ Luli, mountain kite he, Brought such lads, such fighters with him As has neither king nor sultan, Nor have other lands or oceans. Foremost were Kol Marash Vata, Like a snowstorm, and Prel Keri Who attacked the Turkish barracks With the sultan’s soldiers in them, You’d have thought a nest of jackdaws, Fearless of their own extinction, Such the shouting and the screaming, Such the din and such the clamour, When the Highland Lekas pounced on Those poor servants of the sultan Hiding deep within their tower, Killing some and wounding others. Soon despaired the Turkish soldiers, To the Highlanders surrendered With their arms and their munitions. After they were taken prisoner, Did two Highland fighters lead them Path by path and hill by hill and Bear them back with them to Shkodra. When a foe has been disarmed, thus Every man who strives for honour Knows that he will bring discredit On himself if he’d but touch him, Thus the code of Dukagjini. Like Midsummer Night when bonfires Burn and rage up in the mountains, Not at once, but now and then, some Flaming wildly, some in embers Here and there upon hillsides, So the barracks seized in Rapsha Burned and flamed and fell to ashes. On the morrow without firing, All the barracks in the Highlands, Both the big ones and the small ones, On the Montenegrin border, One by one gave up, surrendered. Then did God permit to Gruda That they drive the Turks from Deciq, Hoti conquered Krevenica, Tuz’s government was taken. Then the army they encircled At Shipshanik where it held out, With the soldiers who were guarding Dushkakuq and digging trenches. They let not a bird escape them, Not to mention Turkish fighters. Thus did Turkey swiftly vanish Both from Tuz and from Gucia, Turfed out by those Highland marksmen. Bedri Pasha, when he found out What the Highlands had accomplished For Albania and its freedom, Was incensed and filled with anger, Beat his skull and raged a-cursing For he had no men in Shkodra To put down the Highland tumult. Thus, he called a council meeting To decide what course to follow, How to treat the matter, for a Spectre’d risen in the Highlands, Which would soon engulf Rozafat, Settle into Shkodra’s fortress To the tune of pipes and drumming, And before mankind and Europe Raise the banner of Albania, Make Albania her own mistress, Not submitting to the sultan, Not to pashas of lieutenants, Not to clerks and civil servants, Who had hung her by a rope as Sheep and goats by feet are strung up. Long the gentleman took counsel, Long they talked, exchanged ideas How to act and staunch the torrent. In the end they all agreed to Send a message out by herald: “All ye Turks, come now to Koplok! For the nation’s in great danger, Highlanders are ousting Turkey, Want their country independent!” After prayers that afternoon With all his might the herald bellowed: “All ye Turkish bashibazouks, Seize your arms and rush to battle, Halt the tumult in the Highlands, Our religion is in peril, Shkodra has no Turkish forces.” Thus the herald gave the order. To their feet jumped men two thousand, Before sunset, all were Muslims, Headlong did they rush to battle, You’d have thought their feet were feathered. How the Turks did set out shrieking, All the outcry and the clamour! To the hill of Mokset pressing, They took Drume and took Deciq, Set the cannons of the sultan Up to fire upon Bukoviq, Made their base camp in Dinosha, Dredging ditches, digging trenches, Standing at attention, singing, Leading dances all that evening. What did Ded Gjo’ Luli utter From a facing promontory? “Come, oh Shkodra, to your senses, For a long time we have known you. To the tune of pipes and drumming You will never defeat the Highlands. Gunpowder has parched our bodies, We’ve forever been in battle With the Turks and with shkja neighbors. Take care not to cross swords with us For we’re kind to no intruders, Save our friends who come to visit.” Thus spoke Ded upon that cliff side And the rifles commenced shooting. Lord Almighty, thee we worship. Gruda, Hoti, when they struck the Bashibazouks in Dinosha, How the hills and mountains echoed, How the earth did roar like thunder! Terrifying was the fighting, As when Turks and shkjas do battle, Or, worse still, when the Albanians, To a man and as one body, Friends, companions and relations, All those noble marksmen standing Shoulders touching in the clamour, As when spilling blood together In their fight with Montenegro. May our strength and power wither If our people are called Muslims, Are called Orthodox or Christians. It has always been our wont to Lose our heads for foreign powers, And, what’s worse, to no advantage, Or at their dire instigation One another slay and slaughter. Nonetheless, the Turks of Shkodra On that day fell in Dinosha, Some were killed and others taken, Some, though bathes in blood, did scramble. On the lowland hills of Mosket Was there even more dire slaughter Against the Turks and sultan’s soldiers Who had struck out for the Highlands. All around they were besieged by Hoti, Shkreli and Kastrati, And the fighting in that battle Lasted six and thirty hours. In the end the Turks were vanquished, Fled to Rrase-Fik with their forces, Leaving many heads behind them, Fifty and one hundred fighters. Like a wolf pack, freezing, hungry, Wearied by the cold of winter, When it falls on sheep and kid-goats, Gashing some and gutting others, Thus it was when God allowed them To invade the Turkish trenches. Serpent Gruda, viper Hoti, Headed by Nik Gjelosh Luli, Ear to ear did stretch his whiskers, Sprang on Turkish troops in Deciq, Had you seen him right before you, You’d be seized with fright and terror, Second to him was Mark Gjeka, Pjeter Nik Daku, famous hero, Maca Grizhi, Lulash Zeka, Blood flowed everywhere they turned up. Soldiers discharged their machine guns, Bashibazouks fired their rifles, When assaulted by Zef Peri, Prel Kol Shyti, Mirot Cuku, Pjeter Gjok Toshi, mighty fighter, Luc Prel Nishku, Gjelosh Gjoka, Prelot Keqi, Ujk Gjeloshi, Ded Gjon Ujka, Marash Doka, Offspring of Martini rifles, Fast as steel their word of honour, Ever attacking, never receding, Wont to charge their foe in battle. Nik Gjeloshi both attacked and Sprinted up the hillside thus to Penetrate the Turkish trenches, Like a kulshedra in the marshes. Praise be to you, God Almighty, So much gunfire, din in Deciq, Gruda, Hoti, Turks in conflict, Rifles, bayonets and sabres, With the other Highland fighters Did one young lad take on Deciq, Named Hil Mosi, hand on rifle, In his breast the red-black banner. Hil, that young lad come from Shkodra, Sacrificed his youthful years by Fighting for Albania’s freedom, Clothed or threadbare, fed or hungry. While they sliced up one another, While they made a mess and bloodbath, Did he rush into their midst and Like a serpent strike against them, Firing all the time his pistol At some soldier born in Asia, Then unfurled Albania’s banner, Crying out: “Long live Albania!” Hearing him, the Turks retreated, Leaving fifty dead behind them, All were fine lads, best of fighters, Of the wounded do not ask, for Woe is me, but also perished In the fray Nik Gjelosh Luli, Seventh amongst them, peerless fellow, None within our land his equal. In the sky from Velecik then Near Shipshanik something echoed, As the run rose in its glory. What it is, I’d like to find out. Rowing on a moonless night Upon the water by Samoborr, On that one side of the lake did Disembark a full battalion, Pouring out twelve hundred soldiers, Bringing with them arms and rations, Lads whose teeth could bite through iron. Straightway they stormed upon us, Some with shoes and others barefoot. For Shipshanik they were destined, To assist those Turkish soldiers, Like a herd of sheep surrounded. Just like eagles at a carcass Hoti, Gruda, both assaulted From behind the Turkish soldiers, Scattered them into bushes. What is wrong with Bedri Pasha, Ever plucking at his whiskers? Where has all this anger come from? Slain’s the kajmekam of Lezha! While the rifles, cannons cackled In the hills, the kajmekam moved Out and left for Bregumatja, With him was an armed battalion, Mules full laden with gunpowder, For soldiers’ bread and rations. Through the marshland did he journey To collect their tithes and taxes, From Patok to Bregumatja, Giving no one time, remission. Deda, Coku’s son, when hearing That the kajmekam was coming, On his horse from Lezha riding, Sent his children, wife in hiding. With his friends and other rebels Did he, fine and noble hero, Press on and prepare an ambush. There they waited with their weapons, Swore and promised one another They would use them against the Turks to Expel Turkey from Albania. How the stallion trotted neighing, Curved its neck and bent its tail up, Foaming at the mouth, all yellow, Back and forth it pranced and frolicked, Three white hooves, a mark on brow, the Kajmekam sat on it smoking, Savage thoughts and morbid glances, As the column marched before him, With the line of mules behind him, Mountain-high their backs were laden. When they reached a certain hilltop Somewhere right across from Zejmen, To descend to Bregumatja, Deda rose up from his ambush, Crying loudly to the soldiers: “Anyone who is Albanian, Jump to one side, no delaying, For our fight is just with Stamboul!” Then the rifles started firing, First to die, the kajmekam Was hit and fell into the rushes. Never will he, poor wretch, venture Out to gather tithes in Talja, For those Lekas were his downfall. Further fighting broke out, raging, Echoed in the din and clamour, Made the coastline shudder when, like Beasts come from the wild, the Highland Men attacked the sultan’s army. Wretched soldier’s in the fences Died, as in the swamps and ditches, While they ran over creeks and pathways, Fleeing up and down the country, Dressing mothers up in mourning. Then the mules were taken captive, Heavy-laden with gunpowder, Burdened with the bread and rations. How the Turks were hard-pressed, harried When that fighter, Llesh Nike Daka, Rushed onto the field of battle, Started firing at the soldiers. Thus, he well avenged a farmer And an in-law and her daughter Whom a Turk had killed or injured In the midst of Llesh’s household. In that battle nineteen fighters From the Highlands fell as martyrs, Of the soldiers dropped five score and Eighty-seven on that wasteland. Poor Albania, ever in sorrow, For the soldiers, who in Talja Fell, were evenged by the Jallija Down in Durres when the Highland Fighters, come from Bregumatja Under Deda, Llesh Nike Daka, Set off in the twilight marching Down to Durres to attack and Drive the Turks out, in the fortress, As the Jallija had promised, To unfurl the red-black banner. When the fighters got to Rrushkull, They fell victim to an ambush Sprung from them by the Jallija, Thus renouncing faith and besa, When it joined the Turkish soldiers. Thus, the Highlanders were slaughtered, The Jallija had betrayed them, When it set that day an ambush, Let the Turks remain in Durres! On that day did fall as martyrs For the freedom of Albania Kolec Marku mountain eagle, And Gjok Doda, foremost hero, Zef Harapi, Shkodra’s singer, Who, though still at home a youngster, Took to arms to save his country And was slain there by the wayside, Prel Delija, lightning hero, And Tome Gjugji, Mark Preng Dudi, Preng Nikolle Gjeci, Mark Per Zefi, And with them Gjek Marash Haka, Lads as daring as a zana, Bravest of them Llesh Nik Daka, Seven-headed that kulshedra Snorting, wading in flood waters. Llesh Nik Daka who was wounded When three bullets whistled through him, Hollered out to his companions, As he lay upon his Mauser: “This I beg you, my companion, Bear me off upon a stretcher, Take me to the Church of Rubik, To the Church of Franciscans, For confession and last unction, To be buried in the churchyard.” So they took him to inter him, Father Paul was struck with sorrow. With his hand upon his forehead Did he mumble, almost weeping, “Oh, Albania, poor Albania, I’m afraid that you will always Have your head stuck in ashes, Now that from your womb have risen Serpents such who have faith and besa Put behind them, this betraying Their own brothers in such bloodshed, Give our land to foreign powers, Give Albania up to Turkey, Which since life on earth’s existed Has done nothing but destroy it, Has but ruined, all things cast out In an endless watery chasm.” Then they hailed from far a doctor, One from Dibra, to assist him, But the life of Llesh was shortened. He confessed, to God submitting, Then he closed his eyes and perished. When the hero died and passed on, Son of Scanderbeg, a Christian, Did the nobles of the country Hasten to him, stroke his forehead, Long lamenting, did they mourn him: “Far and wide your friends have gathered, Why lie stiffly like a beech trunk? Get up, rise and speak before us, Rise and give your young men courage, Speak with Nik, your aged father. Cannonballs have never scared you, Smoke and powder never sapped you, When you struck the Turks like lightning. But when you did meet your brothers, They fired many volleys at you, Did not kill you, broke your heart though, Yes, it clove your heart in twain to Know your brothers had betrayed you!” Then they put to rest the hero, Buried him up on a cliff side Where the rebels after warfare With the shkjas and Turks took shelter, Found a place to rest, recover, Food and comfort from a Brother Who attended to the injured, As he washed their wounds and dressed them, Giving good advice and counsel. Everyone from Sallsatik down To saint Mark’s was granted refuge At the Convent of Rubik, both Men of Letters, valiant fighters, Christians, Muslims, all who strove to Drive the Turks out of Albania. Kthella, Mirdita, Kurbin, Kruja, Zhuba, by Lezha and Zadrima. Never did Zadrima give the Turks a respite, they were rayah, Always Christians, much they suffered Through the ages. Now the time had Come, however, that they rise up Against Turkey, seize their weapons And attack her. All the chiefs and Elders of Zadrima gathered, Left their homes, forsook their food stocks, Left their horses with their saddles, Full their corn cribs and their buckets, Fields of grain all ripe for harvest, Stables full of cows and oxen, Sheep and goats, and wool and linen. They brought food up to the rebels, In the heat they gave them shelter, Fled as rebels to the mountains, Some with sons and some whole hamlets. To the hills took Mati Gjoka, Prenk Matjia come from Milot, Both Zef Preci and Lek Ndoka, Gjo’ Ndue Vokrri, ancient fighter, Marku Tuku, savage wolf he, Mark Pashuku, Shtjef Haberi, Kin Ndoci and Gjok Dod Goshi, Gjoka Tuku and Ndrec Leci, Men who battled with the army In Hajmel, Kallmet, Rraboshta. In the meantime down in Shkodra, Turgut Pasha of the Committee Brought forth seventy battalions. When he thus turned up in Shkodra, Trumpets blazed and drums were beaten. He sent word up to the Highlands, Ordered them to come to Shkodra In five days to lay their arms down, Otherwise he’d, like and arrow, Hard pursue them with his army, With his fist he’d smash their faces, Raze their homes and their foundations, From the fireplace to the kennels, Leaving not a rooster crowing, Hang the people from the gallows. When the Highland elders heard this, Who on Turkey’d turned their rifles For the freedom of Albania: Ded Gjo’ Luli, lucid speaker, Sokol Baci, careful thinker, Mirash Luca, expert marksman, Mehmet Shpendi, canyon wolf he, Frano Pali, Mirash Pali, Like two bullets in a flintlock, With Tom Nika, mountain she-bear, And Luk Marku, lightning archer, And with Islam Makalushi, Shkodra’s Luigj Gurakuqi, Did the heros meet, assemble. On their feet and not delaying, Did they send word back to Turgut: “By God, Pasha, you consider, Think yourself a mighty hero, But we’ve not the least intent on Coming down to meet you ever. We do not accept, like others, That the Turks reign in this region. Such words here you’ll never hear spoken. We don’t want the Turks to govern, We demand that they withdraw and Leave us masters of our country, So that we’ll be in position, Later on, our land to govern, Rule it just the way we want to. Therefore, Pasha, not until you Turn around and leave the country, Can a deal be made between us, Not unless we bash our heads in, For we know well what your kind is.” Turgut Pasha was in anger, To its feet he called the army, Sent it forth against the Highlands, One flank off to Velecik and Off to Shipshank the other. Like the waves, all foaming, frothing, When they break against a cliff side, Booming, roaring with a fury, Sending surf into the heavens, So the Turkish army battered, When it broke into the Highlands, To the roar of rifles, cannons, That you’d lose your mind in panic. Careful now, oh Ded Gjo’ Luli, For the Empire’s sending storm clouds, It will be a day of carnage Which you’ll never see the end of. Can’t you hear them, can’t you see them, For the soldiers, those black ravens, From all sides they are upon you? This is not some Slavic unit, It’s the hordes of Stamboul’s sultan. Save your skin if you can manage, In an ox horn try to cower, For I see no other exit. Turgut Pasha is determined But scorched earth to leave behind him, Angry frown his bushy eyebrows. Come along now, Turgut Pasha, With the help of the Almighty I’ll expel you from the Highlands, From the Highlands and Albania, No time now for empty bragging On the road down which you’ve ventured. Of a sieve a wolf’s unwary, Flee as long as you have no time to. This is now the last occasion You’ll engage in war and battle With some real Albanian fighters, Who are true to their traditions. Yes, they’re ready for you, Pasha, They will weave a web around you, Stifle all your force and cunning. Turkish forces lunged in fury, Bravely did the Highlands answer. Where they smashed against each other Velecik was shaken, shattered, So clangorous was the uproar, Such the shrieking and the crying, As they struck at one another! Shots were flashing from the rifles, Baneful cannons roared like thunder, Blasting heads off many fighters, Shearing skulls off in the bloodbath. Some were in slain on promontories, Others fell on flat land, hillsides, Starved, and thirsted some for water, Streams of blood sloshed over their bodies, No one there for words of comfort. Aloberta fire and brimstone, Heath lands shuddered near Vitoja, Naplli Hill was smoke-enveloped, Velecik and Broja thundered, Bukoviq roared in the distance, Pall up to the peak of Quku, As the Turks assaulted Deciq, As they rushed in from Kalturku. Prel Nik Pretashi from Kushja, Known for deeds of martial courage, And Zef Peri, she-bear’s cub he, All his bullets bit their targets, Well he aimed and well he cracked the Head of Captain Saladini, Fired a ball right through his temples, Left him sprawling in a torrent. What said Pjeter Nik Daku? “Game is over, Sinan Aya, Now two streams of blood adorn you, Little chances you’ll ever return home!” And Prel Keri, three hearts in him, Came, departed like a windstorm, In the fray he ever rushed forwards Midst the bayonets and bullets. From the ocean kulshedra Rising, Maca Grizhi bellowed: “Strike, oh lads, the sultan’s soldiers, For, alas, Dok Lani’s fallen.” Now Kol Zefi, cunning fox, who, Left but traces of a serpent, With Kol Kurti took Bratila, To the troops he brought confusion, Ruthlessly he slew the soldiers, Scythed them, sheaves along the wayside, To the Turks he dealt destruction, Left on foreign soil their fighters. Why are cannons, mortars ever Blasting from the Pass of Ungrej? Gjet’ Mark Ujka, that kulshedra, With his son has set upon them. Watch out closely, sultan’s gunner! Are you blind? Can you not see what’s Happened to the Empire’s soldiers, Now that Gjet’ Mark has attacked them? Like a farmer who in food stocks Finds a horde of mice and seizes, Takes his hoe and starts to thrash them, Beats them to a pulp to kill them, Gjet’ Mark Ujka with his sons did Fell to earth the Turkish soldiers, Without mercy, no distinctions, Shot them as wild beasts are hunted. Yet one gunner, what misfortune! He indeed an expert marksman, Pointed, aiming well his cannon, With the son blew him to pieces. How Gjon Ujk Miculi lunged out, Lulash Zeka and Stak Breci, Lik Mirashi, Gjok Ded Luli, Gjon Ujk Ceku, Kol Gjo’ Leci, Luc Gjeloshi, mountain beast he, Dasha Nika, Pjeter Uci, Smajl Mustafa, Sokol Mali, Gjok Ded Luli, Gjo’ Nik Plluci. All the heroes roared while racing Like the steers over fallow pastures, Throat to throat the Turks they grappled, With their Mauser rifles shot them. “Ileri,” cried the commander, Forwards rushed the Turkish soldiers, Stormed the Albanians, fire a-spewing From the barrels of their Mausers. From Samoborr to Zagorja Was the land a raging lime pit, Mountains groaned and hillsides grumbled, Chasms, canyons loudly echoed, Cannons, mortars ever firing, Cannonballs did pelt like hailstones Somewhere near Drogani as the Turks and Highland fighters groveled. At them Pasha from Gucia Sent his troops into Kelmendi, Turgut started out from Spija, Burning, torching all the country, Clouds of smoke did upwards billow, Farms were razed to their foundations, Everywhere his fury struck them Leaving not a rooster crowing. Step by step the Turks advanced and Piece by piece they seized the country, And subdued it with their soldiers, Foot by foot in blood they bathed it. All of Europe watched in wonder, Highlanders with naught but rifles, Saw them, without food and cannons, Hold back seventy battalions. |
