Limba Noastră
| English: Our Language | |
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Sheet music
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National anthem of  Moldova
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| Lyrics | Alexei Mateevici |
| Music | Alexandru Cristea |
| Adopted | 1994 |
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"Limba noastră" (Romanian pronunciation: [ˈlimba ˈno̯astrə], meaning "Our Language") is the national anthem of the Republic of Moldova since 1994. For a short period before that, the official anthem of the country was Deșteaptă-te, române!, which is also the national anthem of Romania. The lyrics were written by Alexei Mateevici (1888—1917) a month before his death. Mateevici contributed significantly to the national emancipation of Bessarabia. The music for the anthem was composed by Alexandru Cristea (1890—1942).
The focus of "Limba noastră", written in a romantic style, is the national language. It calls for the people to revive the usage of their native language. The poem does not make a named reference to the language; it is only called poetically "our language". "Limba noastră", like "Deșteaptă-te, române!", makes reference to the awakening from the sleep of death: "a people suddenly awaken from the sleep of death" and "awaken, Romanian, from the sleep of death", respectively.
The original poem contains four stanzas of twelve verses each. For the anthem, the verses were selected and reorganised in five stanzas of four verses each.
Limba noastră-i o comoară
În adîncuri înfundată
Un șirag de piatră rară
Pe moșie revărsată.
Limba noastră-i foc, ce arde
Într-un neam, ce fără veste
S-a trezit din somn de moarte,
Ca viteazul din poveste.
Limba noastră-i frunză verde,
Zbuciumul din codrii veșnici,
Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde
Ai luceferilor sfeșnici.
Limba noastra-i limbă sfântă,
Limba vechilor cazanii,
Care-o plâng și care-o cântă
Pe la vatra lor țăranii.
Răsări-va o comoară
În adâncuri înfundată,
Un șirag de piatră rară
Pe moșie revărsată.
A treasure is our language that surges
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
A burning flame is our language
Amidst a people waking
From a deathly sleep, no warning,
Like the brave man of the stories.
Our language is the greenest leaf
Of the everlasting codris,
Gentle river Dniester's ripples
Hiding starlight bright and shining.
Our language is more than holy,
Words of homilies of old
Wept and sung perpetually
In the homesteads of our folks.
A treasure will spring up swiftly
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
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Wikipedia