Our three lakes appear bright,
Our three mirrors are so nice;
The three water skies of blue light
In the Macedonian valleys entice.

In the first, Old Ohrid is reflected,
In the second - Samouil’s heart.
Over the third is Belasitsa, dejected,
Royally raising up its forepart.

In sunlight they dream in a trance,
Quietly whispering to ages long gone.
In moonlit nights, near the waves yon,
Enigmatic dryads perform a dance.