. Hungary and its people: Magyarorzág és népei. hy race. Beyond this spot the great world spreads,From whose wild tumult you must fly; Fate may be cruel or be kind,— Here must you live, here must you die. This is the soil whereon so oft Árpáds red blood has rained like tears; This is the soil whose holy nameHas lasted for a thousand years. The hero Árpáds noble troops Struggled for Freedoms lofty name, Here Hunyadys arms were blestWhen Slavery broke her iron chain. For Freedoms cause the countrys flagWaved crimson with the warriors blood ; Too proud to bear the name of slaves,They struggling s
. Hungary and its people: Magyarorzág és népei. hy race. Beyond this spot the great world spreads,From whose wild tumult you must fly; Fate may be cruel or be kind,— Here must you live, here must you die. This is the soil whereon so oft Árpáds red blood has rained like tears; This is the soil whose holy nameHas lasted for a thousand years. The hero Árpáds noble troops Struggled for Freedoms lofty name, Here Hunyadys arms were blestWhen Slavery broke her iron chain. For Freedoms cause the countrys flagWaved crimson with the warriors blood ; Too proud to bear the name of slaves,They struggling sank into the flood. Yet thro the mist of grief and war,And thro a red and endless strife, A dauntless people held the land,A nation owes to them its life. And now the peoples homes, great out to you with sobbing breath, The sufferers of a thousand years Ask now from you their life or death. Shall all these sufferers wail in vain ? Shall broken hearts cry out in grief?Is holy Freedom but a name Which cannot give the land relief?. The Puszta, 13 It cannot be that mind and strength, And holy wishes and desires,Should waste beneath a curses ban Which wastes them with devouring fires. Ah ! better days have yet to ardent prayers can bring that day, Sent up from many thousand heartsAnd lips which ever ceaseless pray. If death must come, twill glorious be; Should Fate decree that thou must fall,The blood thy nation hath poured out Shall flow across thee like a pall. Around the fallen warriors graves Stand millions, in whose eyes the tears Of sympathy so softly flow, And still shall shine thro passing years. Be true, O Magyar, to the land Which gave thee birth, the dearest place, The cradle of thy earliest years. The grave when thou hast run thy race. Beyond this spot the great world spreads,From whose wild tumult you must fly; Fate may be cruel or be kind,— Here must you live, here must you die. {Adapted from Vörösmarty^ with the kind co-operation of Mrs.
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