Elgar: The River (Folksong: Eastern Europe) op. 60 no. 2

River, mother of fighting men,
(Rustula!)
Sternest barrier of our land,
(Rustula!)
From thy bosom we drew life:
Ancient, honoured, mighty, grand!
Rustula!

Oh! what worship had been thine,
(Rustula!)
Hadst thou held the foe-men, drowned;
(Rustula!)
Flood, more precious far than wine,
Victress, saviour, world-renowned!
Rustula!

Rustula!
Like a girl before her lover,
(Rustula!)
How thou falterdst, - like a slave;
(Rustula!)
Sank and fainted, low and lower,
When thy mission was to save.
Coward, traitress, shameless!
Rustula!

On thy narrowed, niggard strand,
(Rustula!)
Despairing, now the tyrant's hand
(Rustula!)
Grips the last remnant of our land,
Wounded and alone I stand,
Tricked, derided, impotent!
Rustula!

Pietro d'Alba (?)