The Hungarian National Anthem
(in Hungarian and in English)
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KÖLCSEY FERENC Bújt az üldözött, s felé Vár állott, most kőhalom, |
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FERENC KÖLCSEY
NATIONAL ANTHEM ON HUNGARY'S STORMY PAST O, my God, the Magyar bless With Thy plenty and good cheer! With Thine aid his just cause press, Where his foes to fight appear. Fate, who for so long did'st frown, Bring him happy times and ways; Atoning sorrow hath weighed down Sins of past and future days. By Thy help our fathers gained Kárpát's proud and sacred height; Here by Thee a home obtained Heirs of Bendegúz, the knight. Where'er Danube's waters flow And the streams of Tisza swell Árpád's children, Thou dost know, Flourished and did prosper well. For us let the golden grain Grow upon the fields of Kún, And let Nectar's silver rain Ripen grapes of Tokay soon. Thou our flags hast planted o'er Forts where once wild Turks held sway; Proud Vienna suffered sore From King Mátyás' dark array. But, alas! for our misdeed, Anger rose within Thy breast, And Thy lightnings Thou did'st speed From Thy thundering sky with zest. Now the Mongol arrow flew Over our devoted heads; Or the Turkish yoke we knew, Which a free-born nation dreads. O, how often has the voice Sounded of wild Osman's hordes, When in songs they did rejoice O'er our heroes' captured swords! Yea, how often rose Thy sons, My fair land, upon Thy sod, And Thou gavest to these sons, Tombs within the breast they trod! Though in caves pursued he lie, Even then he fears attacks. Coming forth the land to spy, Even a home he finds he lacks. Mountain, vale - go where he would, Grief and sorrow all the same - Underneath a sea of blood, While above a sea of flame. 'Neath the fort, a ruin now, Joy and pleasure erst were found, Only groans and sighs, I trow, In its limits now abound. But no freedom's flowers return From the spilt blood of the dead, And the tears of slavery burn, Which the eyes of orphans shed. Pity, God, the Magyar, then, Long by waves of danger tossed; Help him by Thy strong hand when He on grief's sea may be lost. Fate, who for so long did'st frown, Bring him happy times and ways; Atoning sorrow hath weighed down All the sins of all his days. (1881) |
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