Zemgale is the land of the plough and the sword, of fertile soil and of death. The land of military marches and funeral music, of time-honoured legends and confident brass bands playing at open-air dances. Wide, tilled fields turn into battle fields and burial grounds, and then yield crops again. From the fields of Zemgale sprung forth Latvian literary language, our first presidents and politicians, great poets and poetesses. Zemgale is as wide as its horizon, and Latvia flows through it like the river Lielupe whose tides bring together the rivulets of souls dispersed in the plains of history.