T HE NOVEL And if, my dea,r land, I return to the1, Mty thy sons through thy bounds continted be.
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Quiet now reigns upon the Rákos plain, Too long the Magyar silent is, alas l The fathers' traces jade away and wane, The winds spread over tkem fresh sand tJnd grtJSs ,· Silent expands the field l Our trembling heart And silent tear prociaim how great thou art. And Buda must in sorrow now complain, No more does she of fame and glory boast ; A graveyard of the land she must remain, Reminding us of all my country lost. Time long bejore destroyed her ancient fort, Her crumbling stones heroic deeds report. And ancient Mohács stands, and higher grows The wkeat upon ker fields, the grass more greett ; Their roots spring from the dust of dead heroes Whose blood the inigating dew has been•. . No stone shows w/Jere the patriats were slain, The silent field doth fill our heart with pain . So long as on the Danube's silver /ace A Magyar's eye will gaze, upon her brink Will live one of the sturdy Magyar race, So long our hearts witk sorrow's pang shall sittk . Pray , tell me, Danube old, that floweth kere, Art thou a stream ? Art thou my country's tear 1 I love thee in thy kallo wed, silent grief, Unbounded is my love, dear land, for thee l Thou art my keart's most cherisked fond belief, Tkough stricken down with woe and misery. Cheer up l The future holds thy hope supreme, Soon to dawn o'er thee in a golden gl eam. And now, good-by 1 Farewell, tkou blessed spot ; Farewell, forever fare thee weil l I go l Whether again 'twill be my blissfui lot To Sle thee ha,ppy-Well, who is't ctJn know 1 179
