HUNGARIAN REFERENCE LIBRARY partes felek^ HE\ftf YOfiK, H. Y, LIBRARY ALEXANDER PETOFI THE APOSTLE GHILDE JOHN SIMPLE STEVE "CYPRESS LEAVES FROM THE GRAVE OF DEAR ETHEL" SELECTEB LYRICS. Translated by William N. Loew Author-Translator of r S, Gems from Petofi, Magyar Songs, Magyar Poetry. Mikszath's: The Good People of Palocz. Madach's: Tragedy of Alan. The net proceeds of the sale of this volume are dedicated by the publishers, The Hungarian Literary Society of New York to a fund for the erection of a statue of ALEXANDER PETOFI in the City of New York. 1 3 9 6 w 8 JUL 1953 LC Control Number 2001 615563 PREFACE. Alexander P-tofi is Hungary's greatest lyric poet and one of the truly great singers of sweet song of the civilized world. Grimm the great German literary essayist, names Petofi as one of the five greatest poets of the world. Slowly, but surely his fame grows. If Petofi had a translator of his lyrics into English as competent as Shakesipeare had to translate his dramas into the languages o>f the European continent, then Petofi would be^ universally recognized as the great poet of all of the world's ipoetical literature. Many are called — few are Godborn sons of song and only a true poet can translate well. In the preface to a former volume of mine I earnestly protested against being charged with the conceit of considering myselif a poet. I confessed then and I repeat it here, that I do not claim that my heart and soul are warm- ed by the holy flame lit by the Muses: — no, only my undying love if or my native country, my boundless admiration for Petofi inspire me to do some "missionary" work in introduc- ing him to Anglo-American readers. For nearly half a century I have been trying to make, him and his poetical genius known here in the United States. 4 ALEXANDER PETOFI In the early 70's I wrote for Professor Ras- mus Anderson of the University of Wisconsin a story of the life of Petofi and sent him a dozen or more of my earliest Petofi transla- tions. He was to use my contribution as a preface to his translation of Petofi's novel "The Hangman's Rope". A few years later I translated a number of Magyar Folk Songs, among them some of Petofi's, for Francis Korbay, the foremost resident-musician of Magyar birth then living in New York, to be used by him in the transcriptions of Magyar Folk Songs he was .then publishing. I did similar work, later on. for our dear old Edward Remenyi and for Maximilian Vogrich. Petofi's gloriously great poem "One thought torments me" — appeared for the first time in the "'Critic", just launched by the late Richard Watson Gilder, one of America's great poets. In 1881 I published my "Gems from Petofi etc." — and in 1883 I lectured before a body of Hungarians, at the city of Cleveland, on "Alexander Petofi". The committee having the lecture in charge published it and devoted the proceeds of the sale to a charitable object. Even to-day, after twentynine years, there still rings in my ear the cheer caused by a passage in that lecture of mine which enthused my hearers: "Every smile, every tear of his was a poem". Then I published a volume of "Magyar Songs*' and later a volume of "Magyar Poetry", two anthologies of Magyar lyrics, both contain- ing a number of my Petofi translations. PREFACE 5 Xo one is more thoroughly aware than I am of the immense distance between the Magyar Petofi and the English Petofi as the latter is made knoWn to the reader by my translations. However, I claim one merit. My translations may not be classic reproductions, may not be poetic creations showing Petofi's true genius, however, I think, that I succeeded in produc- ing — con amore — faithful photographs. English students of Magyar literature will in the course of time do better and at some future day all of the world shall recognize the truth of John H. Ingram's opinion: "Petofi is the world's greatest lyric poet, he who, to my mind is more the representative spirit and soul o.f Hungary than any man has yet been of that country." Until, however, Petofi has the good fortune to find a Bayard Taylor or a H. W. Long- ifellow to make him feel at home in Anglo- American literature, the undersigned thought best to do something to counterefffect the pos- sible opinion of the English literary world of (Petofi's worth and value as a 'poet, if based solely on the alleged translations of Sir John Bowring . Fortunately there are other Petofi trans- lators. E. D. Butler, Henry PMlipips jr. (an American) and Frederick Walter Fuller have done magnifficient work, but all the three put together have given only — I think — a score or so of Petofi's songs to England and America. 6 ALEXANDER PETCFI _ Petofi's recognition by England and Ame- rica as the world's great lyric poet is still to come. He had German, French and Italian trans- lators who endeared 'him to their respective countries and enriched their own literatures by giving them a Petofi of their own. If .my ipresent work adds but a single leaflet to the wreath of immortality of his high fame "which nothing- can cover out heaven", then indeed I am a proud and happy man. "The Apostle" is a dream of Petofi's, "a series of boldly drawn pictures," an epic poem of democratic convictions. Petofi's conception 10 f the world might be summed up thus : "Man- kind is continually developing. A grape is a small thing, yet it requires a whole summer to ripen it. How many thousands of sunrays have touched a single berry. How many mil- lions may the world need! The rays which ripen the world are the -souls of men. E*rery great soul is such a ray — " "Childe John" is the most truly Magyar fabulous fairy story ever told. "Simple Steve" is — — 'Petofi, the light- hearted, easy going, goodnatured, loveable and loving youth, full of animal spirit, with a heart of gold. These three epics are not "the great epics" of Magyar literature, but they are perfect gems of Petofian view of life, humor, pathos. The "Cylpress Leaves from dear Ethel's PREFACE 7 Grave" are heartrending outbursts of a grief at the loss of one sweetheart, soon exchanged for another, who then inspired him to sing other rhapsodies of love... The hundred odd "selected lyrics" added to to these aforenamed translations, make a fairly representative volume of an English Petofi. In December 1910 I lectured before a Magyar Society, "The First Hungarian Liter- ary Society of New York City", an ambitious body of young Magyar-Americans. I spoke in memory of Coloman Mikszath, Hungary's great humorous writer, the Marki Twain of my native land. In the course of my remarks I said : "Mik- szath was to Francis Deak's Hungary what Petofi had been to the Hungary of Kossuth"; and speaking then of Petofi, I suggested the propriety of a movement to be undertaken by them, — the members of the Hungarian Society I was then addressing — to erect here, in New York City, a statue in honor of Alexander Petofi, the great Jbard of love and liberty. The suggestion was enthusiastically acted upon. A committee was appointed entrusted with the carrying out the idea. This volume is my contribution to that monument. The "Hungarian Literary Society of New York" accepted my contribution and undertook the publication of the volume, the net proceeds of the sale thereof going to the "Monument- Fund". 8 ALEXANDER PETOFI As an interesting- historical fact I must be allowed to mention here, that Alexander Pe- tofi's original "Cypress Leaves From the Grave of Dear Ethel" was first published by a patriotic society, the "Nemzeti Casino", in- duced to do so at the suggestion of Michael Vorosmarty, whose opinion as to Petofi's (poetical genius was more readily accepted by the magnates of the Magyar Casino, than by the Magyar publishers of Pest, who were not willing to print the poems of a then unknown author. The net proceeds of the sale of the second edition of the "Cypress Leaves" Petofi dedic- ated to a charitable object. Let me hope, that by the time the literary world celebrates the centenary of Petofi's birthday, the Magyar Societies of Xew York and if tue United States, assisted by the lovers of song of all other races, will gather around that statue, then already erected, to place wreaths of laurel upon the pedestal of his monument, and that in the hearts of the thousands then and there assembled will re- echo Petofi's famous song: "Freedom and love Are dear to me: My life I give Sweet love for thee Yet love I give For liberty!" New Yorik, March 15th, 1912. WM. N. LOEW. THE APOSTLE THE APOSTLE. i. The town is dark. The night o'er it is spread, In other climes to shine the moon has fled, And every star on high Has closed his golden eye; Black as the borrowed conscience is from wear So black the aspect that the world does bear. One tiny little light Is glimmering on yon height; And like a sick man's glaring eyes, Or like a dying hope that flies, That flickering light to flare up tries. The midnight oil it is, in garret-room. Who is it watches at that lamp's pale gloom? Who can it be? You wish to know? Two famous brothers they, — Virtue and Woe. So great the misery, it has hardly space To stir' in that lone, God-forsaken place. Just like a swallow's nest, it is so small, The very squalor of it doth apall. The four walls are all gruesome and all bare, That is to say, had not the moldy air Adorned them all o'er with spot and stain. And had from leaky roof the pouring rain Not painted them with streaks, that would be true, The rain here drew Of darkest hue A thick line, which Looks like in rich 10 ALEXANDER PETOFI Men's homes the bell-rope near the door. The air is foui, the walls outpour A tainted, putrid breath. It might cause e'en the death Of rich men's pets, the dogs, if they In kennels like this had to stay. A table and a bed-stead of cheap stuff, — Which for a rag-fair wouldn't be good enough, — Upon the bed, a bag filled up with straw, jTwo broken chairs you near the table saw, Then a moth-eaten trunk; — and that was all You that room's complete furnishing could call. Who lives in here? The lamp's faint light Copes with the darkness of the night. Obscured, dim is the window-pane, As are dream-pictures, one in vain In memory tries to retain. Deceives the lamp's faint light the eye? Are those whom here we can espy Made by the light so ghastly, van, Or are they ghosts we look upon? The answer is a moan and sigh. Upon the trunk we first behold A mother, whose thin arms enfold Her babe. Poor, miserable child! The mother's barren breasts beguile*! Its craving hunger and it cries And weakly whines, in vain it tries Sweet milk to suck from hollow breast. The mother's very looks attest Her painful thoughts. As melting snow Drops from the roof to street below: As freely flows her burning tear Upon her crying baby dear. Or can it be that she is not Thinking at all? Her tears flow, but As if it were a thing of course, THE APOSTLE 11 As is tlie spring's flow from, its source? Her older child, thank God 's asleep, — I Or seems to be; well, it does not weep, — Upon the bed, close to the wall, Spread over him 's a ragged shawl. The straw peeps out from 'neath the spread. Sleep, little boy! Of golden thread May angels weave a dream most sweet: Dream that a slice of bread you eat! A man, still young, the father he, Sits at the table in deep gloom. The cloud, we on his forehead see, Is it that which gives to the room This aspect of a living tomb? That forehead seems an open page, Telling of wars he had to wage With' all the ills of cruel fate. That forehead plainly shows the weight Of care and woe which were his share. Beneath that dark forehead, a pair Of lustrous eyes brilliantly shine, Like beauteous stars which illumine The heavenly dome. Bold, fearless eyes, Which strength and force do signalise. It seemed as if his thought Some mighty distance sought, Had risen high, Up to the sky Where eagles fly. II. Through all the world the deepest silence reigns, Within the room death's deepest calm obtains. Without, the autumn wind the air has stirred, Within, the mother's woeful sigh is heard. The little boy, arising in the bed, Leans to the wall his weary, aching head; 12 ALEXANDER PETOFI With tearful voice, as came it from the grave, Begins now for something to eat to crave. "I am so hungry, father dear, oh, please, Give me some bread my hunger to appease. I tried to sleep; believe me, I have tried With sleep my hungry state from you to hide. Oh! give me please, or show me but a piece, E'en the sight of bread might my hunger ease." "Wait till to-morrow morn, my darling boy. Thou shallt a piece of white bread then enjoy, White bread, baked \vith the sweet milk of the cow." "I rather have a crust of black bread now, Than, father dear, to-morrow an}- kind. That I am dead, to-morrow, you might find. I'm dying now; to-morrow 's far away. You 've said "to-morrow" now many a day, 'Tis always but to-day, and hungry I. Oh, tell me father dear, when once we die. Still hungry we when in the grave we lie?" "No, darling child, oh no! The dead no hunger know.** "Then, father dear, it is best dead to be, Then father, find a white coffin for me. Let it be white as is my mother's face, And carry me to that good resting place Where the happy dead. Hunger not for bread." Who says that children are but innocent? Wfhere is the dagger, where .the sword, that sent To human heart a wound so sore, — And pierced it to its very core, — As did to the poor father's heart The son's complaint? No stabbing dart Could make it bleed so free, as did That speech. Oh! how he tried to bid His iheart to keep still, but in vain! He can't his ardent tears retain. So burning they, that with a start He puts his hand up to 'his face. To see, is it blood of his heart THE APOSTLE 13 That spurted there. Not in the days Of bitter woe did he complain. But now, resentment which had' lain Dormant' for years, breaks forth: Oh, God! Why dids't thou mould me from the clod, Why not have left me in a state Of nothingness? Why dids't create This body and this soul, which long To be but dust again? How wrong That I, according to Thy plan, Have offspring, but being a man Cannot, as can the Pelican, My children with my heart's-blood feed? I dare not in this strain proceed, I bow, my God, it is Thy deed! We men are blind, Thy plans divine Man cannot grasp, and Thy design We must not judge. Into this sea Of life to put me hath pleased Thee, And, as a magnet, to control My life, thou gavest me a soul. I bow and I obey! — Here, boy, Here is a slice of bread. — ■ Enjoy It now; it is the last; God knows What wilt thou then to-morrow eat." And eagerly the boy arose And ate that slice of bread so sweet. What did he care that it was dry? As shines at night the flitting firefly So shone with bliss the boy's bright eye. When with his feast the boy was through He promptly went to sleep anew; Sleep came with ease, as comes the mist Over the vale the dawn hath kissed. And lying down in his wont place, He sleeps and dreams, a smile his face Lights up. What dream might he have had? Of death? or did he dream of bread? The mother had gone on to weep, Until she also fell asleep She laid down first the baby too, 14 ALEXANDER PETOFI Her arm around her children threw,... And sleeps and dreams her woes subdue. The husband from his seat arose. On tiptoes to the bed he goes, With folded arms he casts his eye O'er those he l<5Ves. Then with a sigh He says: — as were he thinking loud. — "At last, my dears, nature allowed Sweet, soothing sleep to come to you. Ah! dream-life has a rosy hue. Asleep you are freed of the weight You had to bear by curse of fate. Good God! That sleep should love them more Than I! Sleep had for them in store Sweet 'happiness, which I could not Secure to them as their life's lot. But let it pass, — they're happy now, Peace, blissful peace is on each brow, It is a beauteous sight. Beloved ones, good night!" And then he kissed the foreheads of the three, They are his home-life's holy Trinity. His hands he raiseth his dear ones to bless (Ah! that his hands naught else to give possess i> He then returns to his abandoned seat. Once more he casts his eye over his sweet Group on the bed, — such tender, loving gaze That, though asleep, it yet to them conveys Dreams where an angel with fair roses plays. And then he looked into the gloomy night. His look is bold: it seemed as with the bright Look he had tried the night to fill with light. III. Where might have roamed the man's wakeful soul? What path to find had been the thinker's goal? THE APOSTLE 15 His mind is soaring in the high, Where in delusive dreams to fly The demigods and lunatics try. Just like a bird breaks from her shell, On wings arises high in air: So did he cast off and dispel His woeful sorrow and his care. The mortal man in him was dead. The citizen in him instead Had come to life. Whose heart for wife And children sweet With love replete Had been a few moments ago, Hath now a ; heart with love aglow For all humanity; who held The three dear ones that with him dwelled In his loving embrace, Loves now the human race. His soul's wings soared far up on high, Whence like a dot upon an "r" Earth seemed to be. When in the vast Immensity his soul flew past, The stars ' light flickered as when breath A candle's light encountereth. It flew and flew; A million miles and more afar Is in the sky star from the star, Yet through the blue Vast space it flew, and as the horse Which through a forest takes its course Leaveth behind the countless trees, So did his soul pass by with ease And leave behind the countless stars. It meets naught which its bold flight bars. And when a myriad stars it passed And left behind and wtfien at last 16 ALEXANDER PETOFI It reached, — was it the world's end? No! When it was given to him to stand In the centre of the universe . At last to hold with Him converse Whose glance to worlds brings death or life, Whose power's proclaimed by tempests' strife, By myriad orbs which round Him course, Whose wondrous wisdom and whose force The wisest mind can never trace: The soul, surcharged; lit up by Grace Divine, laved in His glorious light, — ■ Just as is the white swan's delight To dip into the waters of the lake, — "Hail Thee! Almighty God!" it spake, "A grain of sand, Lord, made by thee, I come full of humility To kneel here in Thy saintly shrine. Oh pray, believe that I am Thine, And Thine alone! I don't complain. The dread fate that Thou didst ordain For me is hard, I bless Thee e'en, I know By it to be Thy chosen one. O, God! The human race upon The earth has turned its face from Thee, Degenerates, and slaves to be Prefers to manhood proud and free. The parent of all sin and vice Is serfdom. Men will idolise Men, and by bending neck and knee Before a man, defy but Thee. This cannot ever continue thus, Thou shalt yet reign Most Glorious! One life, Lord, Thou hast given me, — I ask not what reward shall be, — If any, — mine, the meanest man Will for his pay do all he can; I want no pay, I hope for none, I faithfully my work "have done .Till now and shall hereafter do, Ah well! I shall receive my due! THE APOSTLE 17 A rich reward, for can there be Reward more rich than feel that free My fellow men became through me! For I still love my fellow man, Though sin still holds him in its ban. O Lord, O God! Pray give me strength That I accomplish my intent. Man must be free! That is my plan." Thus spoke the soul, and from the dome Of heaven high it flew back home, Into that dismal, dreary room, Back to the soulless man i to whom It brought back consciousness. — He stirred. Was it a dream? What had occured? He felt all chilled, yet from his brow The burning sweat-drops roll, and how A — weary, sleepy is he now! — ■ He .must' have been awake before. — And to the mattress on the floor He drags himself and goes to sleep. And there he lies upon that heap Of straw, who but a while ago In (heaven had been. — On cushions fine Humanity's hangmen recline; The world's benefactor he i, j Upon the floor asleep we see. And lo! The flick'ring lamp once more Flares up and then its sick and sore Life dies. And just as secrets told By lip to lip will quick unfold: Thus cleared the night. The early dawn — The merry garden maid,— had drawn Bright roses with the hue of bloom On wall and window of that room. The first rays of the rising sun Fell on the sleepers forehead, spun A wreath of gold around 'his brow, And then it seemed Great God, that Thou Hadst with these rays just kissed Thy son. 18 ALEXANDER PETOFI IV. Who art thou apparition marvelous? The raiment of thy soul 's a regal cloak, Thy body though is clad in threadbare rags. Thou and thy dear ones miss their daily food And if perchance a piece of soft, black bread To bring home to thy table bare of cloth Thou didst succeed, it marked a holiday. Those whom thou lovest best thou canst support, But eager art for all the world to toil. To enter heaven on high is given to thee, But barred before thee is the rich man's door. Who with the Lord on High hast had converse Rebuffed wert, spokest thou to some great man Who with contempt looks on thy shabby form. Some people say, that an Apostle he, Some say he is a miserable wretch. Who art t'hou? Knowest them who gave thee birth? Are they, thy parents, proud to hear thy name Or causeth it their face to burn with shame? Tell us, where wert thou born? On velvet couch, Or in a manger, on a heap of straw? Shall I the story of his life now tell? I will; but if I were to paint the same I would describe it as a brook, which sprang From unknown rock where croaking ravens dwell. At every inch it flows o'er rock and stone, Its murmur is the groan of constant pain. The town-clock's tongue proclaimed the midnight hour. It was a dreary cruel winter night. The two mean despots of such nights prevailed, — One is the darkness and the cold its twin, — The world was all indoors, for no one dared To tempt God and be out at such a time! THE APOSTLE 19 The streets, on which a short hour ago A mass of people thronged, are empty now, As is the river's bed which has run dry. In the abandoned streets, one lunatic, — The gale, — roameth about. It rides as fast As if the devil had sat astride on him And urged 'him on and on with spurs of fire. All angrily he leaps from roof to roof, Blows into every chimney he, might meet; He then resumes his flight and with full throat He yells loud into the blind night's deaf ears. He grasps the clouds which on his way he found. With sharpened nail he tears them into shreds. The stars above affrighted seem to be, Betwixt the shreds of clouds tremblingly shine. The pale moon glides upon the heaven's dome As floats a lifeless corpse upon a lake The gale, to catch its breath, a moment stopped, Into a mighty mass then blew the clouds, And from the height, just like a bird erf prey, It swooped down to the eart'h: uprooted trees, Broke window panes and carried fences off. When it had roused the people with its noise, Who, frightened, looked wfoat happened, it was gone And they but hear its ghastly laughter's voice. Depopulated are the storm-swept streets; Who would be out at such a time! — But no! There goes a -human form. Is it a ghost? Yes, it approaches like a ghost. When near And nearer still it came a female form One recognizes, but to know her state The secret of fhe darkness it remained: Is she a lady or a mendicant? Approaching, cautiously she looks around. There at the curb she notes a cab to stop, Sees on the seat the driver sound asleep. With noiseless step she draweth near. To steal? Oh, no! Just the reverse. She opens the door, Put in the cab w'hat she bore in her arms, Then carefully again she shuts the door 20 ALEXANDER PETOFI And quickly, as thoughts fly, she disappears. The house-door where the cab stood opens soon, A lady and a gentleman come forth, Get in, the driver promptly whips it up, Is off with rapid gait and never 'hears The lady's piercing scream, who at her feet Has found a bundle which contained a babe'. The cab its destination reached and stopped, The lady and the gentleman descend, The lady to the driver says: "Here man, "Here is your fare, the tip is in the cab: "A bouncing newborn babe; take care of him "A gift from heaven to you he seems to be." Said it and with the man entered the house. Poor, God-forsaken foundling in that cab! Why wert not born a dog? Her Ladyship Would on her lap have gladly played with you, And petted, played with you with loving care. Unfortunately though you are no dog, A human being art. God only knows Is bright, is dark the fate for you in store? The driver only scratched his head and ear, Then murmured something, but it is not known Did he a prayer say, or did he curse. The gift of God was not welcome to him. He ponders deeply what he is to do? Should he the bastard to the stables take? Dared he to do this, he felt pretty sure The irate boss would throw it at his head, Kick both into the street, he'l lose his job. What 's to be done? His whip comes fiercely down And off he drives at a most rapid rate. While driving through the outskirts of the town, A hostelry he saw. There's life within, The window's red light 's like a drunkard's nose. The driver could not wish for better chance, Upon its threshold puts the gift of God, And then resumes his drive towards his home. THE APOSTLE 21 Just then, one of the drunken crowd within, Himself quite full, good-night said to his friends. While stepping o'er the threshold of the inn He stumbleth and he 'hurries deep his nose Into the frozen snow. In Billingsgate His injured dignity finds prompt relief. Then says: "That threshold grew since yesterday. Had it been yesterday as high as now I would have had to fall then too. I didn't. Still I did not drink one more drop to-day. I have my principles, I am exact, And every day I drink the same amount." Such was his monologue as he arose. He starts to go, but murmurs to himself 'Tis all in vain, I don't care what you say That threshold must have grown since yesterday. I won't give in, I know whereof I speak, Did I drink more to-day than yesterday? And yet I fell to-day. Shame and disgrace. I say that threshold grows. But no! Hold on! Might not a stone have been put in my way? That might well be the case. The world is mean, Some men are very bad, yes, very bad, And glad to see a fellow-being fall; Put stones into my way, my feet are blind And my poor nose must pay the penalty. My consolation is when they come out Who still carouse in there, they too must fall. I have a mind to hide myself somewhere To see them stumbling, falling! Ha, ha, ha! What's that? Hold on old man! Ain't you ashamed To feel elated o'er your fellows ills? To show repentance I shall now go back And I'll remove that stone. I am a thief, A robber, and I more than once have hit Men o'er the head so that they never rose. My conscience how'er does not allow To see men break their noses as did I. The good, old drunken man then, totters back The stone to pick up, he do.es pick it up, But ah! He looks at it. What's that? It screams. 22 ALEXANDER PETOFI The hoary man indeed dumbfounded is, And all amazed he thus speaks to himself: "By thund'rous lightning from above! What's this? No stone like this was ever in my hands. 'Tis soft and then it has a human voice Let's by the window look at it. Ho ho! It is a child, a real and living child. Good evening brother dear, or sister sweet, I know not which you are, a boy? a girl? How in the devil's name did you come here? You ran away from home? You rascal you! What nonsense is this stupid talk of mine. The little one is still in swaddling clothes. Did I the parents know I'd take it back. What mean, contemptible, what brutal thing To cast one's offspring off as one discards A worn-out boot. Xo hog does ever this. Not e'en the outlaw for the gallows fit. The wraps are threadbare, 'tis poor people's child. Suppose, that just to hide its rich descent It had been with intent put into rags? Forevermore, this must secret remain. Poor child! who will your father be? I will! Why not? Yes, Henceforth I your father am. I'll bring you up all right! I'll steal for you, And when through age my hand can no more steal — It is but fair, — you shall then steal for me. Henceforth my thefts shall be more justified, I'll have to steal for two, for my little son, My conscience, too. shall now bother me less. But let me see! You need a mother's breast. Just now that is the most important thing. Oh, yes! that woman living near my rooms Buried but yesterday her new-born babe. She'll gladly nurse my child, of course she will For money she would nurse the devil's own." Such were his thoughts while slow T ly home he went. Through narrow lanes and hidden paths he walked To his own subterranean dark cave. THE APOSTLE 23 His neighbor he aroused by knocking loud And louder still, upon her door. "Get up!" He yelled and almost battered down her door. "Come woman, hurry up!" the old man plead. "Light up a candle quick, don't ask: for what? For whom? and why? If you don't hurry up I'll burn the house up o'er your lazy bones. Well, well at least! and thanks, here is the light, Now take this babe, sit down, give him your breast. Ah, nurse it well! How does it come to me? I found it on my way, God's gift to me. I always said it: God is good to me. God loves me more than Priests might think He does This baby here a precious treasure is, I place it, woman, now into your care; And more attention than you gave your own Give this one or I'll have something to say. Of course for all expense you look to me, We will agree how much I'll have to pay. While it is true that money now is scarce, — The dickens knows, all men seem argus-eyed, — Don't worry, I shall pay you like a prince. Let me impress you though; take care of it, As if it were the apple of your eye, It is the hope of my declining days." They bargained and agreed. She took the child, Which sucked with eager greed the proferred breast, Imbibed sweet nurture for a bitter life. Just one day old and what has it gone through! And still will have to go through all its life! VI. Next day, at early hour, the old man called Upon the woman. — "Well, 'how is your guest?" He asks her eagerly, — "but Brrr! 't is cold! Quick, build a fire! Must I forever swear? I stand for all expense! But — by the way, — 24 ALEXANDER PETOFI You didn't tell. Is it a boy or girl?" — "It is a boy. a strong and health}- boy. Yes. sir, a finer boy I never saw." "So much the better. In eight years from now, He'll be as fine a thief as was the one "Who with our Jesus Christ was crucified. I'll take his education in my hands, And make of him the most successful thief. That far-famed thief, who but few days ago Upon the gallows died. — (You knew Blind Tom? I brought him up! There was a clever thief! On one eye blind himself, a thousand eyes "Watched all in vain when Blind Tom was aroused. My boy, fear naught. I swear I'll not make you A swineherd or some common thing like that! But, my good woman, I almost forgot! The boy must have a decent Christian name! A name which he'll make famed throughout the world. Come, dear old girl, help me to find a name. On Saint Sylvester eve I found the boy Why not give him that name? Let's baptize him, Let him a Christian, not a heathen be. Saint Peter at the gate, when once my boy' Casts off his mortal coil, must find no fault. I'll be the Priest, the god-mother you'll be. Is there some water in that pot? There is. Come, hold the boy, — but no! The priestly garb Is most essential; wait. There is that bag, I hang it as a cassock 'round my neck." And then with mock solemnity, the boy Was jocularly christened and received Sylvester as his first and lawful name. VII. Four years have passed. To boyhood grew the babe, There in the darkness, in the cave, he grew By vice surrounded and by vermin plagued. He did not breathe the heaven's balmy air, THE APOSTLE 25 The beauty of the fields he never saw. He lived, he moved about, but was like dead. The old man found in him his great delight. For brain and aptitude he plainly showed, As from the flint spring sparks. The old man knew It is the spark which makes the fires ignite. Four years of age — and he had learned to steal: Fruit from a stand and coins from blind man's hats. For each such deed the old man praised him high, Rewarded him with some token of love. The same time he would reprimand him, too, The days on which the boy brought nothing home, These days, however, were now very rare. The hopes and expectations of the man Grew day by day and on his day-dreams' rocks He built the finest castles in the air. He built them high, until himself was caught, The good old man, the thoughtful guardian, — Until he swung himself, up in the air, The ripe fruit of the tree as "gallows" known. The woman Who had nursed and fed the boy Was present when the hangman made the knot Which made her friend and benefactor swing Upon the gallow's beams, hanged by the neck, His tongue protrudes as had he stuck it out To show his own contempt at all the world For dealing with him thus. When all was o'er, The beldame goeth home and to the boy With gentlest, sweetest voice she spoke like this: "Get ready boy, the devil can take you now, And in the name of God now go to hell. Who for your keep had paid is gone there too. Now that his payments stop, I too must stop To feed you, and my boy you have to go! I shall be kind enough to you once more, I take you to the corner of the street; If you come back, I'll drown you in the ditch." 26 ALEXANDER PETOFI The little boy did not grasp all she said. • When lead away and told to go: he went. By instinct he obeyed and never turned But walked and walked from street to street. He never yet had been so far from home, All that his eyes beheld was new to him. The splendid shops, the marvelous displays And men and women clad in wondrous style. Amazed 'he looked at thousands of new things. One street leads him into another street And never reached the outskirts of the town. From marching long, from marveling great deal He had grown tired. A curbstone proffers rest. Contented leans on it ihis weary head. From where he sits, he sees some boys at play, He smiles and thinks their toys are also his And that he himself is their welcome chum. He watched their play until he fell asleep.' He had a good long sleep, then in a dream Saw two red burning sparks acoming near And nearer still, intent to burn his eyes.. He shrieked with fright and suddenly awoke. Late night was on, the stars on high shone bright, The streets were empty, but before him stood A hag, whose glaring eyes the boy feared more Than he had feared the sparks his dream had seen. The curbstone he -holds fast, he is afraid To look at her or turn his eyes away. The hag though, pats him in a friendly way, And gently as is given to her to be, She asks of him: "What is your name, my boy? Who are your parents? and where do you live? Shall I escort you home? Come, take my hand. "Sylvester is my name, I have no one I father, motiher call. I never had. I was first found upon the public street. The woman said: Never again come home, If you come back, I'll drown you in the ditch." '"Then come, my darling boy, then come with me. A loving mother I shall be to you." THE APOSTLE 27 The woman then took by the hand the boy, Who meekly followed her wonderingly And knowing not what had happened to him. "See, my dear boy, this is our home", s'he said When she had reached her home. "This room is mine, The kitchen here shall henceforth be your home. You will not lonely be, my pet dog here, — ■ A nice dog, is he not? — will share with you This carpet, it is big enough for both. It is a splendid bed, you cannot ask A better one. The dog will keep you warm. Be not afraid of him, he does not bite, He is a gentle dog. You will be friends. See him looking at you, wagging his tail. I have no doubt you will each other like, As if you brothers were. Now go to sleep. You want something to eat? It is not good That children eat at night. In awful dreams And nightmares devils tease them in their sleep." Miuch better'tis, go nicely now to sleep." The miserable hag left him alone. With terror trembling he lay down at last Upon the' carpet's edge, but not too close To his companion. The dog howe'er Crawled up to him in a most friendly way. The animal's bright eye shone in the night And courage, confidence conveyed to him. The boy petted the dog which licked his face. The boy e'en spoke to him, for a reply The dog whined and the two were soon good friends. Upon the morn thus spoke the dame to him: "Listen to me, my boy, you'll clearly see I cannot keep you here without some pay. Not e'en the grave of Christ is being watched For nothing, You will have to go to work. The Bible even says: W|ho do not work Get naug'ht to eat. Your work will easy be, You shall have nothing else to do but beg. 28 ALEXANDER PETOFI Tarn too worn to work and I have grown too fat The men are heartless and they chase me off If I for alms stretch out my greasy hands. Now you must beg for me, when men see you Their hearts must move in tender sympathy And freely give their mite. You'll have to say Your father died, your mother 's ill at home, I'll watch you from the distance and I say If you heed my commands you will fare well. Be careful boy, I'm good when I am good, But I am very mean when I am mean. Remember this and never let it pass Out of your mind. You will abegging go. You will stretch out your hand to everyone Who's better dressed than you, and I'll look out That those j^ou meet shall all be of this class. You'll drop your head upon one side like this, Your eyebrows draw up, see — , as I do now, Your eyelids must be always moist and then You whine and whimper: "In the name of Christ Please help! My father's dead, my mother's sick," Did you catch on? You'll have to learn the art, Or with a ,cane I beat it in your head." The boy said he has understood her well, He'll not forget it and he will not fail. She made 'him try to do the trick, and lo! She was amazed how clever was his work. "A gold mine I have found in you, my boy, Bravo! Henceforth we'll lead a princely life. A princely life is ours!" the witch exclaimed. "Let's to the harvest go. Would you first eat? You'll eat when we come back, 'tis better then; 'Tis anyhow the best you don't eat much, You'll grow too fat and who does sympathise With beggar boys who are well fed and fat, To beggars who are fat come meager alms." The two then went into a busy street, The hag assigned him to a certain spot, Herself went into a gin mill near by THE APOSTLE 29 From whence she watched the boy and foully grinned And raised her whiskey glass whene'er she saw Him harvesting the mite of charity. VIII. Two years, one like the other slowly passed, The boy did naught, — the beldame took good care, — But beg for alms and suffer hunger's pangs. To famish and to beg thafs all he knew Of life. When he saw children at their play, He'd stare at them and think: it must be good To be allowed to play and joyous be. Froim day to day his mind grew more mature And he began to feel his misery. Two years he had thus lived: a begger boy. There was no longer need with artful trick To wet his eyelids, his hot-burning tears Flowed oft enough to suit the old hag's aims. He had one friend, but one who had been kind, Who seemed to love him, whom he really loved, With whom he shared the food received at home, Or which he found while wandering through town, His sleeping-mate, the dog, was this one friend. When in the morn the boy would go away His heart was sore, all day he longed for him. Returning in the eve he was all joy. The woman soon -had truly jealous grown, Yes, jealous of the love the dog had shown To him, the boy, and was estranged from her. She often whipped the dog and when with pain It whined, the boy heartrendingly would cry. At last she chased tfhe animal away And more than once she drove it from the house. The faithful beast, though, always would come back, And was the more attached to our poor boy. 30 ALEXANDER PETCFI Thus lived the boy. He was six years of age, Woe of six centuries had been his share, The moments' bliss were far and far between. He stood once on the corner of a street, Chilled through and through, it was late in the fall, A nasty autumn eve, mire on the earth, The air filled with a heavy, chilling fog. And there he stood, — his head and feet were bare, With tearful voice imploring passers-by And stretching forth his bony, yellow hand. His plaintive voice, when heard by human hearts Oft seemed to have the mournful toll of bells Which to the last rites in the churchyard called. A hoary man with earnest, solemn face Came up to him, stood still and looked at him For quite a while with sharp and piercing eyes. The boy took fright, made start to run away, A rough command: "stop boy!" prevents his flight, The boy stood still, he did not dare to breathe. "Are your parents -alive?" he is then asked. "My-My", — he was about to say his say About his mother who is ill at home, And hungry, too; the father who just died, But to the solemn looking earnest man He did not dare to lie; he thought the man Knew anyhow the truth and he replied: "Are my parents alive? I do not know, I never knew, I was found in the street." "Then come with me", the old man to him said. Obedient, the boy followed his steps. The old hag came forth from her hiding place And yelled: "Come here, lying, deceitful boy, My dear, good Sir, this boy here is my own." "Dear, gracious Sir," — the boy began to plead, "Dear gracious Sir, believe, I'm not her son. Please in the name of God and all the Saints O, save me, please, take me along with you. I am so tired to do naught else than beg; I always begged for her, I had to starve That I might always look as I do now. That those who look at me might pity me. THE APOSTLE 31 God! how hungry I am even now!" Thus spoke the boy, he looked up to the man With pleading eyes which were suffused with tears. "You God-forsaken wretch! You devil's imp!" — Berated him the witch, — "You heartless cur, You good-for-notning, vile and worthless shrimp! How dare you say you 'had to beg for me? To ibeg for me? I feel shamed unto death That he, the moment I lose him from sight Runs off to beg, — the habit grew on him Despite the spanking he from me received. To bring such shame upon my hoary head! 1 am but poor but I need not to beg, With honest work I can support myself. And then to say that I force him to starve! I, who no greater happiness have known Than yielding him the choicest, wholesome food, Deny it to myself to give to him. All this howe'er is naught! What does he do? He dares 'his doting mother to deny! Did not your heart break into twain, you wretch, You miserable beast in human form, Your mother to deny! What you said now Came from your gall, your liver and your spleen, Not from your heart! The earth has never known A granny more loving than I have been. The day of judgment can't be far away When children dare their mothers to deny." The ancient windmill ground this with one breath, Until, at last, t-he man broke in her speech: "Enough! I've heard enough! You foul old witch. This comedy must stop, or with this cane I'll have to put the fear of God in you! Why, even now you are full beastly drunk. When so'ber, bring his birth certificate To me, — I live in yonder spacious house, — And you can have the boy, but only if You can produce the birth-certificate, Not otherwise! and now, boy, follow me!" The boy followed the man. From time to time 32 ALEXANDER PET0F1 He furtively looked back, as if in fear That she, the gruesome hag, would grab at him And wring his neck or drag him to her home. However she stood still and all she did Was t'hat she raised her fist and cursed aloud And rolled fiery eyes which sparkled like The irons of the smith to white-heat raised. IX. The boy's fate turned. He now saw better days, No more was he compelled to steal or beg. What happiness! What bliss! Once in a while Howe'er he feared the old hag might yet bring His birth certificate and drag 'him off, And if she did, what could then be his fate. And here and there the dove of sorrow and regret Would hover over him, came to his mind The friend and chum he left behind: the dog, And for the dog he'd almost willing be To his old home to go again to beg That he again might be with his one friend. He often dreamed of him and in his dreams He held the dog in his loving embrace, Who gently gladly lapped his hand and face. When waking from his sleep the poor boy wept Because but in a dream he saw his friend. When with the gentleman he had come home He was consigned by him to servants' care Who cleaned him of the dirt of all- the years And dressed him into new and decent clothes. How well he felt. As had he never lived And had been born but now, a happy boy. The old man then commanded him: "Come here, And list to what I have to say to you." "This boy here is my son, your master he, And you must always call him "gracious Sir"! THE APOSTLE 33 He is your master, you his servant are, He will command, you must obey his will. You 'have naught else to do but to obey, Be prompt and be exact; remember well, One look of his and you must do his bid. All will be well if you submissive are, You'll feed well and you will wear decent clothes, But should you not obey: mark what I say, The rags in which I found you you get back, You'll be expelled from here and you can go To be the beggar boy you were before." The orphan boy became a faithful slave. He stood and walked beside his youthful lord As if his living shadow he had been. He watched his every move and his commands Had hardly been expressed when they were filled,. The boy howe-er was made to suffer much. The youthful master, like all of his ilk, Was a contemptuous little autocrat Who never ceased to make him feel that he The lord and master is and he the slave. For instance, if the hot soup burned his lips He'd turn upon the boy and slap his face. If someone did not doff the hat to him He'd Iknock the boy's hat off with brutal glee. When combing he awkwardly used the comb He'd fall upon the boy and pull his hair. There was no mean, no vile, dastardly trick The young lord would not play upon his slave. Maliciously he would step on his toes, Then kick at him and say: "You're in my way." Besmear with mud the boy, then deal him blows Because he dared to come to him unclean, Throw water in his face and when he wept He called him by the foul name "bastard-iboy". The poor boy suffered much. From day to day His sufferings increased. He bore it all. He bore it all with patience like a man Within whom lives a high and noble soul. 34 ALEXANDER PETOFI Why did he bear it? Why did he not leave As it had been so often in his mind? Ahi if yon only knew why he remained! The sweetness of the bread, the decent clothes Were not what kept him back when more than once He was about to run away. He was not like the chicken or the goose Which wanders off but will come home to roost, Unlike the lark, unlike the nightingale Which freed from cage where dainty food is theirs, Forever leave the same and are content To seek subsistence in sweet freedom's air. Thus felt the boy and yet he had remained, The bird in cage, for freedom pined and yet Like chicken and the goose he stayed *at home, Whene'er he started he came always back. What brought him back? His thirst to learn, to know. Standing behind his youtful lord, he learned, He peeped into his books, heard every word The tutor said. The real pupil was he. He learned with ease and he could read and write Much sooner than his highborn, youthful lord. And as the years passed by, his knowledge grew As yearly grow the antlers of the deer, And he began to feel proud of himself. Did, as was oft the case, his gracious chief Talk nonsence. he, all to himself, unheard, Corrected him and pitifully smiled At such dule ignorance he saw displayed. The tutor noted all. He could not help Impressed to be with the superior mind And intellect of our poor servant boy. He'd call on him the lessons to recite In which the master failed, although the boy Had learned them but by hearing them read off. The tutor tried his pupil thus to shame. THE APOSTLE 35 The servant boy carried the honors off, The vicious master though revenged 'himself, For humbling him, his vanity and pride. From day to day he would subject the boy To more and more indignities most base, From day to day our poor boy suffered more, He felt how undeserved the master's blows, Which no longer caused his bones to ache But pained his soul, his manhood felt disgraced. He 'had now reached his sixteenth year of age. Each day which he had lived within that house Had brought a ray of light into his mind, And every ray a message brought to him, A message which to 'him conveyed these thoughts: "Why am I treated here with cruel blows? By what right does one hit another man? Did not our God create all men alike? 'Tis said our God is just; if He is just He must love all humanity alike. I'll bear no longer this, whatever shall come. True, I am fed and dressed, I have a home, My services, no less, I give as pay, It is not charity that I receive. They have the right to ask my services, But not at all with cruel blows to strike. If they strike me once more, I swear by God That it shall be the last time that they do. It came to pass. The chance came soon enough^ When' his young master raised his hand to strike. But lo! the servant rose. "Stop, Sir!" he cried, "Don't dare to touch me any more. Beware! If you again strike me, I'll pay in kind, Give blow for blow, unto your dying day You'll not forget the thrashing I'll give you. I've ben a dog now long enough; henceforth I am a man! the slave, too, is a man. Yes, it is true, one hand here had been kind Another hand, though, nullified it all 36 ALEXANDER PETOFI With heartless blows. We are all even now We do not owe each other anything." The youthful master with amazement filled Stood overawed, but soon in curses foul And yells gave went to his high wrought-up ire. "Mean low-life serf! ungrateful rebel knave!" Our boy howe'er broke in. His voice betrayed Contempt supreme: You call me low-life serf, Who knows .if not of nobler race has been My father than is yours or all his kin; That he disowned me was his fault, not mine; And if all gentlemen have hearts and souls Like yours, thank God then that he cast me off, Because of my own making now a man Of worth and faith and deed I'll try to be. You say a rebel I! Sir! You are wrong. Is it rebellious to feel, to say That I too am a man like other men! Ah! if I could express what now I feel, What stirs my heart, in language adequate: My speech would cause the millions to rise, The world would shake as trembled ancient Rome W T hen Spartacus stood 'fore the mighty w T alls, His gladiators with their broken chains Belaboring and causing them to fall. Yes, gracious Sir, we two now part fore'er. I spoke to you as speaks a man to man. When once the slave his manhood did assert Of hunger he might die. die on the stake, But nevermore he'll be a slave! Good-bye!" He turned upon his heels and left the house. He left fore'er the. home in which his life Had floated over all the years, as floats, A flower o'er the surface of a pond. He. went into the world, he knew not where, He had no aim. The flame of youth leaped up And burned within his soul, as burns a town Of fire which is fanned by giant force. THE APOSTLE W^nVT? 1 m r asters tutor, who set out When he had left resolved to bid farewell To our poor boy. Oh! how the dear old man Had run! Exhausted he could hardly breathe Without cessation he his forehead mopped The while he to the youth in broken speech — JJisjointed did it seem— these word adressed- Here my dear boy, this money you must take, it is my wage for one whole year; for you If you are frugal— 'tis enough for years. In time to come a great man you will be I tell you this, I never yet have seen A boy of mightier mind and intellect Than you. Your sentiments are also mine, I feel like you ; alas! I did not dare To speak as boldly, freely, as you did. How I admired you! God bless you, boy!! But listen boy, I give you no advice, ' 'Tis a command I give! Go on! and learn! Your studies you must finish at the schools Or I shall curse and God shall punish you. You were not born to live but for yourself, ,Your lot will be to live for all the world, And therefore, I command: Go! study hard, But no! This needeth no command from me. Your thirst for knowledge is well known to me. And now, God bless you my dear boy! Farewell! With all my heart I wish you happiness. Once in a while, dear boy, remember me! If my command howe'er you do not heed Then let me forever forgotten be." The boy bent down to kiss the good man's hand, The other, though, would not permit him that, But drew him to his breast and kissed his face With tearfilled eyes he said: "Farewell!'' and left. 37 38 ALEXANDER PETOFI The poor boy felt his heart beat strong with bliss, This was the first time in his dreary life That he received a token of man's love. For sixteen years he suffered agonies E'er he had met a man who had a heart To give him in a brotherly embrace. When he had left behind the narrow streets And reached the open fields he felt relieved. He felt as if he were from prison freed And eagerly he breathed God's free air. His precious gift which to the feet brings strength And makes the human soul to rise on wings. Once he looked back, he was far, far away. The houses seemed to be one mighty mass, The dark church-towers swallowed by the mist, The noise of thousands was a heee-hive's hum. ''You t must not stop", the boy said to himself, You must not see the place or hear of it Where until now you lived, if it be life Which has been yours. And he resumed his pace As one who tries from stinging whips to fly. At last the city was in distance lost. He stood there in the boundless space and felt The first time that he had his freedom won. "At last I'm free! he cried. "Thank God! F'm free!" That's all he then could say, his flowing tears However were more eloquent than speech Expressed by human tongue could ever be. What sentiments sublime, inspiring thoughts Dwell in men's souls who are the first time free!— The boy went on to where fair scenery Invited him. He revelled in the sight Of things most beautiful, of hill and vale, Of flowery field through which the brooklet ran', Of forest green in which the song bird sang, And all that he beheld was new to him. The first time in his life he saw revealed Before him natures glorious radiance. THE APOSTLE 39 There is the mighty mountain wilderness Where thunder, lightning, where the raving storm The roaring fall of waters indicate The uproar of the judgment-day: below Down in the plain where silent flows the brook, Where insects' humming is the greatest noise: There he stood still, piously looked around, And when his eyes had feasted on the scene, A holy sentiment took hold of him He fell upon his knees and prayed aloud: "I pray to Thee my God, I know Thee now, I uttered oft, heard oft Thy Holy Xame But until now I knew not what it meant. Fair nature, taught me who Thou art, taught me To know Thy might, Thy boundless goodness too! Praise be to Thee my God, I pray to Thee Because, at last, I know now who Thou art!" And wherever he went, found everywhere All nature to be sweet and fair always. The men in it alone unhappy were, Foul misery and vileness ruled supreme. His own, he found, was not the greatest ill. That others more wretched were than himself Gave him great pain. He found that there lived men Deserving more of pity than himself. This caused him his own woe to disregard, The others' woe he felt though all the more. He put his forehead on an icy stone And found in burning, bitter tears relief. XL He bore in mind what had been told him By the good tutor when he bade farewell, And generously gave money to him. He always bore in mind the sound advice He went to school and earnestly learned. Within the circle of his school colleagues He was the moon, his fellows were the stars: 40 ALEXANDER PETOFI He was admired; no love was shown him, though. His soul's- sublimity weighed as a stone Upon the rest, and envy, jealousy Ne'er ceased their poisoned darts to shoot at him. "Why treat me thus?" he asked good naturedly His classmates at the school. "I do not learn For my own benefit. I learn for you! Believe, my friends, the knowledge I acquire Will of good service be, not for myself But for the public weal. Ah! Could you look Into this heart of mine, all of you here Would be attached to me ifTfriendship sweet, You'd love me then as now I am disliked. You'd love me then as I love all of you. Could into the depths of my soul you glance, You'd clearly see the error of your ways. You would not clip the branches of the tree The shade and fruit of which you'll once enjoy. Ye poor, misguided and shortsighted boys, A time will come, O God! a time will come When all of you will love and honor me." The boys such speeches would wit'h laughter greet, As ammunition use for new assaults, Their guns of mockery aimed at his heart. And he became estranged from all the world, Morose, austere, a morbid lonely man. One only friend he had: his solitude. He lived among the pictures which the world Regards as phantasies, to him they were Realities, the future's living forms Which looked into his high aspiring soul. There, in his solitude, with zeal he read, — As is the Koran read by Mussulman Or pious Jew his good old Bible reads, — The volume which he over all preferred: The story of the world. What wondrous book! To one man 'tis the source of bliss supreme, THE APOSTLE 41 While to another one it brings despair. To one 'tis life and to an another death. It puts a sword into one's hand and says "Go forth into the strife, 'tis not in vain, You'll bring relief to all humanity!" While to another one it seems to say: "Discard the sword, thy efforts fruitless are, The world fore'er will be unfortunate As it has been these many thousand years." What did he read? What message came to him When he had read and read again the book? What were his thoughts when with his trembling hands He closed the book which stirred his very soul? These were his thoughts: The grape's a tiny fruit, Which takes a summer ere to ripeness grows. The earth, too, is a fruit, a mighty fruit, — And if the grape to ripen needs a year, How many seasons needs this mighty fruit Before 'tis ripe! Many a thousand years, The grapes are ripened by the rays of sun, And countless milliards of ray^ must breathe Their warmth upon the fruit before 'tis sweet. Rays ripen too the earth, no sun-rays though, The rays which do this are the souls of men, Of men with great souls, but these souls are rare. How then can we expect earths's early growth Into maturity? I feel- such ray to be. One of the rays which aids earth's ripening, The life of such a ray is but a day. I know that when the day, the longed-for day Of vintage comes at last I'll be no more, And not a trace of my work shall be left: My life howe'er gains strength, my death gains peace To feel, to know that I have been a ray. Arise, my soul; Arise and do thy work. No time, yea not a moment must be lost 42 . ALEXANDER PETCFI The task is great, time flies and life is short. What is the goal, the world desires to reach? 'Tis happiness and freedom is the means By which it is attained. I'll fight for it As countless thousands have for freedom fought. As countless thousands fell I too may fall, And gladly shall I yield my heart's last blood! Receive me freedom's martyrs in your ranks, I swear allegiance to you for aye! Be there one drop of blood within my breast Which does not beat in truth for freedom's cause; Let it be spilled if e'en the last it is, And with its flow my life shall ebb away!" This was his vow. — Men did not hear it, — true, But God Almighty did and He inscribed Into His sacred list of martyr's names Sylvester's name, the name of our poor boy. XII. The boy had grown to be a youth, the youth To manhood grew. Year after year rolled on, They came and went without a "farewell'' e'en. Nor did the years spare him; each year that came Left traces on his face and on his heart. Long, long ago he had finished his schools, The great world he had entered. There he was, Amidst life and amongst men, in the crowd Where at each step of his he gets a knock, And each knock wipes the pollen off of life And wipes the healthy color from man's face. The world howe'er, to him seemed not to be The kind he thought the great, wide world would be. It shrunk each day. Men whom the Lord had made In his own image were depraved and vile. Man who should boldly look into the height, THE APOSTLE 43 Looks to the dust of earth as if to learn From insects how the crawl and how to creep. But still, the smaller seemed to him the man: The greater was the work himself assumed To be his mission and which to fulfill In time, undaunted did his task, though small, — As small as is the labor of the ant, — But just as active as that insect he. The narrow circle which was his he filled Completely with the brightness of his soul. His virtues and the keenness of his mind, While yet at school had made a name for him And when his course of studies finished were From many great ones flattering offers came. They said to him: "Come and my servant be, To serve a man like me is itself A glorious thing. You bend your knee to me, 'Tis true, but thousands have to bow to you. You"ll have naught else to do than to oppress These thousands and from them to get the most. 'Tis easy work and you'll grow rich and great." Sylvester gratefully declined the call. He said: "That I might have serfs of mine own I wouldn't the servant of another be. I want no fellow man to bow to me I know no man who greater is than I. And I refuse my knees to bend to you. I know no man who smaller is than I, And as to wealth — I do not care for it, I surely do not want it as the price Of my oppressing my dear fellowmen." Thus did he speak, and though he bared his head, He stood erect and proudly faced the man. The high position tendered, he declined... There came to him a few pour country folk Inviting him to come to live with them And to become their Village-Notary. Contented, and most happy to accept, 44 ALEXANDER PETCFI He went into that village and when there The poor inhabitants surrounded him While he, with flaming eyes, adressed them thus: "Hail, hail to thee, majestic people! List, Look full into my eye! I'll be to you A teacher and a loving father, too. E'er since your birth yon were taught to obey. That duty's chains are strong was all you knew, I will instruct you in your legal rights." And he fulfilled the promise he had made. Thenceforth, the peasant folk, their labor done, Did not, as since time immemorial, Go to the village-inn, but went to him. The town-hall square became their meeting place. They listened to their youthful Notary ; The hoary man were taught by the mere youth, The}' listened more attentively to him Than to their priest, they understood him best, And what they learned the old folks taught their boys. The village people held him in esteem. Two houses, though, were in that village, where Instead of blessings called upon his head. The young apostle was constantly cursed. One of these houses that in which the squire, The other that in which the priest resides: They are the Castle and the Parish house. From day to day our young apostle grew More hated and more feared by squire and priest. The two conspired his fall to bring about. They saw, that they themselves are doomed, were he Allowed to mould the people's intellect. Up in the castle, though, there was a soul Who felt for him the same esteem as did The populace; to whom to hear him praised Was joy and who felt pained was he abused. Who was this soul who recognized his worth, THE APOSTLE 45 And rightly judged him and his splendid work? Who was this somebody? Who could it be, But she, the beauteous daugther of the squire? Who else could it have been? A woman's heart Is a most glorious harbor. It is closed Against all selfish thoughts, altough by stealth Or force it might have even entered there, That heart thougih 's ope for all that is sublime And sweet. Be persecuted innocence Exiled form everywhere, within her heart It always finds a port of welcome rest. A woman's heart's indeed a glorious home. The youth did not suspect at all that he By some one's looked upon with kindly eyes, Has in the castle one fair patroness. From time to time he saw the maiden fair When through the village she her way would take, Or when she from her windows looked upon The place beneath, and when he saw the maid A sense of loneliness would fill his heart. And musingly he would speak to himself: "A man is not a citizen alone, a "He also is a man. Must he devote "His life forever to the public weal "And never know life's bliss in his own life? Poor boy! Willt thou e'er live thy own sweet life? "Thou spread'st thy soul amongst thy fellow men, "Will ever there be one who'll give her soul "To thee, or give thereof a share, or deign "To look upon thee with a friendly smile . "So that thou may'st surmise at least that life "Can really happy be? For love athirst "A summer day's rain cannot quench, alas, "Not ^'en a drop of dew gives me relief. "Do not rebel against thy fate, poor boy, "And bravely bear thy yoke, if thou but giv'st "To those around thee bliss: thou hast done well. "Be like the earth which grows the golden grain "By others reaped. Be like the burning wick "Which by the waning of its life spreads light." 46 ALEXANDER PETOFI 111 or good fortune brought it once about That she once met the youth and spoke to him. They met but for a moment and exchanged A word or two; that's all, and yet thenceforth They often met; who knows? was it mere chance? Was it intent? The two themselves knew not. All unawares their meetings grew more long, More confidential too, altough the two Of their own selves would never speak a word. However once, — the youth e'en did not know Had she been asking it or did he speak Unasked, — impulsively, — he told the maid The story of his life; how lonely he, Forsaken and alone; he never had A brother or a friend, was never called "My son", "my boy", and how he had been found. Out in the street by one who was a thief, How then a beggar-wench adopted him, And how he then became a servant mean. His early years thus passed: he stole, he begged, Did menial work. He spoke then of the woe And agony that weighed upon his soul W,hile growing up: more awful even were These than the days of yore. The retrospect — It seemed he looked lhto a putrid pool- Made his own soul to overflow with pain. Hot burnings tears he shed, as sheds its blood An army beaten on the battlefield... And she, the maiden, also wept with him. XIII That very day he met the maiden's Sire. Quite different the interview with him._^ The proud lord of the manor sent £pr him, Gave him a tongue-lashing most merciless, Accused him of having his vassals led Astray, made rebels dangerous of them; That if he dared with such work to proceed THE APOSTLE 47 He'd drive him from the village in disgrace. With dignity the young man thus replied: "Sir! I forbid you thus to lecture me, No schoolboy I, but even not at school Did I permit thus to be spoken to. If I have sinned, if to rebellion I Incited men, — there is the law! the law Can punish me. Did I commit no crime Who gives to you the right to chastise me! I do not heed your threat to drive me off, It does not frighten me; to earn my bread I can go anywhere. I shall not leave This place howe'er, because I feel at home, I know I am of use, I fill my place. You will not drive me off for your own good. If you did the people would follow me Or they would turn on you and from your home And hearth would exile you. This is not said To threaten you, but as a sound advice. I know the populace, I know they love And honor me and what they'd do for me!'' Thus spoke the youth, then bowed and went away. Upon the Sunday following, the priest Preached to his congregation in this wise: "This man is awful, and he should be feared, An atheist and agitator he. If you allow him to remain with you You're lost in this and in the world to come. Those who remain his friends forfeit their lives To our good king and on the gallows die, Nor can their souls e'er heaven's Kingdom reach, Eternally are damned their souls and lost." Besought and warned them to heed his words Ere it is late. With tearful eyes he prayed: "Oh save your lives, your heavenly bliss oh save! •Death and perdition should not be your choice But choose a happy life and heaven's rewards." Their ire aroused, the people left the church, — 48 ALEXANDER PET6FI The House of God, the House of Peace 'tis called, — Like wild beasts wounded in the hunt, they ran To him whom yesterday "our father'' named, Made to him known: "tomorrow by this time You must be gone or stoned to death you'll be." The youth addressed them in his own bold way, And how he spoke! He spoke inspiringly, As ne'er before; alas, it was in vain, For where the priest once had a word to say Truth had no chance, there truth was crucified. The priest's each word calls forth a devil to rise, And though the devil' is not mightier than God, He surely is more eloquent, he can't Conquer with deeds but he can lead astray. With threatening curses they then left the youth. Just for a moment his spirit was wrenched Thougths of despair would flit within his brain As ravens flit around" a carcass found. "These are the people" — he cried in despair, These are the people whom I had adored, For whom I lived, for whom I would have died. But thus it was a thousand years ago. And what of it? A thousand years from now It will be otherwise. Mankind is young, With ease 'tis fooled. To ripe manhood when grown ' It shall be otherwise. Because still young It must be nursed with care. 'Twas ever thus:_ Since ancient days the kings and priests would strive In mental blindness and in ignorance The populace to keep; these demigods Had but one aim: to rule! and well they knew, That only such,— the mental blind, — submit To kind 'and priest-craft reign." He pitied them. "Poor people", — mused he— "but what do I care? I fought for them till now, henceforth I'll fight With force and vigor new, they shall be free!" The eve has set, the night came in, to him The last night he would spend in his old home, THE APOSTLE 49 He stands within the shadow of the trees, Looks up toward the window where at times To see her he was wont. The window 's bare No light, no maiden there, yet he looks up, Intently gazing, he looks like a ghost That into stone had turned. His deep felt woe Together with the moon spread o'er his face A veil of ghastly white. When all at once, He felt his hand by someone grasped. He turned, And he beheld her at his side for whom He had so hopelessly been waiting there. "For you I waited here." then. .said the youth. "For you I waited here. I dared to hope Once more to see you in that window there, A mute farewell I sent up from my eyes, And then to go, fore'er to go away. Beyond all hope my fate is kind to me , 4\ My lips can now convey my last farewell, , My hands rest in your hands. Sweet maid: Farewell! Good-bye you sweetest of the fair. ; In all the world you were the only one Who called me friend, whom I my friend could call. I have no keepsakes, but your picture fills My heart, as in some poor man's hut's bare wall The Saviour's picture hangs, before which he Each eve in adoration bends his knee. But if the costliest keepsakes filled my heart, I'd cast them all away and only keep The memory of this blissful parting hour. Farewell! If ever you shall hear of me, That I achieved great fame, believe me, girl, The merit will be yours, for your sake I Shall strive great, good and famous to become. So that you may never regret to have Befriended me; but rather feel some pride To have enclosed me in your golden heart. Farewell! You were my guardian angel here. He started then to go, but he was stopped. As if in chains the maiden holds his arm. 50 ALEXANDER PETOFI She tried to speak but could not speak one word, Until amidst heart-rending- sobs she said: "Farewell, good-bye! And God be with you, dear. Farewell, you noblest of the youth. Farewell! If I could only go, Fd gladly go with you, Shall we two nevermore each other see? Go! Go! My star is fallen from on high. Farewell, my love! Your's is my heart's best love. I had to tell you this, it flowed from here. My heart, as flows the Vesuv's burning flame. 'Tis you I love; And hear my solemn vow: If I cannot become your own true wife. By Heaven above I swear, 1**11 never wed! Here, take this ring, 'tis our engagement ring, And sooner will its pure gem turn to dust Ere faithless I become. Farewell my friend! Fair dream of my poor youthful life, Farewell!" The richest bliss and gift of heaven are his. He fell upon his knees and kissed her feet. When on the morn he had left the place, And on the highway trod, a hundred times He looked upon the ring, for then he knew That last night's sceVe was not his fever's dream, AVas not the fancy of an insane mind. He took the road, — himself he knew not why, — Towards the capital, the city where At one time he .had stolen, begged and worked. He found a .garret room which suited him, And there he lived. He knew not what to do, Wjhile pondering o'er what to undertake, A knock is heard upon his door, it opes, A lady veiled comes in. — the veil is raised. The youth stands petrified, his mind stands still, He recognizes her, she is his friend. "I've followed you!" the girl then said to him, "I've followed you!! though if a burden I, Just drive me hence. I shall then take my seat THE APOSTLE 54 Upon the threshold of the "door and wait Untill my heart shall break. Eve followed you. Because without you I don't want to live. I am now here, what will you do with me?" The youth fell on her breast, and then they wept The while their hearts o'erflowed with blissful joy. "You do not drive me hence?" the maid then said. I can remain with you? I can stay here? Half of your woes and sorrows are now mine And all my happiness henceforth is yours. Each care of yours is mine, if ever I Complain, then lose all faith in me and know That false were all the vows of love I made. XIV. And then, as if in lawful wedlock, lived The two. No priest had blessed their plighted love, They made no vows of fealty and faith, They did not utter speech, deep in their hearts These words of promise "unto death'' remained Untainted, as they should fore'er remain, Pure as the stars, whose brightness human breath Can never reach. The days passed blissfully, The months... the world without knew naught, of them, They seemed to know naught of their world around. The youth's spirit howe'er became aroused And said to him with voice of stern reproach. "Awake, arise! Thou wert not born to live A selfish life, for others thou wert made, Up! Up! Young man! and do your work in life." In language more severe then spoke to him A voice, the voice of daily need and want: "Up! go to work, or soon in direst need And hungry will you be, now two of you, And soon to come a third one must be fed." He went to work. He wrote; with heart and soul 52 ALEXANDER PETOFI He penned the dictates of his brilliant mind. Then to an editor he took his work. The editor read through the manuscript. And said to him: You are a great man, Sir, You are a genius, but still a fool. You're truly great, your work's indeed sublime, The like of which Rousseau did never write, You are, though, still a fool if you could think That you this manuscript would see in print. Have you ne'er heard of what the Censor is? If not, I'll tell you, list, the censor is The devil's own threshing machine, the sheaves Of human brain are threshed by it. The grain — I mean the truth — is seperated and The chaff and straw are given back to print, And this is all the public is allowed To digest. Ah! Sir, if you doubt my word, Just let us try. Yes, I am willing, Sir, To bolt one leaden ball for each grain Left in your sheaf when he is through with it. If you the product of your brain would save From this threshing machine, produce no grain, Produce but weed, however mean and vile Which poisons people's minds. What do you care? For stuff of that kind you are even paid." Stunned and bewildered he went slowly home, Felt as if he against a wall had knocked His head. Sat down to write, fully resolved To write in other vein, subdued and smooth And soft so that the censor, when his hands Pass o'er his work, should feel its velvet touch. When he had done his work, he found the same More free, outspoken, bolder than the first. Against his judgment and convktious strong, And ten and hundred times he tried to write, But all in vain, he tore up what he wrote.^ He found he could not force himself to write Against his judgement and convictious strong, That if he wrote what might go through the press THE APOSTLE 53 It would be thrash, while what he felt to be Work of real worth, the censor would reject. "'Tis awful!" he exclaimed, ''are there no means To make myself then heard! This fire within My soul, winch would have set the world ablaze, I must quench and subdue within my breast, That it devour my own .heart. — I must live! Shall I my sacred principles deny, And let the rascals who deceive the world, Hire my pen? No! By the Eternal! No! Death from starvation On a dung-hill I Prefer, and I much rather end my life As I began the same. I'll steal* I'll beg, Do menial work ere I -should write one line That does not spring and rise from my soul's source, Ere I a false seal put upon one thought — However insignificant, of mine. Good-bye ye thoughts, ye walled in prisoners, Let my brain the prison and the coffin be For my ideas.... No! They cannot die; The day will be because the day must be When they come forth, their prison-door shall ope, And make their tour around the wide-wide world And carry light and warmth everywhere As do the rays of the bright summer sun." The youth allowed his thoughts and his ideas To rest. To gain the needful daily bread He copied others' thoughts. What weary work! More bitter far than chopping logs of wood. At early morning he began his work, Worked late into the eve, and many times He burned the midnight oil, and frequently His lamp went out before he went to bed. And yet, in spite of all this earnest work His table often missed its meagre weight Of daily food; upon his window pane The winter often planted icy flowers 54 ALEXANDER PETOFI And froze the tear within the woman's eye Naught cooled howe'er the ardour of her love. Years came, years passed, his family had grown. Now they were three and then the fourth' one came, And quadrupled was then the misery. Within that narrow garret-room, their home, The walls of which inflowing rain had streaked, And mildew had put on its ornaments; Where now. upon the bed, three of them sleep, The mother and the children, while nearby, Upon a heap of straw the man found rest. The rising sun's first rays fall on his brow, Encircling his head, as if Almighty God Had pressed upon that brow a loving kiss. XV. The family woke up. The first to rise Is he who had been last to go to sleep. The mother rises next, and then the boy. The baby did not wake, still in deep sleep— Upon their tip-toes they all move around Their speech is whisper, so their voice break not The baby's sleep. Poor father, mother, son. Why move on tip-toes, why this voiceless speech? Tramp heavily, speak loud and shriek and yell, Be not afraid, you will not wake her up, Because the dead no longer hear the noise; The babe is dead, the babe has starved to death W'hat can the parents feel.what do they feel When Death,— their offspring's death,— stares in their face? But think of the parent who is made aware _ That want of food, that hunger killed his child, His innocent and beauteous angel babe? If God endowed me with his right hand's force Not e'en then might I tell the agony THE APOSTLE 55 Which by a thousand claws' most cruel hurts Made that poor mother's heart profusely bleed? Leave her alone, leave her to throw herself Upon the lifeless corpse, to moan, to weep, From her deep sorrow's deep abyss to heaven To call, her God with cruelty to charge, Prostrate herself and deprecate His wrath, Leave her alone, do not attempt to stop The wildest outburst of her insane grief. The man stood speechless, mute his agony Before the tiny corpse, or was he glad That she had ceased to suffer hunger's pangs? The boy amazed was staring at the babe And thinks that he himself will be as white And motionless when he too shall be dead And he too not be hungry any more. The hours but slowly pass, still time does move Exhausted — or in faint? — the woman falls Upon the corpse, her grief is duller now Her soul's upheaved waves sweep no more the sky They have more calm become and gently sway As waves the grain o'er which the zephyr blows. She takes the dead child to her loving breast And gently rocks it while a lullaby Sihe chauds with voice subdued. Her sing-song sounds Like when in autumn eve the tree tops sigh: Sleepest darling Baby dear? Dreamland's visions Bright and clear Do they fill thy Blissful rest? Not yet is the Earth thy nest, Mother holds thee To her breast. 56 ALEXANDER PETOFI Sleep beloved one Baby dear. Thou hast been my Joy and cheer. Like the sun rays, Bright and clear Made us happy All in here. From the dawn's kiss Glows the sky, With my kisses . Do I try Thy pale face to Beautify. Once again but Smile, and I Will submit and Cease to cry. O'er a green grave A white cross, There I'll lament O'er my loss. Freely flows there, Not the rain, Tears thy mother Can't restrain. Weeping willows Cease to moan, None must mourn here, I alone. You may listen Crown of trees, To a mother's ~ Tearful pleas: Dost thou, dearest Rest in peace? THE APOSTLE 57 Head and heart are Now at ease? Is the earth light O'er thy tomb. Soft the couch in Earth's dark womb? Was it warmer When thy nest Was upon thy Mother's breast? Sleep well dearest My heart's dove, Good night darling; God above Keep thee safe, and Golden bright Let thy dreams be Through the night. And while she does her dead child put to sleep Herself, at last, falls into slumber deep. And while she rests the husband ponders o'er The problem where to get a coffin's price, The funeral's cost? for he was penniless What's there at home what he could sell or pledge? In vain he looks around, there's naught indeed Of any value left within his home. What came then to his mind that all at once He stirred, as if touched by a sudden shock, Grew deathly pale. He saw the dear, old ring, — Priceless to him, — the ring once given to him By her, — that time! — He now must sell the ring, That not all naked be his child confined To earth. He now must with his treasure part, It had been more to him than was the light Of his two eyes, he now must part from that Which he had kept through all these years of want. 58 ALEXANDER PETOFI The thought to part with it his hair turned gray, In all the world howe'er he had naught else With which to pay to bury his dead babe. When from his finger he the ring had drawn, He felt as if his heart had been torn out, The past and present had been cut in twain, Destroyed the bridge twixt winter and the spring And mashed the stairs on which he in his dreams From earth to heaven would now and then ascend. Alas! it must be done, the ring must go, His child must have a decent burial. t His child did have a decent burial. The coffin was of rosewood, satinlined, A marble stone was put over the grave. Ah, well! the ring had brought a goodly price, And all of it was spent on the deceased. The father could not think of it to spare One single cent e'en for a crust of bread Although indeed they all felt hunger's pangs. Bread with that money bought would kill, he thought, Would poisonous be; and he. he had to live, Live long and work his mission to fulfill. XVI, He knew, he felt: the thoughts inspiring him Shall not, will not within his brain die out. But that there must, there will yet come the day When ilrom their prison breaking they go forth And conquer all the world o'er which they spread. It came to pass. What strenuous work of years Had not accomplished, now by happy chance A moment brought about. He found somewhere, In some secluded, subterranean place A printing shop where he could print his works. What did he say therein? He told the world THE APOSTLE 59 That priests a*re not like ordinary men, But devils have become, that kings are not By grace divine or some such nonsence vain, Great demigods, but are plain, common men, That all men equal are, all have the right, — Nay more, — as duty to their Lord God owe To be free, that who freedom does not prize — God's greatest gift, — betrays his very God. His book was published and all o'er the wofid With lightning swiftness was distributed And eagerly was read. Men, all athirst, Drank its invigorating cristal flow From which their very souls grew young again. The powers though, alarmed, grew deathly pale Upon their furrowed ftronts vindictive ire 's seen, With thunderings they shriek. "A traitor he "Who wrote this book, religion he blasphemes, "His majesty the king he dares assail, "The author must severely punished be." The frightened populace repeated it: Indeed, a traitor he who wrote this book, Religion he blasphemes, insults the king, "As is prescribed by law the author must Severely punished be. Inviolate "And sacred are our faith likewise our king." Most awful was the punishment he met. Arrested in the street, he's carried off, "Desist!" appealingly he cries, "desist "Fear naught, I'll not attempt to run away, "I follow you where'er you lead me to; "But just one moment wait. That window yon "You see, the window of rr^ home it is. "My wife and child live the»:e, pray take me there For one short minute only, so that I "May say good-bye to them and then you may "To prison take me, take me anywhere. "Let me embrace them once again and then "I'm yours, for I'd far rather go to hell 60 ALEXANDER PETOFI "After I've said my last good-bye to them "Then go to heaven without a parting kiss. Are you yourselves without family ties? "Are you no husbands? Have no children you? "What would you say if you were treated thus? "In all the wdrld I have naught else but them, "In all the world they have naught else but me. "Let me, good men, oh, let me go to them "That once again, — who knows? — the last time, I "M'ay hold them next my heart. Don't pity me, "Bait pity them, they're surely innocent. "They 're not to blame, no malefactors they. "Why punish them? Oh! do not kill them too. "Oil, God! If with my earnest plea your hearts "I can not move, my flowing tears appeal "To you for this one boon, my tears which are "But drops of blood which well from my poor "And are the sweat-drops of a dying soul." And weepingly he fell upon his knees. And as in better days he had embraced His sweethart's knees, his captors knees now held Within his arms and wept. His captors though With brutish, mocking laugther kicked at him, Bade him to rise, nay, picked him up with force And carried him towards the cart which stood Near by in which to carry him to jail. When he then saw that all his prayer's in vain, His furious ire aroused, he rose and fought With all desperate force at his command To shake his captors off. with madman's strength He struggled to free himself and shrieked and roared. But all in vain, he was subdued and bound And thrown into the van. — "Cursed be you all," He yelled, — "Curse you, and yours, ye fiends and brutes "In human shape. You aire the devil's own "'Tis not a human heart a loathsome toad "You have. As great as is upon your souls "The weight of rascality, as great THE APOSTLE 61 "Shall be the fearful scars upon your cheeks, "And then the worms of the dunghill shall "Upon your carcass feast! Cursed be your king, "In whose name you drag manly v^-tue down, "And carry to the slaughter house. Curse you, "You good-for-nothing idiotic king "Wko think yourself a God to be. In truth "You are the devil, aye, the prince of lies. "Who did entrust the millions to you? "Who did entrust the sheepfold to the wolf? "Your hands are bloodred like your regal cloak, "Your face is pale as is the crown you wear, "Your heart is black as is the mourning which "Follows your deeds, as lengthened shade is drawn "By setting, sun. How long yet will you dare "Usurp your selifassumed illegal rights? "The powe'rs and prerogatives you stole? "Oh! that it come, that in their might supreme "Your subjects rise in violent revolt "Against you, as the storm-swept ocean waves "Arise, and when with hundred thousand men "To give them battle you go forth: God grant "It, that you do not bravely die -upon "The battle field as would be fit a man, "A craving coward you, you start the flight "Run for your life, try to escape and hide "Beneath you/- throne as hides beneath a couch "The dog that had been by his master whipped "From thence you should be dragged and as you stand "Before the crowd of women and of boys: "With mocking laughter they should spit at you. "Who theretofore t had kissed your hand and feet Should then command you their own toes to kiss "And as you kneel down their behest to do "Let them then kick at your distorted face, "Break one by one youlr teeth and trample out "Your wretched life. Die like a beastl, Despair! "As do despair I here! Oh wife! Oh child!" 62 ALEXANDER PETOFI XVII. Had he been sleeping and woke up just now? Or had he insane been and had he just Regained his senses? Had he all these months Been crazed and wild?... Sylvester knew it not. He tried to think it out and thought and thought What could have happened to him and where was he? He looked around, but could not see a thing, A darkness most intense encircleth him. Then to himself he said: "It must be night. I was asleep and must have had a dream, I only half remember what I dreamt. It was an awful dream, 1 will not tell My wife about it, why disquiet her? Ah! if the mcvrn would dawn! What awful night I had; the darkest in my life. Doest sleep Good wife? Doest sleep my love? She heard me not, She surely sleeps. Sleep well beloved one... And still dawn does not break. When will it come? This heavy, stifling air is choking me. .Rise golden dawn and show thy radiant face, Or send at least ahead one tiny ray!... Oh! how my forehead burns, as if my head A volcan were and I fear it must burst." To wipe his sweating brow he raised his hand. The rattling clanking sound the fetters made, Brought to his mind the truth. He well remembered all. And like the wind sweeps through some ruined church A cold chill passes through his shattered frame. He well remembered all: how he was seized While in the street and carried off by force, Was not allowed to say a last good-bye To wife and child, was not allowed to look Into their eyes so sweet, his only bliss, To him his only wealth and happiness. THE APOSTLE 63 And now he 's here within the prison walls, A subterranean hole,— who knows how deep,— More deep then are the graves whefrein decay The buried dead within a churchyard's space. When will he see again the shining sun? When will he see again his wife and child? It might be ne'er again. Why is he here. Within this ominous and cursed place? Because of what his God hath given him. He gave to men. by telling them the truth: There is one common good wherein all men Must share alike and that this common good Is freedom! — He. his fellow men deprives Of e'en a particle of freedom's boon Commits a deadly sin. such man to kill Is right, — nay more. — a duty even is ""Saint freedom 'tis for thee I suffer here." Said dolefully the wretched prisoner. "Stood I alone in life as I for years Have stood, without a tie of loyal love 'To wife and child. I'd sit upon this bench Of stone all calm and I would be as proud As the usurping king is on his throne. I'd wear these prison chains with as much pride As in the by gone days I wore the ring My darling bride-to-be had given me. But I have family, a wife and child. What will become of them now I am gone. Who will provide for them the daily bread And loving care they need? Oh, heairt of mine If into stone you can not turn, why not Be rent in twain and break and end it all?" He furiously raved and raged and wept. But the dense darkness that surrounded him Remained unmoved, and slowly, by degrees, He calmer grew, his worn out soul succumbed And he became as placid^ and composed As was the lifeless stone on which he sat, And gloomy as the darkness all around. 64 ALEXANDER PETOFI To all sensation dead, in deepest thought He pondered o'er his plight. His mind But flitted low as flits a winged bird. "Tell me, my pjrison, who to the coffin Art twin, who built thee? Who will pull thee down? When wert thou built? How long yet wilt thou stand? Who sat upon this stone before my time? A martyr like myself was here confined, A highway robber or a murderer? Did moulder here his bones, or did he see Again our God-Almighty's beauteous world; A:h me! the world is beautiful indeed, The forests and the fields, the hills and vales, The flowefrs and the stars, indeed are fair. Who knows, will it be given me to see Them once again, or see them after years. W T hen e'en their names s'hall from my mind have passed? It may be that I shall be here a year, — Each moment seemeth an eternity. And time drags slowly as the mendicant Who on his crutches slowly moves about. One year! Suppose they keep me here ten years? Or twenty years, or even longer still? Come up to me all ye departed souls Who once did suffer heire. Let's talk a while, Instruct me how to pass the time down here. Who knows? I may be dead and only dream —What awful dream! — within my grave! Who knows It might well be that I am still alive, Was buried here alive. Oh no! I'm dead, The heart-beats I still here are nothing else Than the convulsions of my dying, soul." At last he stopped even to ruminate. His heart and mind insensible had grown. And there he sat, more motionless than is A statue hewn of stone. He only glared Into the night with which his prison was filled. THE APOSTLE 65 His limbs grew numb he seemed his mind to lose. His head grew weighty and lengthwise he fell Upon the stony floor. Was he asleep? Or had he fainted? For a time he lay There motionless, he seemed not e'en to breathe When all at once, as if by bullet struck Or red-hot iron touched, with sudden jump He leaped up and with such heartrending voice That e'en the cold walls of his prison moaned It back, he cried out: "Stop! Oh! do not go!" And longingly he raised his outstretched arms. Long stood he thus, then slowly dropped his arms And sank into his seat, the teair-drops rolled From both his eyes and in a voice as though His soul were moaning, dolefully he groaned: "She would not stop, she's gone, all's at an end." What ailed him? What was it? Who would not stop? What was it that had ended? Did he dream? : . --i He did not dream. That was not a mere dream, Something that could not possibly be true, For it was true.. . As he was lying there A female form appeared before him, whom He recognized as his beloved wife. She bent to him and whispered in his ear: "My sufferings a>re o'er! God bless you dear!" And pressed a loving kiss upon his brow. 'T was then he leaped up. When ope were his eyes, He still could see his wife, just for a trice, And then she disappeared. His prison which Had been surcharged with light, grew dark again, Dark as the night after a lightning's flash. "My sufferings are o'er, God bless you dear", Repeated he, the message he had heaird. "That's what she said to me in dulcet tones I'll no more hear. My sufferings are o'er, 66 ALEXANDER PETOFI God bless you dear''. Well then, God bless you dear! Ihe foliage of my soul you have been, Of which it had been stripped by stormy wind. Why did it not uproot, destroy me too? What earthly use am 1, a crownless tree? W;here did the tempest's wings deposit you To find you if indeed it be my share To find you once again and withered though You be, 1 might exhale my life's last breath While neair your blest remains. I care no more For ought in life, no aim in life have I, You made life worth the pain, through you, for you I lived, you were the goddess I adored, You, all alone, were sweet reality. Ihe rest in life?Freedom, — humanity — All were but hollow phrases, phantom dreams, For which the fools would never cease to fight, You, all alone, were sweet reality, You were the goddess of my love and life, FoT-evermore 1 have lost even you. Did like a mole I burrow through the earth I'll nevermore find you, you turned to dust, Commingling with the earth like other dust Not e'en discernible whether a plant's Or animal's your ashes are. I'd bear This most gigantic burden till my death If but a last good-bye I could have said, Only one small word could have said to her. It could not be! It is all finished now, God would not grant me my last fervid prayer." "How cruel is God. Men bend their knees to Him, Call Him their Heavenly Father, while in truth A Tyrant He! I curse Thee God! Up there Thou sittest on Thy throne in majesty, Unfeeling, as are tyrants of this earth. Thou reignest proudly and each day which dawns Thou paintest new with rays of rising sun And with the blood of broken human hearts The faded purple of Thy royal sheen. Be cursed tyrannical oppressor Thou! THE APOSTLE 57 As Thou denied me I deny Thee now! I am no more thy slave, take back the life Which, — as it were charity's kind alms, — Thou gavest me. Give it to some one else. Let some one else endure it if he can. I hurl it back at thee. Oh, that my throw Might break it like a piece of useless clay." The prisoner shrieked so loud this awful curse It seemed to frighten e'en the darkness which Surrounded him. Insanely furious He knocked his head against the wall. The wall Resounded with a thud as if it had Been wounded far more than the bleeding head. There lies the prisoner upon the stone. He is not dead. He lives. His bitter life Is so welded to him as is inbred The most appalling pain to his poor soul, And endless darkness to his prison cell. XVIII. Ten years he had been now within the four Vvaiis of his prison cell. Out in the world e'en Ten years are a long stretch of time. Far more Far more, within that dreadful gruesome place. His beard and hair grew to uncommon length And often he would try to see if they ■■••* - Gray had become. He always found them black, r l hough they were white, as white as is the snow, The darkness showed him but one color: black. Ten years were gone. These ten years were to him: One long, one endless night. He always asked Himself: When will.it dawn? From time to time It seemed to him as if he had been there A hundred years, yea, e'en a thousand years, That long ago the judgment-day had passed, The world destroyed, — this prison only left, 68 ALEXANDER PETOFI In which by chance he had forgotten been. AH passion in his heart had long since died, He nevermore cursed God, ne'er thought of him, Even the woe within his heart had died. But now and then, when from his dreams he rose, He'd weep, because the apparition which He recognized to be the spirit of His love-adored, — faithful beyond the grave — Had called again and then often again. But e'er as soon as from his dreams he woke, The beauteous phantom disappeared and he Heartrendmgly would moan and groan and weep. But why, — he asked himself — icomes not my son? Did I not have a son? Could he not come? And to himself he then would answer thus: "My son is surely yet alive, but still He can not come, for those can only come Here w,ho are dead and only you can come, Beloved angel mine! My son's alive And is to manhood grown. Oh, how I long To know what has become of you, my son, My poor beloved orphan boy. Who knows What end he came to by the force of fate? He may a robber have become and 'neath The gallows buried lie. Or followed he 'My footsteps and like me a prisoner now, Right here, my neighbor he in near-by cell? My son! my son! do you your father love? Do you remember me my darling son But hark! what's this? A voice unheard till then. The prisoner listens, with tense nerves he lists, Dares not even breathe; what reached his ears Unlocked his pent-up soul as sunrays ope The budding rose. A smile showed on his lips, The first smile during all these long ten years. A bird has come to rest upon the wall Of his forsaken prison, 'neath the small Blind window, where it sang its doleful lay. THE APOSTLE 69 How sweetly did it sing! The prisoner said, — Or did he only think it, being scared, That with 'his loud speech ,he might chase away The welcome visitor whose song he heard — "Oh, God! how sweet it sounds! In all these years Never yet have I heard the songbird's voice Ring out to cheer me here and I have been Here many a year. Sing! sing again sweet bird, Thy song reminds me of my former life. Reminds me, even now I am alive, Reminds me of the days now long since gone, The springtide of my life, of which fair spring's Comely flower is ouV youth's first love. Thy song reneweth all my heart felt woe, But sweetest solace does it also bring, And woe, by consolation assuaged Is sweeter then the pleasures we enjoy. Sing on, my little bird! W'ho sent thee here, Who told thee to alight upon this wall On wlhidh ere this naught else but curses fell? But oh, ye heavens, a presentiment Which comes to me and overwhelms my thoughts, Forbodeth an event which might occur And if it does, might kill me with its joy. It tells me that now I shall soon be free, That not within this pest-hole will I die, But die beneath God's dome, the beauteous sky, Thou little bird upon the wall, who art An unrestricted wanderer who roams All o'er the earth in God's free air, thou art A messenger anouncing freedom's dawn!^ Yes, I have hopes, your coming augurs bliss. Be strong, poor heart which sorrow could not crush, ' Let not the coming joy cause thee to break. The world has weary grown to bear the yoke And shakes it off, will of its shame be freed, Will justice do to those who suffered much For freedom's cause, will ope the dungeon-cells, And tears of joy will greet the martyrs freed. 70 ALEXANDER PETOFI Thou little bird upon the wall who art An unrestricted wanderer who roams All o'er the earth in God's free air, thou art A messenger anouncing freedom's dawn." A rattling in the door-lock is now heard, The bird — affright — takes to its wings. The door Is opened wide, the jailor entereth. "Go, you are free", he to the prisoner said. The prisoner shrieks out a joyous shout Grasps at his head as if to make sure That it burst not or that his brain escape. "I have it yet", — he cries with childish glee, "I have it yet, my brains, not insane I! I understand! I have my freedom gained. The country's safe, my fatherland is free!" The jailor with a scowl but says to hdm: "What do you care about a fatherland, Thank God that you are free and go now home." The prisoner, though, heard not a word, his mind Had wandered o'er the distance league on league And sought the grave where rests his wife, "To thee, beloved soul, I shall go -first." He said. "To thee beloved one I go first, As thou hast come to me. I'll kiss the earth Which gave thee rest. Ah me! how long it takes To break these chains, the minutes which it takes To file them off are harder to endure Than have been all these years of suffering." XIX. The mother's nursing milk no baby takes More eagerly than he inhaled the free Air wihidh he won. Each of his breaths, it seemed. Took from his weary soul one painful year. He felt re-born, restored, and light as light THE APOSTLE 71 As does the butterfly. His mind took wings And over nature's verdant fields, — his heart's Sweet recollections of the past — it flew. The balmy, pure air made him young again, Built up, renewed the vigor of his soul, His body, though, remained infirm and old, With staff in hand he drags his steps along. The zephyr gently blows his flowing hair, During the ten, he had lived five score years. He reached the house the garret-room of which Had been his home. He scrutinized each face Most searchingly, but none he recognized. New tenants they, had he forgotten them? And then he made enquires if they knew A family that once, but years and years ago, Had lived upstairs, — describing his own folks. "Oh, yes, I do, I do rememiber well," A poor old woman said. "I knew them well, She was a dear-good soul, a lady fair. The husband, though, was but a godless scamp. The law forced him to pay the penalty. He was caught and then into prison thrown, And if he did not die, he still is there. The poor wife, when she learned of his arrest And that no more he would return to her: Fell in a swoon and never rose again, She died, — the poor thing, — of a broken heart. I never could make out how could she love, — Herself so good, — a worthless man like him, Love him so well that she e'en died for him." Sylvester listened to the speech he heard All unconcerned as had it been said Of some strange man. He asked whether she knew Where had been burried that good woman who Died of a broken heart, and what became Of their young son? — "I can not tell you that," — The old woman replied,— "I never saw Him since the morning of the funeral.. 72 ALEXANDER PETOFI The funeral itself, I could'nt attend, .1 had a christening on hand that day." The husband to himself said: "I shall find, I'm bound to find her final resting place. From grave to grave I'll go and scrutinize Each stone and cross until I come to hers." And to the churchyard he then slowly went, And looked at every stone and every cross. When through, he did it all over again And still again, but his beloved one's grave He never found. "Ah, well! Then all is o'er! Naught left of her, the glorious creature 's gone, Without a trace, as disappear the rays Of setting sun. The angry storm had swept The grave away, uprooted, broke the stone God be with her. and all is over now" It hurt the poor old man, it hurt him much That he her grave had not been able to find To shed the tears which still were left to him,— His sufferings had made him weep enough, — Above the earthly dust of his dear wife. He found sweet consolation in the thought That in his life the last sorrow this is, That he for evermore is done and through With sorrow and with woe, that through this life He now can roam a shadow without form, A human shape without life-giving soul. He was in error though, this sorrow was Not yet the last. When he his prison left He asked. "My country then at last is free?" To this enquiry then was no reply, He happily believed his country free. Ere long, however, what did he observe? He saw his country and the world to be More deeply bent beneath fell slavery's yoke Than e'en ten years before. Man's dignity THE APOSTLE 73 Corrupted day by day, and more and more Had grown the tyrant's all mastering strength. Had then been all in vain his sufferings? In vain the sacrifices made by hearts Surcharged with thoughts sublime? In vain Then had been all the mighty battles fought? That can not be! An hundred times No! No! This thought renewed his strength, to flames arose The dying embers of his erstwhile fire. The broken down old man became a youth, Determined, stout of will, upon his brow Decision sat, decision of great plans On the success of which depends the fate Of his own land, nay more, of all the world. The plan 's not new, already it has cost The lives of thousands, but once must succeed, And why not he? He safely hid his plans Within the deep recesses of his heart, He never even slept near other folk So that if in his sleep perchance he talked He should thereby his secret not betray, The which, if prematurely brought to light Endangered its success. He sought no aids — Not from ambition that to him alone —If once success be gained — the glory be, That he alone the mighty work shall do, But that no other human being's life Endangered be if failure come to him. In sumptuous, festive garb the city 's clad. The populace, by thousands throngs the streets, Rolls like a stream which overflowed its bed Through avenues with flags and bunting draped. Loud cheers resound, all seems in sunny mood. What is this day? What festival is held? Did God in His own image come to earth, Did with His own hand He break slavery's chains, Give back to man his long lost liberties, That such a celebration should be held? Oh, no! it is not God who walketh there, 74 ALEXANDER PETCFI "Lis but a man, but one who thinks himself More than a God, it is the haughty king! With condescending pride he walks among The crowd as does the mastiff in the midst Of little dogs, and heads and knees bend low Where'er he looks as bends the storm-swept reed, A thousand throats bawl out: "Long Jive the King!" Who'd dare among the thousands in the street Not cheer at all, or cheer for some one else? Who'd dare? One man within the. crowd did dare. His thunder-voice resounds o'er all the noise And yells and cheers of the assembled crowd. He boldly cries aloud: "Death to the King!" A shot is heard, — the King lies in the dust... Rise, coward King, thou art not hurt, the aim Was bad, the bullet did not reach thy heart, Tore but thy cloak. To whom thy life thou sold — The devil, — he saved thy life. Rise tyrant King And wipe the dust off thy pale face which shows All plainly what a coward base thou art. Who is the murderer? And where is he? He stands up straight. Oh, no! he stands no more, With blows and kicks he has been felled to earth, Half dead he lies and happy they who have The chance to spit into his wrinkled face And once again kick at his hoary head. Poor, wretched people, why heap o'er your head The curse of God? Are you not cursed enough? You crucified the Lord, our Jesus Christ Wasn't that enough? Must you then crucify All saviors who try to serve you well? Poor wretched folks! A hundred times poor race! Within a day or two a scaffold stood Upon the city-square. Condemned to die A hoary headed man, all fearless stood On it, near him: the headsman with his sword, — The shining instrument which deals fell death The gray-head looked into the eyes of those THE APOSTLE 75 Who came, — a mighty crowd,— to see him die, Whose eyes with exultation seemed to burn. One tear-drop of deep pity glistened in His own eye. He felt sympathy for those Who had with blows and kicks belabored hjm, And now rejoice to see him yield his life. With awful swish the sword sweeps through the air, The head rolls to the ground, Sylvester's head! The populace bawls loud: "Long live the King!" The headsman's men inter Sylvester's corpse In the deep grave dug at the scaffold's foot. XX The servile generation had grown old And then died out. — A new race had grown up Which with the flush of shame upon their face Spoke of their sires. They had resolved to live A nobler life. They did. A brave resolve Is all that's needful and an iron will. A new grown, dauntless generation rose, — What from their fathers as an heirloom came To them, their chains of slavery, they broke, And threw upon the graves of those who had Forged them, that the rattling of the chains May rouse them up and e'en in their graves Cause them to shriek with fear. The victors then With grateful hearts named all the heroes brave, — The great and saintly men who theretofore Had fought to free the race from slavery's bonds, And whose reward had been a shameful death. Remembered them and wove around their names Wreaths of the laurel tree, immortalized Their names in songs and gladly would have borne Their bones into the nations Dome of Fame!... Where could t/hey seek, — where could they find what long Had mouldered in the ditch beneath the shade Of gallows and of scaffold where they died? 76 ALEXANDER PETOFI CHILDE JOHN. (JANOS VITSZ) I. The summer's sun descends with burning glow Upon the hamlet's shepherd-lad below. No need for it howe'er, he anyway Feels warm enough without the sun's fierce ray. The flame of love glows in his youthful soul; A browsing herd is under his control. His sheep-skin cloak he spread upon the grass Reclining on it he thinks of his lass. Around him waves a sea of flowers bright, The flowers though do not arrest his sight. Stone's throw from him runneth a babbling brook To which with eager eyes he casts his look. He cares not for the brooklet's silver-sheen. A fair blonde maid he on its shore hath seen. He gazes at her figure full of grace, Her flowing locks, round breast and beauteous face. The maiden's skirt is rolled up to her knee, — Washing her linen sheets she would be free, — Her bare feet were a most inspiring sight To Kukoricza John's heartfelt delight. The shepherd lad, reclining on the lawn, Who could he be? Our Kukoricza John! In her, who in the brooklet laves her sheet Helen, his fond heart's pearly gem we greet. CHILDE JOHN 77 "Pearl of my heart, my darling Helen, why" — John says to her, — "dost turn away thy eye? Do look on me, beloved one, 'neath the sky No other bliss or happiness have I." "Pray, turn to me thy blue eyes' loving ray, Just for a moment, dear, thy work delay, Come to the shore, that in a fond embrace A soulful kiss I press on thy sweet face." "I'd gladly go, thou knowest, John, howe'er, I am in' such a haste, I do not dare... My mother is a stepmother and mean, She'd scold me if with thee I would be seen". This was the answer fair, blonde Helen gave, But never stops her sheets with zeal to lave. The shepherd rises then and coming near Inticingly he pleads: "Helen, my dear, "My turtle-dove, come here, do come to me. One hug, one kiss, — that's all, — I want from thee. Be not afraid, the old jade 's far away, Let not thy lover be his pining's prey." Thus he allured her with his dulcet speech, Embraced her lovingly when in his reach; He kissed her; once? Oh, no! God only knows How many times he kissed his budding rose. II. Time swiftly flies, upon the brooklet's face The setting sun the twilight's red displays. The 'stepmother at home is furious, — "Where is Helen?" — her thoughts are ominous. The mean old hag spoke to herself like this^ "I'll find out where that daugther of mine is." 78 ALEXANDER PETOFI — And added, in a no wise pleasant mind: "Woe her if idle she has been I find!" Great woe is thine, Helen, poor orphan maid, Beware! She's coming up to thee, the jade, Her big mouth opes and with a piercing scream Arouseth thee thus from thy sweet love's dream: "Thou miserable wretch, vile shameless face "Is this the way thou dost thyself disgrace? "With godless things to fool away the day! "Did ever man!... Go home! — The devil may "Enough! Kfeep still, old hag, or else beware Before you raise my wroth, and if you dare Hurt Helen, or e'en with your speech abuse, The teeth still left within your jaw you'll lose." His trembling love defending thus, he had— « The gentle shepherd lad — grown truly mad. On her tormentor casts an angry glance, Then to this threat he giveth utterance: "If you want not that I burn down your hut: Make not heavier this poor orphan's lot. Her woik is hard she is in constant dread, And all she gets from you 's a crust of bread." "Now, Helen dear, go home, thou hast thy speech If she should maltreat thee, my help beseech! And you,— old dame — you leave this girl alone You are yourself as a bad penny known." He picketh up his cloak, by his wrath stirred He parts in haste to get -back to his herd. When lo! He finds that while he was away Some of the cows of his had gone astray. CHILDE JOHN 79 III. The sun already touched the earth when John Could with the herd he Tiad together drawn Start toward home. Did wolves or did a thief Pillage, while he away? Great is his. grief. Whatever caused his loss, — e'en if he knew, It would not help, — there was one thing to do: To tell the husbandman the truth; and so He resolutely starts homeward to go. "Woe be to thee," he to himself doth say, As sad at heart he slowly wends his way. "The master 's anyhow a luckless wight, And now this loss — but I will do what's right." With thoughts like this a-preying in his mind He reaches home, right at the gate to find His irate host, to count, as wont, the drove Ere John, each eve, them to their stable drove. "Don't count them, Sir, you will miss more than one^ I can not hide the truth, the damage 's done," — Said Kukoricza John — "my heart is sore, God knows I wish I could the loss restore.' The owner took John's language as a joke, Gives his moustache a twist: "Oho! provoke Me not," he said in jesting-threat'ning tone, "Thou art well off, leave well enough alone." The truth howe'er was quick enough found out. John's master, half insane, a mighty shout Emits. Where is my pitch-fork?" is his cry, "I'll run him through, right at this spot he'll die. "Thief! Robber! Gallows-bird," he madly cries, "The ravens should scratch out both of thy eyes. Did I keep thee for this and fed thee too? Quick for my iron fork, I'll run him through." 80 ALEXANDER PETOFI "Out of my sight! Let me see thee no more!" John's master yells and curses foul he swore. A mighty bar of iron is at hand, With which he tries on John a blow to land. Now Kukoricza John was not afraid, No coward he, of sterner stuff was made: O'er twenty in a fight had victor been, Altough but twenty winters he had seen. Young, strong and bold, nevertheless he ran. Not that he was afraid of his old man, He knew that he'd done wrong, could he then stop To fight the man he wronged, who brought him up? He ran till his pursuer stopped to run, Then only was he with his swift flight done, And then he stopped, then staggered right and left, — Then ran again as of his mind bereft. IV. When like a mirror shone the brooklet's face, — Lit up by thousands stars' illuming rays, — John found himself at Helen's garden gate, How he got there, not he could e'en relate. He stopped. Upon his reed-pipe then he blew, The saddest, most heartrending tune he knew. The dew drops on the blade o'grass and leaf_ Were tears of stars which felt with him his grief. Helen already slept. In summer nights To sleep upon the front porch she delights. She was aroused by the familiar tune, She rose, goes down, and is at Johns side soon. She did not like his looks, she seemed affright, This is her faltering speech made at his sight: "What ails thee John, thou art so ghastly white As is the moon on dismal autumn night?" CHILDE JOHN 81 "Why should I not be pale? beloved one, hear? Thy sweet face I no more shall see, I fear." "Oh, John, thy looks have frightened me enough, For heaven's sake, talk not such -foolish stuff." "My heart's fair springtide, we shall meet no more, Nor will my reed again my woes outpour. This is my last embrace, my good-bye kiss, Forever I myself from here dismiss." The poor, ill fated lad then tells her all, Upon his weeping sweetheart's breast doth fall. Caresses her, but turns away his eyes, She must not see that he too freely cries. "Dear, beauteous Helen, sweetest rose, good-bye! Let now and then thy thoughts towards me fly. If thou should'st see dry stalks by stormwind borne, Think of thy roving lover from thee torn." "Dear John, good bye; go, if 'tis God's decree! Each step in life thou makest He be with thee! See'st thou a faded flower thrown away, -j Think of thy sweetheart left here to decay/' They parted as from tree-twigs parts the lea'f, Their hearts grew desolate weighed down with grief. Poor Helen weeps, the shower from her eyes, John with his flowing shirt sleeves gently dries. He started, never looked though where he went, What did he care? To be gone his intent. The crackling of the storks, the shepherds' song He did not heed, but went his way headlong. He left his home behind him long ago, He saw no more the herdsmen's bonfires' glow. When once he stopped and turned to take a look, The tower viewed him like a ghastly spook. 82 ALEXANDER PETOFI If any one then would have been near-by, He could have heard him heave a heartfelt sigh. The air is cleft by cranes which swiftly fly, They do not hear him though, they were so high. He jogged along into the silent night, The ample fur coat round his shoulders quite Distinctly flaps. The cloak is heavy, though More weighty is his sore heart's awful woe. When dawn's first rays had caused the moon to flee, The prairy-heath spread 'fore him like a sea. From east to the horizon's far off end: Before him lies the broad and level land. No bush, no tree, no blooming flower there, A dewy blade o' grass is even rare. The sun's first rays show at the right a mead, Also a pond, though o'ergrown with reed. Within the reed a long necked heron tries To find its feed of toadlet, frog and flies. Above the centre flits a fishing bird, — Swift on its wing, — its cries are far off heard. John jogged along, together with his shade And with the dark thoughts which on his mind weighed. The bright sun o'er the country sheds its light, Within John's heart though all is darkest night. The sun had reached the top a-spreading heat, It then came to John's mind 'tis time to eat. At noon, the day before, he'd eaten last; Fatigued and hungry, thought to break his fast. CHILDE JOHN 83 All worn out, — his feet could hardly drag, — Sat down, the rest of bacon from his bag He ate. The bright sun looks at him from high, A mirage views him with its fairy eye. He had enjoyed his modest feed, then went Up to the pond where on his knees he bent, The broad rim of his hat with water filled, Which he then dranlk, his burning thirst thus stilled. The pond's shore he left gratefully behind, His heavy eyelids him of sleep remind, To have a restful sleep in soft grass-bed, Upon a molehill laid his weary head. His dreams carried him back from whence he came, He held is his embrace the trembling frame Of sweet Helen, but when to kiss her tried, A thund'rous clap roused him all terrified. He looked around the field with startling eyes, Tempestuous clouds — he saw — o'erlhung the skies, So sudden did the thunderstorm grow, As his own life a-sudden had turned to woe. The world was clad in a most pitch-dark hue, It thundered loud, God's arrows lightnings flew. The channels of the clouds seemed ope to be: The water of the pond foamed like a sea. John, of his fur cloak turned the inside out, Leaned on his staff, long, strong and stout. The broadrim of his hat he turned down, The storm he viewed thus with an icy frown. As sudden as the storm had come it went, As quickly it had all its fury spent. On wings of wind the clouds were blown away: A beauteous rainbow illumines the day. 84 ALEXANDER PETOFI John shaketh from his cloak the drops of rain, And after that he starts his walk again. When on that day the sun lay down to rest: John would not yet his two feet's speed arrest.. Still on he trod, into the forest-heart; His creaking steps set birds on wings to start. He hears the raven's loud, ominous cries,... The black bird just had pecked some dead beasts' eyes. No forest, beast, or raven does he heed: John Kukoricza never lags his speed. The pale moon spreads her yellow silvery sheen All o'er the forest's narrow footpath's green. VI. Round midnight must have been the time of day, When John beheld a light not far away; Approaching closer still, he found the light The window of a house is, lit up bright. When John saw this, he mused this wise: "I think I sorely need a rest and food and drink, This surely is a tavern in this wood To rest here over night will do me good." John was in error though, 't was not an inn. Twelve robbers had th.eir headquarters within. The reason why the house was lit up bright Was, all the robbers were at home that night. Night, robbers, sword and gun — consider well — Are things which might of dangers great foretell — John's heart w^as brave and stout, he knew no fear. He entered, greeting them with loud and clear Bold voice. "Good evening, Sirs, God bless you all!" A migthy tumult rose within the hall, CHILDE JOHN 85 The twelve men rose, they reached for gun and sword; Thus spoke to him the leader of the horde: "Thou son of misery! how dost thou dare Cross o'er this threshold of our hidden lair Hast father, mother thou? Hast thou a wife? Thou wilt not see them anymore in life." John's heart, on hearing this, remained serene, No trace of pallor on his face was seen. The leader's threat had left him selfposessed, This is the answer he aloud expressed: : "Who has for aught in life something to fear "Is wise if to this place he comes not near, "But life or death, to me, are all the same, "I care naught who you are, I boldly came "And, therefore, if you can, then let me live, "And for the rest of night some shelter give, "But if .you think 'tis best that I should die "Here! strike the blow! I will not raise a cry." Said it all quietly and then stood still. Amazement does the dozen robbers fill. The chief spoke up, — but first he nearer drew, — "List', brother, I've to say a thing or two." "Thou art as brave a lad I ever knew "God made thee for a robber, good and true, "Life is despised by thee, death fearest not, "We need thee, come, and cast with us thy lot. "To steal, to rob, to Skill, that is our fun, "Our prey 's the richest by thieves ever won "These barrels are full of gold, just look around, "Come, lad, have we in thee a comrade found?" Ludicrous thoughts his quick brain vivified, Apparently good natured he replied: 86 ALEXANDER PETOFI "This day is of my woeful life the best, "That I am yours, this handshake shall attest!" "That still it better be" — the leader cried, "Let's now the bumpers fill, we're well supplied "With splendid wines from cave of priests we stole, "Let's see the bottom of our flowing bowl." They did. The bowl coursed round and round again. Wine made their heads the churchyards of their Our John took carefully but frugal sips, brain Though urged to drink, he only wet his lips. The wine brougth sleep to the twelve robbers' eyes, — The very thing on which our John relies, — When to the right and left dead-drunk they fell. John to himself said this: "This goeth well. "Good night to you, you sleep here, I suppose, "Till angel Gabriel his trumpet blows! "Revenging hundreds innocents you slew "I now shall bring eternal night to you!" "Now for the barrels of gold. I'll fill my bag. "Which I then home, to thee, sweet Helen, drag. "No more thy mean stepmothers slave thou'lt be! "I take thee'for my wife, 'tis God's decree! "Right in our hamlet I'll have built a house, "And into it I'll lead thee as my spouse. "There we shall live, life's cares behind as leave, "As lived in Paradise Adam and Eve. "But oh! my God! my Lord, What do I say? "I take with me these robbers' cursed prey? "Each piece of gold I find must be blood-stained, "WitTT wealth like that no bliss was ever gained. "I shall not touch this gold; no, not a piece, Did L my conscience would have no peace. CHILDE JOHN 87 "Bear bravely, Helen dear, life's struggle and strife, "To God above entrust thy orphaned life. When through with his -soliloquising speech, John came out with a burning light, to each Four corners of the roof applies the light, Upleaped the angry flames into the height. A second, — and the roof 's a ball of fire, The flame's red streaks leap high and higher, The smoke had turned to black the sky's clear blue, The bright moon of before showed pallor's hue. The heat, the smoke, the brigiht glow of the flame Aroused the owls and bats and forth they came, Their flight disturbed as on their wings to rise: Sways e'en the twigs of trees of larger size. The first rays of the rising sun threw light Upon a smoking pile, a ghastly sight Behold as through the wreck'd window they peep: Twelve skeletons, charred, lie there in a heap... VII. Throughout the world he roamed, through many a land, He had forgotten e'en the robber band, When, all at once, before him dawns a light, The sunrays falling on drawn sabres bright. A line of fine hussars came up the road, Their swords it were which in the sun thus glowed. The ihorses which they mount neigh, rear and prance, Proud of their charge they seem, step high and dance. When John beheld them as they nearer drew, His heart beat fast and faster still, he knew 88 ALEXANDER PETOEI Their world-wide fame. He mused and sighed: ^ , "Ah, me! Could I enlist, how happy I would be!" And when the soldiers had come nigh, he heard The leader say to him, — how his heart stirred, — "Look out, my lad, thou'lt step yet on thy head, Why art thou by such sorrow overspread?" John sighed, but said:— encouraged by the sight— "In all the world I am the saddest wight. If you would let me be one of you, I... I'd dare look in the midday-sun's bright eye." The leader said: "Consider well, my boy, We do not go just now feasts to enjoy. The Turk broke o'er the French, The French, 's our friend, That's where we go! Our allies to defend! "Why, Sir, this is still more so to my taste. Pray, let me in the fighting, line be placed; Do I not kill, my sorrow killeth me, To war! to fight! to kill! I go with glee. 'Tis true, I rode a donkey until now; — A stepherd I have been, — but you'll allow, A M|agyar I ! all Magyars ride of course, For us created God the saddle horse!" John said much with his flowing speech, but more E'en said his fiery eyes. The hussar corps A likink took to him; with welcome cheer Received him then and there; a volunteer. It would be fun indeed could it be told How John felt in his trousers: red with gold, And when his cloak upon his shoulders fell, The bright sword drew with proud and joyous yell. CHILDE JOHN 89 When John into the saddle sprang, his horse Would kick sky-high, he did'nt mind, of course, Sat in the saddle secure with grace and ease, No earthquake could him from his seat release. His comrades loved his manners and his ways, Would never stop his strength and beauty praise; Where'er they went and would in quarters lie Departing thence, the girls for him would cry. The truth about John and the girls is this: He found not one of them as fair as his Sweet Helen was, all o'er the world he met No peer of her on whom his heart is set. VIII. The army marched and marched, far, very far, And reached the centre of the land of Tar, The dog-faced Tartars lived within this land, The Magyars new: great danger is at hand. The dog-facedTartar's King spoke thus: "Hussars! How dare you come into this land of Tars? To have come here, ye madman, was too rash Do you not now, we feed on human flesh?" The Magyar's fright was great. A hundred they, Four hundred thousand Tartars' easy prey. Good fortune 's theirs, a righteous Moorish King — The Tartar's guest, — the needful heep doth bring. The moorish King was quick to take their part. He knew the Magyar people's noble heart. He traveled once in Magyarland, where he Enjoyed the kindest hospitality. 90 ALEXANDER PETOFI The Moorish King had not forgotten this. To save his friends he felt his duty is. He took his friend, the Tartar King aside To pacify him with this speech then tried. , "My great, good friend, don't hurt this people here. They will not harm your land, you need not fear: I know them well. To let them pass your land, As token of our friendship, I demand." "For your sake, comrade, I shall let them go," — The Tartar King replied; — "I shall bestow My help on them, to pass safe through my land, And everywhere receive a helping hand." Indeed, no harm had come to them, 't is true, Still, they were glad when they had said adieu Forever to the land where they could fare On naught else but on figs and flesh of bear. IX. The hills and vales of Tartar-land, — did they Look for the Hussars, — found them far away; For they had reached great Talyanland and marched On forest roads by rosemarry-trees arched. Naught happened there at all that needs be told, Except, that they encountered bitter cold. For there 't is always winter as we know, Our men marched o'er eternal ice and snow. But Magyar blood flowed in their veins, and so However cold, they bravely onward go. To warm themselves a bit, what did they do? Their horses bore on their own backs! That's true! CHILDE JOHN 91 X. And thus they came into the land of Poles, Then into one the Indian controls. For France and India are adjacent lands, — The dangerous road between them though commands The greatest courage, as you'll see from this: The centre of the land but hilly is. But then the hills grow step by step, — so high That at the borders they reach to the sky. Of course, the army here perspired much, The men took off their cloaks, neckties and such. By the eternal! Was'nt the burning sun Away from them but just an hour's run? They did not eat aught else but chunks of air, It was quite hard, each man bit off his share: How they obtained their drink was really fun: They wrung a cloudlet and the trick was done. They finally had reached the mountains' top. It was so hot, that they were forced to stop To march in day time, so they walked at night, This too was dangerous, their horses might — They feared, — e'en stumble o'er the shining stars. — Stars in a rider's way, his progress bars; — John mused: "Whene'er a star shoots from the sky, " — 'T is said — it means a human life must die. "Thy fortune 'tis, mean step-mother below "That I, which is your life's star do not know. "For if I did, you'd torture her no more, I would kick your star out of heaven's door." Then the descent began and soon the land Would into fields of wide lowland expand, The heat abates with each step they advance, And ceases when they enter into France. 92 ALEXANDER PETOFI XL France is so fine a realm, she justifies Her name: a new Canaan, a paradise. The sweet tooth of the Turks ached for the land, They reached for it with thievish, murderous hand. When our Magyar Hussars arrived, they found Them hard at work — the robbers — all around. They robbed the church, the altar and the grave, And stole the wine from cellar and from cave. Found burning cities' flames light up the sky And countless dead and wounded meets their eye. The King was driven from the royal quarter, And stolen his beloved, only daughter. Our men thus found, just by a lucky chance, The homeless, roaming, exiled King of France. And when the Magyar Hussars met him thus, They shed for him a tear, real dolorous. The exiled King thus spoke to them: "Is not " — My ifriends — my share in life a cruel lot? "With Darius' wealth my treasures could compete, "Extreme want is now mine in my retreat." To cheer him up, the leader said to him: "Don't worry King of France, we are in trim, "We'll meet the heathen horde, we'll make them dance "For daring thus to treat the King of France. "To night we'll take a rest, we need a rest, "The road was long we feel somewhat depressed; "To-morrow morning when the sun shall rise, "We'll reconquer for you your Paradise." "But how about my child, my daughter fair," — Laments the King, — "where is she! Where? CHILDE JOHN - 93 "A Turk carried her off; upon my life! "Who brings her back receives her as his wife." By this fine speech the Hussars were inspired, The heart of each with golden hope was fired. One great resolve causeth each heart to stir: I'll bring her back or else I'll die for her! John Kukoricza was. the only one Whose mind, — from what he heard, — no fancies spun. John's mind was wandering, far, far away... He thought of sweet Helen, his darling fay. XII. As is his wont, next morn the sun arose But ne'er yet did he witness scenes like those He saw that morn the moment he appeared, Just as the bars of th' earth's horizon cleared. The army bugle sounds, the trumpets blare, The boys are up and for the day prepare. Their swords are bright and sharp, and then ' of course Well gromed and saddled is each Hussar's horse. With might and main the French King would insist, That he too would them in their, fight assist: The leader though, a thoughtful man and wise, _ Thought best to give the King this sound advice: "Not so, my gracious King, you stay behind, Age has your strength and vigor undermined. I know, that still to you your valor 's left, But what's the use if of your strength bereft? First trust to God, then us, that's all, I pray, We pledge ourselves! ere over is the day 94 ALEXANDER PETOFI We'll rout your foes and from your lands have. thrown, And you'll resume your ancient royal throne." The Hussars then into the saddles spring, Go forth the Turk to find; they shout and sing. A herald send ahead to tell the Turk: To be prepared for this day's heavy work. The herald returns. The trumpets sound a blast One mighty cheer! The fight is on at last! The clash of steel, the Magyar's lusty yell, Their warcry is which does of valor tell. They drive their spurs into their horses flanks, The eartlh vibrates as onward rush the ranks. Or was it, that the earth's own heart beats loud, Aghast at deathly blows dealt by that crowd? Seven horses' tails adorn the Turkish chief. His pouch is big enough — is your belief — To hold a barrel of wine, his nose is red, Looks like a ripe cucumber, — people said. The awful bellied Turkish Chief gave then The sign for the assembling of his men. The Turkish force lined up as if at drill, When our Hussars rushed at them with a will. That rush howe'er had not been children's play Terrific was the turmoil of the fray. The fighting Turks perspired their very blood, The green field soon was soaked by red sea's flood. O, holy smoke! The day was hot! O my! The Turks' dead bodies lay a mountain high!! The mighty bellied chief though still alive, Tried John to reach with his swords vicious drive. Our John did not regard this as a joke;. Parried the thrust and to the Chief thus spoke: CHILDE JOHN 95 "My friend! thou art too big for one, let's see, Can not this blow of mine make two of thee?" He did what he had said that he would do, And actually cut the chief in two — The two halves fell from the perspiring horse To right and left neath John's blows mighty force. Their chief's fall made the coward Turks affright. Presto! they turn around and took to flight. They ran, and even now they still would run Had our pursuing men the race not won. Our men came up to them; a carnage spreads, Dandelions in-bloom like drop their heads. One only Turk escapes, that is he tries, Our Kokoricza John after him flies. It was the Pasha's son who sought by flight To save .himself; there 's something white Seen in his lap. It was the French Princess — Unconscious, in a faint, and motionless. It was a while till John had him outrun. "Stop, heathen" — yelled to him, — "or just in fun I cut on that mean frame of yours a hole Through which to hell can pass your worthless soul". The pasha's son howe'er would not have stopped, If not, at last, his race-horse had not dropped. The horse dropped dead. The Pasha's son began To plead for mercy, thus his prayer ran: "Have mercy on me, Sir! brave noble" Sir! If nothing else, my youth should your heart stir To generous sympathy! O, let me live! All that I have, for it, I freely give!" "Keep what you have, your worthless life keep too, I am too good to kill a scamp like you. 96 ALEXANDER PETOFI Be off! and tell at home what was the fate Of the mean robber horde found in this state." He then alights, comes to the princess nigh Looks into her most beauteous lustrous eye Wthich, coming to herself, she oped amazed, To John she then a greeting like this phrased: "Dear saviour, I ask not who thou art, I simply say: I thank thee from my heart, My gratittude is thine through all my life, And dost thou care, I will become thy wife." In John's veins hot red blood, no water flowed. His heart beat fast and loud with passion glowed, Yet, manfully his feelings he subdued, His vows to fair Helen all other loves exclude. Most tenderly he to the princess says: "To thy good Dad, sweet one, let's wend our ways, Before him we will talk this matter o'er And gently he the princess homeward bore. XIII. John Kukoricza and the royal maid Came to the battlefield in the evening shade. The last rays of the setting sun — aghast — With bloodshot eyes looked on what here had passed: Saw nothing else but one great field of death And flocks of ravens it encountereth. What it beheld gave not much of delight, It dropped into the sea to shun the sigiht Nigh to that field there was a good sized lake With water christal pure. The Hussars take CHILDE JOHN 97 Themselves to it to lave therein and red The water 's from the blood the Turks have shed. The Hussars, when all spick and span each man, To his palace escort the French King then. The royal home was not too far away With ease they reach it ere the close of day. Just as the army reached the royal fort, John Kukoricza too arrived at court. The beauteous princess who walked at his right Looked like nigh to a cloud a rainbow bright. When the old King saw her he loved best, Wth joy atrembling fell upon her breast, He shovered kisses on her rosey face And said, — still holding, her in his embrace: "My happiness is now complete, and now Let some one call my good old cook, I vow You all must hungry be; now let us dine, You, heroes of the day, are guests of mine."' "My King!"a voice is heard — "here is the cook! You need not wait; I the precaution took, All's ready and in the adjoining hall . ; *f : A truly royal feast awaits you all!" The voice of the cook was pleasant to hear: Like music to the Magyar Hussar's ear. They did not wait to be pressed very long, And soon around the laden tables throng. As merciless as with the Turks they were They with the dishes dealt which they found there, No wonder, they had grown hungry indeed: All day at work on their heroic deed. Around and 'round had gone the well filled bowl The King arose and from his lips then roll 98 ALEXANDER PETOFI These words: "Ye heroes brave, draw near I pray Because of great import is what I say." The Magyar Hussars with attention list. None would a word of the King's speech have missed. Who first pours down a drink, his throat then clears, T-his is the speech which then the company hears: "First tell me what's thy name, young heroe brave. YV\ho my beloved daugther's life didst save?" "John Kukoricza is my honest name, Tis rustic, true, 1 bear it with no shame!" This was John Kukoricza's prompt reply. Still prompter these words from the King's lips fly: "I now rechristen thee! Henceforth thy name As Childe John shall be known, I now acclaim!" "Childe John, thou saved my daughter's life to day Thy bravery deserves the richest pay. Make her thy wife, when as my son art known: I in thy favor shall resign my throne. "Since I am King, many a year has flown And as you all can see, I've hoary grown. The royal cares weigh heavy on my head, He shall be King who doth my daugther wed." "I place upon thy brow my royal crown, I only ask that thou, when I step down ■ Assign to me right here a room where I Might live in peace near thee, until I die." This was the speech the Magyar Hussars heard, The heart of all was with amazement stirred. The words our John most forcibly impress, Fie tries his heartfelt thanks thus to express: CHILDE JOHX 99 "I thank you, Sir! I do not merit though The kindliness which on me you bestow. Though to your goodness I'm most sensitive, I must refuse the rich reward you give." "In a long story I would have to tell The reasons which my 'T can not" compel. The telling of the story would intrude On your patience and I hate to be rude." "Speak up! tell us thy reasons, one by one, We'll gladly listen to thy speech, my son." The King to John encouragingly said. Who then before them his life's story spread. XIV. "Well, how shall I begin? And, first of all Why people me "John Kukoricza" call? A foundling I, — was in a cornfield found And Kukoricza call myself was bound. A wealthy farmer's kind, good-hearted wife — 'T was often told me in my later life — On passing through the field heard baby-cries, And in a nearby furrow she espies Poor me, wrapped in a rag and crying loud, She took me up and to herself she vowed: "Poor waif, I have no children of my own, As my adopted son thou shalt be known." The good old woman had a husband though, Who was not pleased and his dislike would show, Whene'er he saw me in her care, he'd swiear Blasphemous ouss words which the household scare. She tried it hard his wrath to pacify: "Stop being angry, Dad, tell me: could I 100 ALEXANDER PETOFI Leave him abandoned in that field to die? Would mercy have on me our Lord on High? And then, dear Dad, he will be of good use Around the farm. Cows, oxen, sheep and yews Need overseers, when grown up he'll repay With good work what we do for him to day." Somehow she wins him o'er and by degrees He yields, but altough I tried hard to please, He never liked me. If in ought I failed With whip and cane I promptly was assailed. Midst working hard and thrashings had, I grew Of joys and pleasures I but little knew. The only bliss which for my life's ills paid: Was in our village lived a sweet, blonde maid. The maiden's mother soon stepped in her grave,' Her father took a second wife, and gave A stepmother to her, and then he died. To that stepmother thus her life was tied. That maid has been my joy amidst my woes, Upon my thorny life the only rose; I loved her, by her sight I was enthralled, The orphans of the village we were called. E'en as a boy, could I to her be nigh, I would not have preferred a piece of pie. The Sundays were my only days of joys, I could then play with her amidst the boys. When I had grown a good sized lad to be And felt to have a heart which warmeth me, And I could kiss her: Well; for me, the world Could crash and into nothingness be hurled. Her wicked stepmother oft punished her, — iMay God ne'er pardon her, — I tell j^ou-Sir, CHILDE JOHN 101 I often had to come to her defence, My threats alone checked her ibrute violence. From bad to worse too went my own affairs, My dear old benefactress died. Death spares Not e'en the best; she found me and to me A mother good and true .had tried to be. Hard is my heart, in all my life I ne'er Shed many tears, but at her death, despair Seized me, my feelings I could not restrain, The tears I wept were like a shower of rain. My sweet Helen, my blonde-haired darling too With sorrow genuine shed not a few Most heartfelt tears. The dear departed soul Had been most kind to her, did oft console Her in her misery, would often say: "Just wait! I'll make you each other's one day, You shall be man and wife and I declare Our village ne'er will see a finer pair." And sorely we the happy days await. She would have brought about our married state, (The dear old soul e'er kept her given word,) Ah me! she died, and now is sepulchred. And so it came about that when she died, We two were forced our hopes to cast aside. Still while our hopeless cause we would deplore: We loved each otiher more than e'er before. But God Almighty willed it otherwise Our only bliss — to meet — He e'en denies! Some of my flock I once let go astray, My master thereupon drove me away. To my beloved Helen with tearful eye And throbbing heart I said my last good-bye. 102 ALEXANDER PETOFI 1 wandered through the world without an aim, Until at last a soldier I became. 1 never told Helen, that she remain Mjy own sweetheart until we meet again. J never told her 1 shall faithful be. No pledge was needful for our loyalty. Give up all thought of me thou fair princess. Because if sweet Helen 1 can't possess: This heart of mine on no girl will be set Should even death to call for me forget." XV. This is the story which our brave John told, His hearer's hearts it could not have left cold. The princess' face is all suffused with tears, From pity and regret at what she hears. The king then says to him: Dear boy, I see. Thou can'st not marry her, thou art not free; I want to pay though, my gratitude's debt. With a refusal 1 must not be met. The king then opes his treasury's big door. And for a servant calls. With precious ore The biggest bag — as much as it can hold — Is filled. John ne'er in his life saw so much gold. "Well, John. "the king then said, '"thou saved her life, But inasmuch thou can'st make her thy wife: This bag of gold shall pay then what I owe, Good luck to thee and thy bride it bestow!" "I would detain thee, but I know 'tis hard, Thy prompt return to thy love to retard. Thy comrades must remain, thou go, my boy! I want them first some feasts I'll give enj-oy." CHILDE JOHN 103 The king had guessed aright our brave John's mind: To start at once for Helen's home he pined. He bid tender good-lbyes to all around, And in a boat he'll soon be homeward bound. The king, his friends, all took him to the sea, He heard all kinds "good-bye!" "Good luck to thee!" Until t'he boat in distant fog was lost Loud cheered for him the hussars and their host. XVI. The boat on which he had embarked its sails To the propitious wind set which prevails. The boat rolls fast enough, but faster still The flights of thought are which his mind then fill. These are the thoughts which now his brain control: "Ash, dear Helen, sweet angel of my soul, Hast a presentiment, does thou expect That homeward 's bound thy rich bridegroom-elect? ''Yes, I am homewards bound, so that at last We are made one. After our woeful past A loving pair will be, our ills allayed. And rich, not need our fellowbeings' aid. My patron, true, he did not treat me well; But no thoughts of revenge in my heart dwell, To him is due my present happiness. In fact, he some rewards deserves, I guess! Such is the thought whieh his mind agitates The while the boat its speed accelerates, But Hungary was still quite far, for she And France divided are by land and sea. One eve, upon the dock he took a walk. He heard the captain to the boatswain talk: 104 ALEXANDER PETOFI "Look at that setting sun, how red the sky. We'll have a storm, those colors signify." John heard the speech but did not =>eem to care. A flock of storks he saw high in the air. It was in autumn days, — they migrate. — and These birds then surely come from his own land. With gentlest lunging he luoked at the birds. As if they would good news bring him in words. Good news from her. his sweet Helen, and then Good news from home, he shall see soon again. XVI I. Just as the sunset of the eve before Had indicated it, next morn' a roar Was heard, it was the storm swept ocean's waves Whipped by the tempest which with fury raves. As usual when such awful storms prevail. Great is the fright of those then under sail, In vain their efforts are their ship to save. No help! their fate 't seems is a watery grave. Black, heavy clouds roll o'er the darkened sky, A thunderstorm breaks forth and from the high Shoot fiery sparks: the lightnings awful flash One hits the boat, which breaks up with a crash. Dead corpses and the debris of the boat Uipon the ocean's waves are seen to float. But what has been the fate of John? Did he Too, find his grave within the angry sea? He also was to his death mighty nigh. To save him, help came to him from the sky, And rescued him in a most wondrous way. So that he did not drown that awful day. ■ CHILDE JOHN 105 A rising wave had caught him and it bore Him high and nigh to where the thick clouds soar, Inere, with a jump he on one of them lands And holds on to that cloud with both his hands. And he held on and did not let it go. He saw it drift towards the shore, and so He watched, when near to land, then in a whiff, He jumped upon the summit of a cliff. He firstly prayed to God, his thanks he gave For letting him escape a watery grave. That he bis treasure lost he did not care, His life was spared, the gold with ease he'll spare. And then upon that cliff he looked around, Naught else except a griffith bird-nest found. The bird just then its brood fed, he saw plain, And lightning like a thought flashed through his brain. Most cautiously and unseen, and not heard, He drew near and then jumped upon the bird. He boldly drove his spurs into her sides, As swiftly through the air he on her rides. The bird tried hard and tried with might and main To throw him. down and thus her freedom gain. But John sat there as if held by some screw, His hands holding her neck, and on they flew! And on they flew! God know,s o'er what strange lands. One day, just as the sun his first rays sends To earth, he saw just what was his desire: It illumined his own hamlet's ohurch spire. J God's bliss was his when he that church espied. To stop his tears of joy he vainly tried. Just then the bird, to John's greatest delight Descended for a rest from her .great flight. 106 ALEXANDER PETOFI Upon a hill-top he got off from her, The bird could hardly breathe, could hardly stir. He left her there in her exhausted state, And to his home, lost in deep thought, went straight. "I bring no wealth and poor as I did start I bring to thee my faithful, , loyal heart; But this suffices, sweet Helen, I trow Thou'lt welcome me lovingly anyhow." With thoughts like these he comes to his home near Loud cries and wagon rattling strikes his ear, The clang and bang and noise is general: The people hold their vintage-festival. He looked not at who to the vineyards went. He passed to all of them indifferent. And through the village he just walked to where He knew had lived Helen, his sweetheart fair. Upon the porch, he felt his hands to shake, He hardly dared a decent breath to take. He plucks up courage, entering, he sees All strangers where he thought his Helen is. John told her who he is. She breaks in though: The while his hand again the latch-string sought. A buxom woman, with kind sympathy Asks him: "Good man. whom do you wish to see?" John told her who he is. She breaks in though! '"O. bless my heart! the sun had tanned you so "I did not know you first. Come in! Come in! "I am surprised! Let's talk! But where begin?" "Come in! God bless you John! You've changed indeed" — Into the sitting room she does him lead, And when he in her cosy armchair sat, She said: "Now, let us have a friendly chat." CHILDE JOHN 107 "Have you forgotten me? O, what a shame! I am the neighbor's little girl who came To see Helen so oft; do you know how" "The first thing tell me, where is Helen now" John breaks into her speech. The woman's eyes Are clouded -by the tears which in them rise, "Where is Helen? Oih, Dear!" — she slowly said: "Poor Uncle John, our sweet Helen is dead." 'T was well he did not stand but sat secure, The dreadful newts it wiould have felled him sure. He would not do else but grasp at his heart, As if to crush the pain which made it smart. He sat awhile mute, stunned, lifeless it seemed And then he said, — he spoke as one who dreamed: "Tell me the truth, she is to some one wed. Let her be whosio's wife, but oh! not dead!" "I could at least once more see her! If so, Less painful then to bear my awful woe. The tears a-flowing from the woman's eyes Howe'er could not the dreadful truth disguise. XVIII. Johns head bends to the table from the blow ? The fountain spring of his tears freely flow, .What she then said,— his voice broken by woe- Sounds as spoke he to himself slow and low. "Why did I not fall midst the battle's strife? Wihy to the sea I did not yield my life? Why was I born at all? That cruel fate, With thunderous blows shall make it desolate?' Slow, by degrees his grief grows less severe. —As had he fallen asleep it would appear— 108 ALEXANDER PETOFI "How did my sweetheart die? W'hat ailed my rose?" He gently asked, looked up and listened close To the young woman's tale. "List! Xo disease Killed her, but her stepmother's cruelties. The old witch though, paid for her meanness, she Died as a beggar in great misery. Your sweet Helen constantly called for you. "My dear John" was the last breath which she drew* "My darling John, 't is you alone I love, We shall united be in heaven above." Then to her endless sleep she closed her eyes. Not far from here the graveyard where she lies. All the village to her interment went, And at her grave tears of deep sorrow spent." The woman then escorted him to where Llis sweet Helen had been laid by, and there She left him with his grief. Heartbroken he Before that holy grave fell on his knee. , All mute, his thoughts roamed o'er the beauteous days When his were still the glowing, ardent rays Of Helen's eyes, the smile, the heart of her, Who how is bedded in that sepulchre. The setting sun paints the horizon red, The pale moon rises in the sky instead. And through the autumn mist a sad look gave On John, who reeling left his sweetheart's grave. But he returned. Above the grave there grew A tiny rosebmsh on wihich still a few Sweet roses he had seen. He plucked one .rose, And said to himself, when at last he goes: CHILDE JOHN 109 "Sweet flowerlet wjho grew out from her dust, We two shall faithful comrades be, I trust. While o'er the world we roam, — Yo,u and my grief — Until my longed for death brings me relief." XIX. Childe John had two companions on the road: One was his grief — his poor heart's heavy load. — The other one 's tlhe good old sword he bore, Rust covers it, the stains of Turkish gore. O'er untrod paths he wandered with the twain, The moon changed oft and changed and changed again, The wintry earth fair springtime's garb assumed, He soliloquized thus, — by grief consumed: "Tell me, o, grief, thou everlasting woe: Willt thou to torment me e'er weary grow? If thou can'st kill me, then go, tantalize Some other soul which rather sighs then dies. I want to die, if thou bringest no death, I'll see to it my life eneountereth Real danger! Come adventure! Come real strife, I gladly yield to you my orphaned life." And saying this he casts his woes away, Though, here and there-, they still on his mind prey, — He had hardened his heart, — but still, a tear They often caused in his eyes to appear. And then, — his tears would even no more flow His dreary life 's a heavy burden though, He carries it with him into a wood Where in the road a heavy cart-load stood. HO ALEXAXDER PETOFI With earthenware was filled the heavy truck. Which to the linch pin in the mire got stuck. The potter whipped the horses: "Git up! go!" He yelled a-whipping them, 't was no use though. "God bless you. Sir. good day!" John to him said. The potter looks at him, from wroth all red. And angrily responds: "The devil, Sir, Is master here, my horses will not stir." "We are not in good humor I can see!" — "How can a fellow in goo>d humor be? Since morning I my horses urge to move, Xo use, they stick as if glued to this groove." "Ill help thee soon enough, but tell me please: Where leads the road, one to the right here sees?" John asked and showed a road which crossed the wood, A few feet to the right from where they stood, "That road there? Oh! Thou leave that road alone, No man wiho ever entered it it was known To have returned, and more I shall not tell, It leads to where a race of giants dwell." John said: "Leave that to me; now let us see How can this truck of thine I move for thee?" With that he caught the poleshaft and one! two! With ease, the truck to dry, high ground then drew. The potter looked amazed and gasped and stared. To witness strength like that had him all scared. Regaining calm, his thanks he wished to say. But John had struck that road, was far away. Tohn walked and walked and ere long he beheld The country's outskirts where the giants dwelled. A swifttly running brook 's the border line, — 'T was big e'en for a river, I opine. CHI'LDE JOHN 111 A giant field-guard stood watching the brook. When John attempted in his eyes to look He had to raise his head as would he try To see the spire of a churc'h, way up high. When he, the giant guard, saw John come near, With thundrous voice, — the bellow of steer — He yelled: "1 see a man crawls in that grass, My soles just itch and if he tries to pass" I'll step on him"; and bringing down his foot To crush our John, Jotan took his sword and put It up so, that the giant stepped on it And pierced his foot and fell across the pit. "He fell just as I wanted him to fall" John, in his mind, said to himself; "the tall Mian's body serves me as a bridge" and o'er The body he crossed to tihe other shore. He was across before the giant stirred, Or ere a word or moan of his wa.s heard, Then with his sword he strikes a mighty blow, Oiff goes the head of the much dreaded foe. The field guard never rose and nevermore Stood at his post upon that streamlet's shore. An eclipse of the sun came to Shis eyes, The ligiht to see he nevermore shall rise. The streamlet's water flows and ceaseless flows, But of the giant's blood the color shows. And John? Did fortune come to him or woe? Wiithin a minute or two we shall know. XX. John marched ahead into tlhe forest's heart. The sights he met of which no counterpart He e'er throughout the wide, wide world had faced, Made him indeed to look at things amazed. 112 ALEXANDER PETOFI There was— for instance— here and there a tree So high, the crown thereof John could not see, With leaves so big, that one was big enough To furnish for a grown man's cloak the stuff. And the mosquitoes grew here to a size, As if winged oxen flitted 'neath the skies, John had enough to do and without rest He minced the beasts with which that wood was blessed. And then the crows! Oh, my! Were they not big! He saw one sitting on a far-off twig, — At least two miles away as John allowed, — And yet, that crow looked like a big black cloud. He sauntered thus a-wondering, when lo! A something makes a deep darkness to grow. This something was a mighty big, black fort, The giant king's own favorite resort. I'll not exaggerate, the doors were great, As big as. — well — I can not even state, The doors must have been big, — you'll guess with ease, — A giant king can not through small doors squeeze Himself. John was amazed. He said: I see The outside here is grand, what then must be The inside, w T hich to view now is my plan." Not thinking of the dangers which he ran He oped the door. The king and his — God knows How many sons — just dined. Do jmdu suppose You know what was their meal? You'll never guess. Some mighty chunks of rocks had been their mess. When to the dining party John came near, He thought: "I do not think I shall dine here". The giant king — as if his thoughts had. read— Goodnaturedly? Maliciously? though said: CHILDE JOHN 113 ''As long as yon are here, come then and eat These rocks here are a good-enough square treat. If you refuse of our meal to partake Of you yourself our desert-dish will make. John did not know if what the king here spoke Was meant in earnest or was but a joke He stepped up and then promptly made reply: "I never ate such meal. I can't deny, But you having invited me, I'll try To be like one of you and gratify My hunger with the rocks. Now if you please Break off that rock for me a goodl}' - piece." The king broke off a piece. Five pounds it weighed At least, and gave to John. "Be not afraid" He said, "Of this small doughnut take a bite Next course 's a dumpling, — if yonr teeth are right**.. "'Tis I who'll make you bite! To bite the' dust! You'll nevermore on man stone-dinners thrust!" With that John raised the stone and at the king He let it fly, while loud his voice doth ring. The aim was good, the giant king is slain, To right and left is spattering his brain. John laughs aloud: "You will not entertain Your visitors at stone dinners again." The giants were heartbroken at the sight Of their king's death and in their sorry plight Began to weep, — mid sobs their loss bewail, Each tear-drop of theirs would have filled a pail. The oldest then addresesd our Childe John thus: Our Lord-King! We implore you pardon us, Our loyal serfdom we are offering, But spare our lives and we make you our King!" 114 ALEXANDER PETOFI "We all assent to what our brother said, We are your vassals, you are our chosen head, Oh! do not punish us, we'll faithful be!" Such was the frightened giants' piteous plea. Said John: Tis well! Henceforth 1 am your king, To one, condition I however bring Your close attention. List! I can't remain Here with you. 1 leave one of you to reign Here in my place, I don't care who it is, But let distinctly understood be this: If I your services shall ever want You must all reach" be. 1 count upon 't." The oldest giant said then to the king: "We pledge our fealty! This little thing- Here take, a fife it is, its voice will call Most promptly to your aid us giants all." John put the fife into his bag, not e'en A-thirtking of the triumph which had been His share. Amidst "God bless you"s and "good byes" He wanders from the land of his allies." XXI. He does not know how long he walked ahead But he does know the longer he had sped His way, the darker it grew all around, Until he could not see at all, he found. "Did night set in? Did I my eyesight lose? What can it be?" John with himself would muse, It was not night, he did not lose his sight, But he had reached the 'land which knew no light. CHILDE JOHN 115 The land of darkness, where no sun, no star Shines in the sky. Howe'er this does not bar John's progress. Carefully he step by step Goes forward. Now and then a whir and flap He hears o'erhead, such as by birdflight made. No cleaving wings the cause. That land of shade Had been the witches' home since God knows when! On broomsticks riding they come to their den. The witches were to hold a parliament, At midnight falleth due the great event. The dark land's capital contains their lair, Where they assemble now from everywhere. A deep cave is the witches' meeting place. Within the cave a big fire was ablaze. The opening of a door betrayed the light, To go towards it John thought is but right. Most carefully, on tiptoes he drew nigh, Peeped through a keyhole and tried to espy What's going on within that cave. He saw Things which a less brave man would fill with awe. Of mean old witches a great number's there. A curious concoction they prepare: A-boiling frogs, mice, rats and human bone, Snakes, tales of cats, grass 'neath the gallows grown. But who could tell it all what John had seen? It dawned at once on him: this devilish scene Must end. While in his mind the means he sought To do it with, there came to him a thought. He tried to take out from his bag the reed, With w'hich the giants to call he does now need. By chance he knocked his hands against a thing — What could it be? he was considering. 116 ALEXANDER PETOFI He found it was a pile of brooms on which Had come a-riding through the air each witch. He grabbed the brooms and hid them far away, — A witch without her broom is lost for aye. Then to the cave came back and blew the reed. The call his giant vassals promptly heed. "Thank you my lads! Now break into this hole, Kill all you find in there, save not a soul!" There was a hoydido within that cave, The witches shriek and tried themselves to save. They seek their brooms, — by flight to reach the air- Without their brooms they knew death is their share. The giants did as they were bid, each man Got hold of one witch as for life she ran, With wrothful ire her to the ground does throw, Her corpse spreads out as spreads a baker's dough. A thing remarkable occured. Whene'er A witch was killed, the darkness of the air Would yield to light and with each deathly blow The day would bright and always brighter grow. The air with almost noonday's light was filled, The very last witch still was to be killed, — Our John in her that witch encountereth, The stepmother who drove his love to death. "Tis I" — cried John — "through whom her mean life ends!" And 'boldly takes her from a giants hands. She slips however from his hold and lo! She runs away; and though by no means slow, Her fight is vain. "Swift as the wind" — John cries — "Run after her and see that she too dies." CHILDE JOHN 117 His word is law, she soon 's caught by f her hair, With mighty force is thrown high into air. And thus the old hag's dead body was found Near John's old home where it fell to the ground. As all men hated her without restraint Not e'en the crows would croak for her a plaint. The land of darkness changed to one of light, Bright sunshine followed everlasting night. A bonfire to be lit was caused by John And all the witches brooms were burned thereon. Then to his giant friends he bids good-bye, Appeals to them his hopes to justify; They promise him his orders to obey, And he and they then went upon their way. XXII. John roamed about, here, there and everywhere, He felt relieved e'en of his woe and care. Did he look at the rose pinned to his breast It did him not with painful thoughts molest. He bore that rose, he bore it near his heart. —Plucked from fair Helen's grave, it was a part Of her sweet self, — to look upon that rose, Brought to his mind sublimely sweet repose. He strolled and roamed. The sun which had shone bright, Was way down in the West, a beauteous sight Of scarlet twilight illumined the sky. — — The pale moon's yellow tinge appears on high. He strolled and roamed, — the moon too had declined. — At dead of night, exhausted, he reclined 118 ALEXANDER PETOFI His 'head upon a mound, refreshing rest To find in good night's sleep his only quest. He fell asleep upon a grassy heap, Not knowing even, that where he does sleep A graveyard is, an old abandoned yard, The graves of which showed plain their struggling hard With father time! At ghastly midnight's call, From open graves — the mounds are yawning all, — Pale ghosts, clad in white sheets leap forth. The Earth, It seems, gave to these apparitions birth. To dance, to sing the crowd of ghosts began. The earth is tremibling 'neath their feet; that can However not disturb John in his sleep, In peaceful dreams he rests upon that heap. A passing ghost espies him lying there. "A man!" "A man alive!" yell fills the air. "Catch him!" "Carry him off!" "How does he dare To enter our own sacred churchyard square!" The ghosts drew near, encircle him, when lo! A call retounls! A cock was heard to crow. That sound gives notice to the ghosts, we know, That back, into their graves, they swift must go. John also woke up from the rooster's call. He rose, chilled to the bones; above the tall Grass of the graveyard blew a biting breeze, He's off; a brisk walk shall his chillness ease. XXIII. John walked along a mountain's , highest peak, The first rays, of the sun just touch his cheek. The beauteous sight caused him delight most keen, He stopped to view this truly pompous scene. . CHILDE JOHN 119 The morning star was just about to fade, Its soft rays no more any light conveyed, It died away like an escaping sigh The moment when the sun rose in the sky, Rose in the sky ablaze with golden hues And gently the smooth ocean billows views, Which billows, so it seemed, were still asleep While into infinite space rolls their- sweep. The sea was calm, but on its surface sport Some tiny golden fish of divers sort. And when the sunrays touch their scales, it seems That rarest diamonds spend their lustrous gleams, A fisher's hut stood on the ocean shore, The fisherman was old, four score or more. The man was just about to cast his net When John addresses him: "Old man! My debt Of gratitude to you would boundless be, If you would kindly row me 'cross the sea. I'd gladly pay you, Sir, but I am poor, I can you but of heartfelt thanks assure." "My son, e'en were you rich, you could not pay," — The old man said in kindly, gentle way, — "Whate'er I need in life: this mighty sea, My fishing net, will e'er provide for me. Biut tell me, my dear boy, what brings you here? This is the sea of seas; — Ito make it clear: It has no other shore, you therefore see No wealth could make me row across the sea." "The sea of seas" cried John, "then all the more Desirous am to reach the other shore. I'll get across! But how? Oh, well! I know! Into my famous reed I'll have to blow." 120 ALEXANDER PETOFI A shrill loud call he gives upon the reed. One of the giant lads gives promptly heed. "Can you wade o'er this sea? and if you can Then wade across with me right now, my man '"Can I wade o'er?" — The giant laughs in glee, "This is no sea, this is a pond for me. Sit on my shoulder, to my hair hold on, I'll safely wade across with you, King John!" XXJV. The giant carried John with mighty strides, With each step over many miles he rides. He carried him three weeks with awful speed, The other shore to reach though not succeed. One day, John in the mist of far away Perceives a something: "There is land!" with gay Good humor cries. "We are there in short while." The giant answers though " 'T is but an isle." "An isle?" asks John, "what isle? some details give." "It is the isle whereon the fairies live, Fair Fairyland! Beyond it is the end Of all the world and boundless naughts extend." "Wilt then, my faithful vassal, take me .there? I am eager to see that land so fair." "I can do that," his giant guide's reply "Your life though is in danger if you try To enter Fairyland. Terrific things The entrance guard and every step brings..." "Just take me there, never you mind my lot. We'll see if I can enter there or not." CHILDE JOHN 121 Having thus told the giant to obey, His guide submits, has nothing, more to say. He bore him there and put him on the coast, Then starts for home and soon to sight is lost. ' XXV. The Fay's first door was guarded by the strength Of three wild beasts, with claws of half yard length. With some exertion, true, but John soon had The three great beasts before him lying dead. "For one day's work this is enough," John thought. Sat down upon a bench and some rest sought. "To night I take the rest I feel I need, To morrow to the next door I proceed." He did as he had thought that he would do. Next day 'he to the next door nearer drew. The work whic'h here awaited him 's more hard: Three fullgrown, fierce lions made here the guard. He rolled his sleeve up, drew his good old steel, And soon he made the three wild lions feel His wondrous strength; the fight was fierce, when o'er, The three wild beasts lay dead before that door. His conquest thrilled with eagerness his breast. Unlike of yesterday, he sought no rest, But wiping off the sweat which from him pours He steps up to the third one of the doors. Oh Lord! Forsake me not! The guard to fight — It makes one's blood congeal, the awful sight; — Here, is a dragon-serpent with a jaw So big, that six live oxen it could gnaw. 122 ALEXANDER PETOFI John was not only brave, but we shall find, That he had brains, had a resourceful mind. He saw, his sword is here of no avail, "He sought a mode the monster to assail. The monster opened its jaw to pounce upon, To tear to pieces and to swallow John. What did he do? He's bound that beast to kill. Into its throat he jumpeth with a will. When once within the beast, he drew his knife, And stabs the monster's heart, that kills its life. The beast howls out a groan, a moaning breath — And then lies still when overcome by death. It took our John additional hard work To bore a hole through from within. His dirk Was strong and sharp, he crawleth out soon and Lo and behold! He enters Fairyland! XXVI. In fairyland the winter is not known. They live in everlasting springtide's zone; No sunrise and no sunset has the day Eternal dawn's soft scarlet hues at play. The fays and fairies in enduring jog Live lives which ills or death can not destroy. They need no food, theirs is a ceaseless bliss They only feed on love's inspiring kiss. The grief here never weeps, it might be though That joy makes now and then a tear to flow; And if such joyful tear drops to the earth It gives down there to a bright -diamond birth. Blonde fair}- maids a single yellow hair Of theirs draw right across the earth, and there CHILDE JOHN 123 These hairs become veins of that precious gold Which greedy men as sources of joy hold. The fairy children weave from beams of eyes Of fairy maids the rainbows for the skies. When of sufficient length, then from their home Are taken to adorn fair heaven's dome. The fairies have a couch of rose and vine, Inebriate with joy thereon recline. The perfumed zephyrs which soothingly blow, Sweet slumbers bring to fairy fay and beau. The fairest scene which mortal ever dreams, Approaches not the splendor which here gleams. When man the first time kisses maiden sweet: Then in his dream he might like radiance greet. XXVII. When Childe John entered into fairyland, Amazed 'he looked on things sublimely grand. The roseate hues almost blind his eyes, He hardly dares to view this paradise. The fairies are not scared, they do not shun Him, but with childish glee they play and run Around; with gentle speech and pleasant smile They lead him to the centre of their isle. When John saw how here all with rapture beam, He woke up as had he been in a dream. Into his heart came a sense of despair: There came into his mind his Helen fair "Here in this land, — of love sublime the home, — I all alone, alone through life must roam? Wihere'er I look is cheer and glee and mirth, Is there for me no happiness on earth?" 124 ALEXANDER PETCFI In fairyland's midst stood a pretty lake, John does himself to its fair shore betake. He took the rose which grew on Helen's grave And to this thought of his expression gave. "My only gem, part of her heart, sweet rose, What path to take, oh, do to me disclose!" With that he casts the rose into the lake To follow it was just a plunge to take: When lo! What wondrous sight fell to his eyes! He saw his Helen from the water rise. With insane joy into the lake he wades, His sweet Helen's coming ashore he aids. The lake contained life's elixir which gave New life to those who in its waters lave. From Helen's earthly dust had grown the rose, Helen herself to life renewed arose. Most eloquently I could tell you all, Exept the feelings which John's soul enthral When he his Helen held in fond embrace When he with burning lips could kiss her face! Upon her peerless beauty and her grace The faries all with admiration gaze, Not fairyland had e'er such beauty seen. The fays elect him king, make Helen queen! O'er those delightful folks in fairyland — 'With sweetheart's love caressed by "Helen's hand, His gracious majesty Childe John to day As their beloved king still holdeth sway. SIMPLE STEVE 125 SIMPLE STEVE. (BOLOND ISTOK.) f A humorous epic. "He is coming, I see him well enough. A-coming up to me, that's what he tries, I hear him full of wrath, to scold and scoff, Ne'er in my life I saw such murderous eyes, How he the horses whips! To me 'tis plain He 's after me, he runs a mighty gait, Now even he has thrown to them the rein, They must drop dead to gallop at this rate. List' my dear man, can you not be, I say, A decent fellow and leave me alone! I tell you, Sir, you let me go my way And you can go well — where the devil 's known. Is not this prairie wide enough for two? There's surely elbow room for you and me. Whey should you then persist me to, pursue, The right is yours, the left for me leave free. If you insist that I respect shall show, Why, very well, I'll be a decent chap, If you allow me but my way to go: I'll promptly doff to you, dear Sir, my cap." Thus spoke the simple youth upon the road To the terrific torrent Which come down. The pouring rain howe'er no pity showed Bait rained as if it tried that youth to drown. 126 ALEXANDER PETOFI And he, the simple youth, what did he do? The youth stood still, and musingly he stands As once great Caesar stood when Brutus drew The dagger which Caesar saw in his hands. Like Caesar he his cloak drew o'er his face... .. That is to say he would have done this thing If he had had a cloak, but in its place He wears a linen coat of last year's spring. Nevertheless, as would around his neck Two or three coats hang and a mackintosh: He stood, as stands the captain on his deck, And then, good-naturedly he says: "Well, bosh!" If you care not for what to you' I said, Then go to Jericho, we yet shall see Who will get weary first, just go ahead, I care not if you drench me with the sea. My God! my God! in all the world the best Of Christians I am, for surely none Had been baptized so soft, still I detest To feel this water down my back to run. Flow, torrent flow! I care not for the rain! Just now you try to wash a negro white, You might wash off each stitch of clothes, — that's plain, But my philosophy no rain can spite. Good humor is the cloak for man to wear, The tailor sewing it, — a Master he! And cheap?! Indeed it is cheap as air, To wear it though but few people we see." Thus mused the youth and slowly onward strolled, He laughed aloud as if it were a joke . The torrent, to revenge what 'he had told, Renewed the force wherewith the vouth to soak. SIMPLE STEVE" 127 The youth howe'er all this with patience bore, Again stood still and simply stood serene. Thought to himself, as be had thought before, To kick would 'neath his dignity have geen. At last the angry clouds were forced to yield, All of them there disperse, clear is the sky; A splendid rainbow rose on heaven's field. Did our youth's happy mood rise in the sky? "Fair rainbow," — said the wanderer, — "my word, You are as multicolored as my past, Bright as the tail of Paradise's bird, My life as bright as that be 'henceforth cast. Fair rainbow, — triumph's arc — built in the sky, In honor of the victory o>f dawn, Which made the angry torrent fly and die And which the dark coluds into shreds had torn, Fair rainbow, thou art far away from me, But farther still the town I should to day Have reached. The day is nearly gone I see, And awful is the mud upon the way. Although no prophet I, nevertheless One thing I dare foretell and that is this: The girls in town will be in great distress, Because the chance to admire me they '11 miss. The dear girls know of course "how great my grief, I can not help it though, what can I do? If I had wings! That would be prompt relief" I'd fly as does that stork I yonder view. What is then to be done? To pass the night Here in the field, I promptly must decline, Drenched to the skin no man can find delight, To stay outdoors his health to undermine. 128 ALEXANDER PETOFI I know, they call me Simple Steve, howe'er I am not such a fool as that. I see Not far from here a house. Well, I declare! Of course, to enter it, I'll make so free. Judged by the looks it is a robber's nest, A meeting place for cutthroats and for thieves. No fear of aught need have that kind of guest Who, like myself, his gold in goldmines leaves. Behold! The chimney smokes, from this I know: A fire ablaze the kitchen-stove must hold. 'Ergo,' I may enjoy a hearth's warm glow, "Come, eat with us!" — I might be even told. Is it not happiness, — fa perfect bliss, — That I of logic am not ignorant, Or else this reasoning I'd surely miss, The praise of schools I shall forever chant." It is a dreary house he nad espied Down in the prairie's heart and where the night To spend his needs and reasoning decide, "Let's go!" He says, "I do myself invite." An awful sight, No ruin quite, Is it a living- being's room, Or a dilapitated tomb? Like weeping orphan children stand around Their mother's grave, thus can a few wild trees Around that godforsaken home be found. At one time it has been the masterpiece Of clever architects, it was no mean Structure by peasant built. The iron teeth Of time had gnawed on it, the things now seen The rotteness of long decay but breathe. SIMPLE STEVE 129 The plastering is peeling off the wall, The window-blinds are loose, the wind's first blow Might cause each one of them to break and fall, No mending care did e'er they undergo. An old and lazy dog, lies at the door, Content to gnarl alike at friend or foe, That's all he does, he guards the house no more, Poor, toothless beast, relic of long ago. The servants' house is in the rear, there stands A hoary headed farmer's help, he'd work If he would work, — some tools are in his hands, — Yoke, nail and axe, to use them though he'll shirk. . All is so sad As the look at a hearse, As if it had . Been cursed by a curse. Our young friend thought as to the house came nigh : The Tartar's fell invasion 's not yet o'er, Not here at least, it seems, but what care I, E'en if Tamerlan's hordes here roar and soar. If Dzendis-Khan or any other Khan The master here, I enter all the same! I've got to sleep somewhere, I fear no man, Whate'er might be his station or his name! He entered bold, To behold A woman old. She stirred the fire with a big iron thong, Full of enthusiasm he began: ''Good evening, Rose of mine so fair and young As my dear great-grandmother is, I can" 130 ALEXANDER PETOFI The worthy old dame though breaks in his speech: "You can do nothing here! just turn around -And go! And if you don't, well, then I will teach You manners and a thing or two! Confound! How dare you enter here? This is no inn, And at this hour of day," The youth howe'er .Proceeds: "Sweet heart! I am drenched to the skin, And late at night it is, else I'd not dare To enter here, therefore my dear old rose" — He could not end his say, she turned and yelled: "Get out, and get out quick, do you suppose I'll listen to your bold, unparallelled" — — — The youth howe'er stood still: "Who is the boss?" He asks, "he may grant me what you denied, I cannot talk with you, you are too cross, Let me the master see, let him decide." "1 am the master here, who asks for me?" In deep and solemn tones someone replies. The voice sounds as if from the depth of sea 'T came from a bell which at its bottom lies. The old man's head is white, as white as snow And white the moustache and the flowing beard. The forehead 's high but richly furrowed though, A figure to be honored and revered. He stands erect, a cross built on the road, The winter's snow had wrapped it in pure white. Solemnity his very figure showed, And dignity his very eyes indite. As if he were a churchyard, thus he stood, Wherein many a dead had been laid by. That joy 's the oldest grave therein one could With ease with one glance at him verify. SIMPLE STEVE 131 Lighthearted wantonness wherewith our youth - Had clad his soul, he promptly casts away, And modestly, as it behooves, — in truth Always well mannered 'he, — he turns to say: ''Kind Sir! Forgive me pray, a wanderer I, Not frozen yet — true — tout I dont perspire, I am drenched to the skin, my clothes to dry Believe me, is just now my chief desire. And then, if of the kindness of your heart There still is left for me a tiny share, I'd ask of you, do not let me depart, Assign to me a place o'er night, somewhere." ' 'Tis well!" he said, it was a short reply, The old man turned around and left him there. The answer though his spirit made rise high, More to expect just then he did not dare. Near to the hearth he finds a cosy seat, Contentedly he sits, enjoys his rest; A king upon a throne had not so sweet A rest as that with which the youth is blessed. ''The world is mine" — thus ran his thoughts, — "I knew I shall secure a good home for the night, And looking at my case in proper view: A good square meal too shall be my delight." Such thoughts and thoughts like these went through his mind, A thousand funny things he thought that eve. Why should he not have day-dreams of this kind. Was he not known by name as "Simple Steve?" Whate'er has been and what he might expect He thought of then and there with mind awake, Did nothing 'but reflect and recollect And bold and high the flight his fancies take. 132 ALEXANDER PETCFI Then to his thoughts he would expression give, The poor old dame to listen thereto bound; Not yet in ilfe, as long as she did live Had she heard man such funny things propound. He said enough to load three wagons full, — —Three big hay-rigs at that; — once in a while The things he said entered even the dull Mind of the dame and caused that she would smile. Ah! long ago it was that she smiled last. Her giggle sounds as when a rusty key Is moved in rusty lock wherein held fast, But happy she, it was easy to see. That not too long I draw the story out, Let me report. The greyhead came and said "Young man! Gome eat with me!" and then without Another word, sat at the table's head. The youth, when at the second time his plate He had piled up, felt that his mind ran thus: Mistress Methusalem indeed is great! Who thought she'd cook such fine supper for us! This is a royal feast, a pity though That we, enjoying it, sit mute and dumb. I'll entertain him with my speech, I owe This much to him, whate'er of it may come. "Kind Sir! my honored host: most excellent The things we eat, but all have one great fault. If you think it is not impertinent 1*11 point it out: they all are lacking salt. No! Not that salt! I mean another kind Of salt which of our meals the choicest season: It is the pleasant speech, and you will find In what I told you there is solid reason. SIMPLE STEVE 133 The very fish we ate, saw they how mute We sit around would mock and laugh in glee. Not a death-chamber this? To execute To morrow one of us, — not you, not me, — No hangman waits. Silence is half a death. I almost fear always silent to be. If you, dear Sir, howe'er want save your breath, To do myself the talking I'll agree. And I can talk on history and art, On agriculture and astronomy, Zoology and of the human heart, On heaven and hell and plain anatomy. Known is to me the North, South, West and East, In royal palaces I have dwelled, Have lived in beggar's hut and fast and feast To me, my fate in every form had dealt. Just tell me, Sir, whereof shall I now speak?" The grayhead's answer shows his heart how sore, He says, the while his eyes the distance seek: "For naught in life do I care any more!" "Please, my dear Sir," — the youth broke in — "say not These things, you sin against God if you do. Ah! fair and sweet is life He did allot To us, why then shall you His gifts forego?" "What? Life is sweet and fair?" the host replies And shakes his hoary head, "Not so, my boy; If it be sweet and fair 't is but the prize Of very few. l\ T o! No! Life is not joy! If you the burden of three score ten years — Of eighty years shall once bear in your heart, Which time not e'en a faded flower endears. Which years not one sweet memory impart, 134 ALEXANDER PETOFI When life's tree 's about to fall and you Can't say that even once to its twig flew The bird of happiness, e'en once you knew It singing in its branches, on which grew The fruits of agony of soul and mind, Which hang on them as men on gallows hang: Wilt then, my boy, say, will you still it find That you were right when you life's praises sang? My youth saw winter's rage, Can you, for my old age, A spring's blossoms presage? Ah! Once I loved, an angel she had been, So fair and sweet and pure and born on high! Mud threw at her malignity most mean. On earth, — a dunghill, — she lay down to die. My spring of life having no flowers known, The ghosts of my despair I bravely dare, And full of hope await the fairer zone Of summer's sun and fruitful autumn's air. Both came, both passed, — what did they bring? If 1 To tell it all now here would undertake: The tale would surely bring tears to your eye, Nay more, my boy, the tale your heart might break. The short contents of my long out drawn woe, Here are they, list: two children in the grave, One son is still alive, for this one though I weep no more, he is an outcast knave. I cast him off. Ten years I have not seen That son. Ten years the world 's a blank to me, Since then but one desire in me is keen: ' Within mv coffin laid to rest to be. SIMPLE STEVE 135 I settled my acccount with life, what more Wants it of me? Why then not let me pass? Life drank my heart's blood to the very core, Then why not throw away the empty glass? Life! cursed thou art! Life! be accursed! This poor slaves's" heart Thou hast immersed Into a sea Of agony! Life! I curse thee! All in this life is cursed. One only thing There is in life which I do not detest: The grave dug in the churchyard where they'll bring My coffin once! That hole, that grave be blessed! A bliss it surely is to turn to dust And to forget our sufferings since birth. There comes relief! Death brings relief I trust From what we suffer here, our life on earth." And now he stopped this man of many years, — Of many years of suffering, — then bowed His head. The youth could scarce keep back his tears, And only after pausing long allowed Himself to speak again: To me all woe Is sacred, doubly so is that of age. I do not want to hurt, — forgive me though, — If what I sajr does not your pains assuage . Kind host, 't is for your sin you must atone, The punishment met out then bravely bear, If this be great, your sin is also known As great and serious, it is: "despair." 136 ALEXANDER PETOFI Yes, Sir, it is a sin most serious. Because it is not more — not less Than blasphemy . dark and hideous. Despair 's the voice of hell. When wretchedness- Having lost faith in God, — cries out aloud To heaven: "There is no God within thy realm. When man has such most dreadful things avowed: Should not the wrath of God him overwhelm? Should not the hand of God heavily weigh On such a man? We have in Heaven A Father who protects us night and day. Whose care divine to all mankind is given. We must trust Him. we must patiently wait, — His children on this earth are numerous, — W r e must not think ourselves unfortunate If His "first blessings do not come to us. The law is this: wait for your turn and not In vain you'll wait. Just as around the sun Revolves each day the earth, thus shall your lot In life yet be: you have God's mercy won. And none He'll miss. Came not your turn to day 'Tis sure to come the next. On this rely: Till man not happy made by God's own way, — Believe me, Sir, — till then he can not die. This happiness due to man comes never late. One drop thereof effects a wondrous feat: All former ills will promptly dissipate. A mighty sea of woes becometh sweet." Thus spoke the youth. The old man was all ear. He listened with the keenest interest. His mind takes in whatever it doth hear ■ As infants take the milk from mother's breast. SIMPLE STEVE 137 And when the youth had stopped the old man said Amazed he was, that was easy to see, — "This wisdom, friend, who put it in your head? Who are you Sir? What is your name? Tell me." The youth, — he had been serious too long, And felt that he again should have some fun, — Good-naturedly replied: "I lived among Some old wise owls, from them I won All wisdom that is mine. As to my name, I am almost sorry that you inquire, I have no home, I don't know whence I came, And a migrating bird 's my great-grand-sire. I roam throughout the world, — (now here, now there, I only lift my hat to whom I please. Hungry to be, — that is my only care, I'm the happier the more I freeze Because my future happiness the more I shall appreciate. Not to deceive You as to my true name I one time bore, I will confess, I am called: "Simple Steve," Just now, my true name though I don't know yet. Next morning Simple Steve goes to his host, To pay with pleasant speech gratitude's debt. Said to himself: "Now, Steve, pay what ow'est. "Good bye old man, when at some future day Sweet happiness is yours: remember me, Who prophesied it. that on your life's way The sun shall brightly shine, and happy be!' 138 ALEXANDER PETOFI The trembling hoary head claspeth his hand, A burning tear rolls o'er the furrowed face, "Farewell! young man, you woke in me and and From whom I well, I find no word of grace Farewell! But no! Let me say this to you: Why bid good bye? Why not remain with me? Stay here as long you care, we'll say adieu When wear}' you have grown my friend to be. Tell me again what 3 r ou said yesterday, Tell it to me an hundred times or more, To me it does a sweet message convey And helps my faith and confidence restore. You will remain with me! Say: yes! My friend." The youth replied: "Well, }^es, I shall remain! The matters standing thus, you may depend I'll see to it, that here good cheer shall reign. And if in speech like yesterday's you find Aught pleasure, well, my speech shall not run dry In hundred years" What's that? The noisy grind Of wagon wheels, loud calls and now a cry Are heard before the door. What is this noise? The old man calls: "No one must enter here!" But then there comes a maiden's silvery voice: "Not even I? Xot I, Grandfather dear?" The door ajar: We're made aware Of maiden fair, With beauty rare, Pale as a star, To have entered there. SIMPLE STEVE 139 She falls upon the old man's breast, who knows Not what it means. With kisses covers she His face, wet from the tear that o'er it flows, Midst sobs and throbs she says: "You don't know me, Your grandchild I! Like to a cross I cling- To you, with hope and faith, with joy and grief, Grandfather dear, to you my life I bring, God grant it! that near you I find relief. Protect me, pray! To whom shall I appeal If not to you! O, that I had to run Away from him, that hatred I must feel For him who is my father, is your son. It is his home from which I ran away, • He tried to force me that I marry one Whom I detest. No heart has he to flay And kill my own! Pray, let it not be done! I sobbed and wept and cried, but all in vain. My tears fell on a statue hewed of stone. Do I, dear Sir, your sympathy not gain No fate than is as cruel as my own. I understand what means that look! Oh, dear! Reproach me not, that only now, when I In direst need, I thought of coming here, That I, — because I must, — to you now fly. Misjudge me not! An hundred times would I Have gladly come, but he commanded: "No!" He said: you loved no one, are shy and hie Yourself from us because you hate us so! Now I am here. Thank God, I am now here And nevermore shall I from here depart, Unless you should — unmoved ee'n by my tear, Refuse your help and thereby crush my heart!" 140 ALEXANDER PETCFI What not the grayhead tried as a reply To say! One word, his feelings to express, While not enough — as much as he would try, He could not find. — IMute is his happiness. Heartrending sobs and burning tears alone Gave evidence that he was strangely moved, Ne'er in his life he probably had known To shed tears which as joyous tears had proved. Just like two rising, overflowing streams In one great inundation meet, thus met Within his mind scenes of his life: it seems His past and future were before him set. This flood of thought held him with iron grips. Though not his life. — he feard to lose his mind- Then broken phrases rise upon his lips, She hears him say. "For you sweet child I pined I have some one to love! — I feel my hair Is turning black, no longer white as snow, I saw her once before, that time howe'er In swaddling clothes. Oh! that was long ago! How big she is! And how she looks at me! Where are you. my young friend? draw to us near. Look at this maid, my sweet granddaughter she! Come my young friend and witness my good cheer. Give me your hand, my friend, but yesterday You said, — the sentiment was fine and high. — 'Till man not happy made in God's own way, That until then. — you said. — man can not die. My grandchild comes to me with loving trust. And nevermore to leave me e'en agrees- Your father's aim I too say is unjust, His persecuting you must promptly cease. SIMPLE STEVE 141 . I shall protect you child and will defend! You need not fear, you are now in my care!" Such is his speech almost without an end, And lovingly he pats the maiden fair. Again a noise is heard. A voice betrays: The father claims his daughter at the door, The old man opes the door and proudly says: "No, Sir, you can't come in here anymore. This is no home for sacrilegious man ' Like you, a sacrilegious, heartless soul. But no! Come! Enter here, come if you can, My corpse though must first from the threshold roll. Your daughter? She is here and here remains, She is no longer yours. Without remorse You would ruin her life beneath the chains Of loveless wedlock you would on her force. Once you abandoned me, your daughter now Abandones you. — Ideal justice this! To God and His eternal law I bow: The father and the son we now dismiss! I curse you not, nor do I blessings give, Just go and nevermore come to us nigh. Out of our lives! Live as you want to live, Let us not meet again beneath the sky!" The son, crushed by the father's wrothful ire, Dare not reply, silently sneaked away. The outstretched arm of his angry sire Showed him the road and forced him to obey. There stood the hoaryhead, majestic, .grand! A figure like a pillar formed of ice In far off northern climate's snowbound land. But as the son retreats, the father sighs. 142 ALEXANDER PETOFI One deep, soulstirring sigh he heaves and sends After the son he now has lost fore'er. Then cool and calm, all is well he pretends And reenters the room all debonnair. Within the room a painful silence reigned, None of them dared or cared the silence break But finally, the youth his pluck regained And blurted out: "Tis time my leave to take. Yes, my dear Sir, I think there is no need That any longer I with you remain, There is now someone here, she will succeed Her dear, old grandfather to entertain. Wiith my good humor and my stout, good cane Let me again now go upon my way. Farewell! May happiness forever reign Within your heart old man, and yours fair May.' Then he would go. The host howe'er his hand Holds fast and gently, though to a degree Commanding voice he says: As I have planned Before between us two, so must it be. You stay right here, what was but a request Before, is now my one command. You saw My sorrows and my woe, now be my guest When love and happiness combine to thaw The ice from off my heart." "All right, I stay, And gladly stay, but one condition make;" — The youth replied. — "permit me to repay Your kindness by allowing me to take Charge of the farm and home. There being now A lady here; all must be trim and neat- I shall manage the things, yes, I know how. Leave it to me I earnestly entreat. SIMPLE STEVE 143 This house looks now as if it were the lair Or den of bear or wolf, unfit for men, And less so as the home of lady fair, Just wait until I carry out my plan!" And with a will he started to the work. The servants were aroused, — though lazy they, — Still he, a-leading them, they dared not shirk The tasks assigned and dared not disobey. Brooms, rags and scrubbing and whitewashing brush, A-boiling water, soap and kalsomine, All were to good use put and in a rush The house's inside and its outside shine. And clean and in good order are all things, The ancient dirt and rust have disappeared. The change delightful satisfaction brings To all of them, to every one endeared Is Simple Steve, who did it all. He did What he had planned most thoroughly and well. During the evening host and lady bid Him of one of his funny stories tell. His was a master mind he seemed to know By intuition what to say or do, He knew that in the field sweet flowers grow Which girls will always with great pleasure view. And knowing this he goes each early morn Into the field and gathering sweet flowers Wove to a garland wherewith to adorn The window of that pretty maid of ours. When the girl arose, Each morning a rose Of sweet hue and scent Is lovingly sent ■ — By whom? Oh! she knows! 144 ALEXANDER PETCFI Each morning a garland of flowers fair, During the day most entertaining speech; To sing his praise the host does never spare, The flowers and the praise the girl's heart reach. Thus are filled out, thus fly the hours and days, Yea, that the truth be known, the months e'en All unawares, the season but betrays: |pass It is almost a year he met the lass. There is no use to dilly-dally now, For, after all, the truth must e'er prevail. I am almost ashamed to tell it how It happened, — but it did, — a funny tale ■ It is, still a most natural event. Picked up his odds and ends and staff in hand Before his greyhead host quietly went To say something to him he long had planned. He never said what he had wished to say, As if he all at once had mute become, Stood silent, not by speech could he convey Why to his greyhead host he thus had come. His eyes, his face's red betrayd it though, The old man understood, — so did the maid At her grandfather's side, — that he to go Away from them had preparation made. The youth and maid Try to evade Each other's eye, In vain they try. They heave a sigh, And then they cry. The old man knew The wind that blew. SIMPLE STEVE 145 From the back if his guest The knapsack removed, And the maiden thought best: Conditions improved If she took from him his cane, — This would then constrain The youth to remain. And e'er since then to dark corner consigned The knapsack and that staff of his we find. Our Simple Steve is not foolish enough To leave when things stood thus. Of better stuff Are made his mind and heart. Now that he felt To be with love regarded by the two, Respected by the host with whom he dwelt And not in vain for her love he would sue: Quick his decision came- "Yes! I shall stay." The autumn came, its winds blew o'er the heathy And although rare the flowers bright and gay They culled enough for a fine bridal-wreath. When from the church they came as man and wife The dear old man but said: "Thank God of High! Dear children be as happy in your life As I am now, and happy now I'll die!" "You must not die," — whispered the groom-elect, "Your great-grandchildren in the course of time To come will too your sweet blessings expect, Don't think of death, you are still in your prime!" Years come, years go and time ceaselessly flies, Who could the other cause more happiness Within that home, one with the other vies, Their hearts are filled with thoughtful tenderness 146 ALEXANDER PETOFI And now, shall I or not describe a scene! One wintry eve, the earth covered with snow, The clouds chased by the winds, the night serene: Within the prairie in but one house glow Bright lights of burning lamps of which the flame Shines on most happy folks. The very light Trembles with joy so happy it became When it beheld that truly beauteous sight. Around, the hearth, on which a glowing fire Spreads cosy warmth, it sees a hoar}' head, A husband and a wife who do not tire To play with two fine boys, about to bed To be put by the mother, who a lullaby Xow sings to them The great-grandfather and 'The father kiss the boys. Dark is the skj' Without, bleak winter reigns, cruel, severe! Within a spin-wheel 's whirled by mother's hand, The lullaby 's a song of love and cheer. CYPRESS LEAVES FROM THE GRAVE OF DEAR ETHEL. _ CYPRESS LEAVES 149 I'LL TELL WHAT UNTIL NOW, (Elmondom mit eddig.) Til tell what until now 1 could A sacred secret keep, As hides the sea the precious pearl Within its mighty deep. My precious pearl, beauteous dove, Sweet maiden list' to me What I have felt, what were my woes, I'll now relate to thee. I deeply loved, my love though brought But misery for me, The more intense my passions grew More woe begone I'd be. My love, my grief, — twins were these two, The children of my fate, And all the time I loved thee, dear, I was unfortunate. My lips were sealed by cruel fate, I did not dare confess, Most eagerly I sought that none Should know my wretchedness. A burden it had been my mind's Condition to conceal. I often feared that crushing me It would the truth reveal. Just as the sunrays oft are hid By clouds, I also tried Thy picture sweet within my heart Most carefully to hide, 150 ALEXANDER PETOFI A light wind though will dissipate The clouds upon the high, And all the brigther, warmer shines The sun then in the sky. That some one else I love I e'en To lie had deemed it best, The lie brought gruesome agonies To my sorrowful breast. The truth now has been told, sweetheart, About my love, my woe: Will thy reply sweet sympathy And consolation show? Who art my life's redeeming cross, My life's salvation! Speak! Hast thou for me no such reply Which I ardently seek? Of course thou hast it not, thy lips Have mute become for aye: Within thy coffin dead, I now Thy tombstone hore survey. WHAT WOULD I NOT HAVE DONE (Mit nem tettem volna erted.) What would I not have done for thee My prett} r , sweet, blonde maid! E'en to submit my true love's plea My cruel fate forbade. All that I was ever allowed For thee, love, to perform: Was this, I spread the funeral shroud Over thv lifeless form. CYPRESS LEAVES 151 WHERE ART... grave-vault open break And rob him of his funeral shroud! I saw forsaken, desert lands, Where public \irtue seemed as dead; Where night did reign, where dawn was near, On herdsmen's swords a sanguine red. I looked on fallen states enslaved, Where bondsmen's shrieks one could not hear; Because their plaints and groans were killed By tyrants' laughter in the ear. Such dreams, indeed, are nightly mine; — Small marvel that it should be so! For what in visions I divine The world doth, and the world will know! How long will this dread world endure? Why is that heavenly force so slow — Thou comet long ordained — this earth From its set axis to o'erthrow? 222 ALEXANDER PETOFI CURSE AND BLESSING. (Atok es aldas.) Accursed the earth where once Grew into strength the tree, Of which the timber gave A cradle for poor me! Accursed be, too, the hand Which planted it, I say; Accursed also the nursing Dewdrops, the rain and ray. But blessed be the earth where grows •The tree in woodland shade, Of which my coffin will, In course of time, be made. And blessed be, too, the hand Which planted it; and blessed Also the rain and ray Which it with life invest. SWEET JOY. (Edes orom ittalak mar.) Sweet joy, I oft have drank of thee; What of the glass became, tell me? It broke, the goblet which I drained, And broken glass alone remained. And, bitter grief, I drank of thee; What of the goblet came to be? It cracked, the tumbler which I drained, And broken glass alone remained. SELECTED LYRICS 223 The radiant sun the heart enjoys; The darkling storm-cloud but annoys; Grief is the heart's dark cloud, I say, Which rising winds bear far away, I like a shadow am; as though About a graveyard I do go, O, days departed, days gone by, Ye are the graveyard where I sigh! And through this graveyard in- the night A firefly is my guiding light; And o'er the graves of my dead days My memory like a firefly plays. The air with motion now is fraught; A cool, faint breeze is o'er me brought; And whisperingly it asks of me, Is it not better not to be? THE MANIAC. (Az oriilt.) Why bother me? Away! Be quickly off, I say!— Great work I have on hand just now, I twist a whip with' sweating brow, From rays of sun, with which I will Scourge the world till its anguish fill The air, and I will laugh as she Laughed, mocking at my misery. Ha, ha. ha! 224 ALEXANDER PETOFI For such is life! We laugh and weep Till death brings its eternal sleep. I, too, was dead; some years ago To poison me were mean and low; Those of my friends who drank my wine, What did they do? Who can divine? While I was lying in the shroud. Embracing me, they cried aloud! I felt that I could rise and bite Their noses off, but just for spite I thought let them their nostrils keep; When I become a rotten heap And. decomposed, lie in their way. From smelling me explode they may! Ha, ha, ha! Where did they bury me? In Africa's sandy sea, This was most fortunate, for. lo! Hyena dug me from below; My only benefactor he. 1 cheated him most skilfully; My limbs he tried to chew and gnaw; I flung my heart into his jaw. So bitter was my heart that he Soon died of it in agony. Ha, ha, ha! Alas! this always is the end Of those who other folk befriend! But what is man? Tell me, who can. Some say the root of flowers fair, Which bloom above in heaven there! Man is a flower, 'tis true, whose root Down into deepest hell doth shoot; I heard a sage discuss these things one day Who. being a fool, of hunger died, they say; Instead of cramming learning in his head Why did he not steal, rob and kill for bread? Ha, ha, ha! SELECTED LYRICS 225 Why laugh I like a fool here, why? I should lament and loudly cry, The world's so bad that even the sky Will often weep that it gave birth To such foul creatures as the earth. But what becomes of heaven's tear? Falling upon this earth down here, Men tread upon it with their feet! — God's tear becomes — mud in the street. Ha, ha, ha! A hoary veteran is the sky, , The sun, and moon his medals signify, And thus the brave old soldier fares, The clouds, the threadbare cloak he wears, A cross and rag pay for his cares. Ha, ha, ha! What means the quail's call in man's tongue, When chattering in the morning young? He says of women to beware, She'll draw you sure into a snare. > s * l * Woman is a splendid creature, Beautiful, though dangerous; The lovelier in form and feature, " i The more of peril she brings us. A deadly drink she serves in cups of gold, Love's drink, to quaff I often did make bold. One drop of thee, O! what a heavenly treat! Yet from one drop such gall can be distilled As though the sea with poisonous drugs were filled! Have you seen ocean depths the tempests plough? They furrow it; death seeds are sown, I trow. Have you seen tempest, this brown ugly churl, His lightning flashes o'er the wide sea hurl ( ? Ha, ha, ha! The. fruit when ripe falls from the tree; Ripe earth, you must be plucked, I see. Until to-morrow I shall wait 226 ALEXANDER PETOFI Then, hoary earth, you'll expiate Your crimes! A great deep hole I'll dig in thee, and. on parole, I'll fill it up with powder dry And blow the earth up to the sky! Ha, ha, ha! I DO NOT WEEP (Nem sirok en.) 1 do not weep, do not complain, To tell my sorrows I refrain. But if } r ou saw my haggard face What's writ on it with ease you'd trace, And in my purblind eyes you'd see The dreadful curse which weighs on me, The miserable life I lead; — An awful curse is my life's meed. WHAT IS THE END OF MAN? (Az ember ugyan hova lesz?) .. What is the end of man? Explain to me who can: Did old Socrates After his decease From poison go, — Ed like to know, — To the same place, where Had gone hi-s murderer? This can not be; and yet... and yet; Could we a glance of the hereafter get! SELECTED LYRICS 227 WHAT IS GLORY? (Mi a dicsoseg?) What glory is? A splendid rainbow which on high appears, The rays of sun reflecting in the flow of human tears. ■ — o ■ MAJESTIC NIGHT. (Fonseges ej.) Majestic night! How brightly shine, while wandering o'er the sky. The pale moon and the evening star on high! Majestic night! On meadow-grass the dew-drops brightly shine, In forest's shade a nightingale sings fine. Majestic night! The youth goes forth to meet the lovelorn maid... The robber chief goes forth to ply his trade... Majestic night! o • ARE THEY LOVERS?... (Szeretoje-e?. . .) Soul and body, are they lovers, I would like to know? Do they, as is fit for lovers Feel each other's woe? Or is the soul a so-called friend, Who honest friendship does pretend, 'Until he finds the end is nigh, When he is off and let him die? 228 ALEXANDER PETOFI MUTABILITY. (Mulandosag.) The king of all the kings is contsant change, The world js his great royal home and strange The things are which e'er follow in his wake, Where'er he goes, whatever course he'll take- Where'er he enters, — and that is everywhere, — O'er what he steps. — and naught in life he'll spare, — By foul decay is touched... Strewn o'er the ground Withered flowers and broken hearts are found. WE WERE IN THE GARDEN. (Kint a kertben voltunk.) We were in the garden, you and I, We sat close together. God on High Knows what happened 'round us, I do not, Was it spring or autumn? I forgot. One thing I remember very well: Close to yon I sat, bound by a spell. I looked into your dark, beauteous eye, And your snowhite hands squeezed, shy and sly. Looking at each other with intent, I asked, whether you would be content If, as we were sitting, all alone, God Almighty turned us into stone? "I would be!" You answered, in a breath. Did you, when you said that, long for death? Or, sweeet maid, the answer my ear caught, Was it caused by that sweet, blissful thought: We two petrified, would, — happy share! — Close together sit for e'er and e'er? SELECTED LYRICS 229 POETIC FANCY 'T WAS. (Koltoi abrand volt...) Poetic fancy 't was what until now I felt, Poetic fancy 't was, not love, which thrilled my soul. My aching, bleeding heart, wherein these .fancies dwelt, No trace of any illness shows, is strong and whole. If love had been what caused my heart's great woe Not even fleeting time could prove a helpful friend Man's passion 's a wild stream and swift its torrents flow, Destruction carrying along and deathly end. 'Tis only now I reached this wildly flowing stream, It carries me along in waves that rise and swell, The bellringers call out: the danger is supreme! The peril's nigh! Ring out aloud the alarmbell. The bells should toll! The folks might rush to save me yet. But no! My feverish heart itself 's an alarmbell: The maiden heard it toll, it caused her no regret, She having not, let no one else the tumult quell- Oh girl! oh girl! that thou should'st cause me such a woe I did not find set forth on fate's recording scroll. Did'st draw me on that thou could'st simply over- throw Poor me, or blind me with the splendor of thy soul? Thy soul -shines bright as shines the sun before his rays An eclipse caused to grow more pale, and as the sun 230 ALEXANDER PETOFI Will have grown cold when he, at last, has run his days, So is thy own breast cold thou cruel, heartless one! Thou said, and saying it thou didst not tremble e'en, Thou said, that never yet thou hast loved anj' one. Fearest thou not our God's revenge which is most keen Because his saintly goal of life "to love" thou darest shun? Or doest thou think no man is worth thy sentiment Of love, and to be told by thee: "thou art my own!" Or fearest thou that when thy heart its treasures spent, "They are forever lost" shall be thy plaintive moan. It may be true that disillusion be thy share, But therefore not to love no reason though. More worth than stagnant, lifeless peace that does not care, Are sufferings quick with life which from life's struggles flow. Will man not build a home because it might well be That at some future day a fire destroys his place? Shall therefore he the summer's heat bear patiently, And he submit to winter's icy arms' embrace? But more than once I saw thy lips ope for a sigh. 'Tis easy then to know thou hast a heart which feels. But just as icy snow covers the Vulcan high, Thy brain 's a shield of ice which thy true heart conceals. Tell me, oh girl, 't is so and patiently I wait Until thyself shalt come to me and say: "I yield," Until the time shall come when we, in blissful state, With freely given burning kiss our love have sealed SELECTED LYRICS 231 The time is long, each day I'll have to wait shall be Like all eternity to me. but I'll not fail. I'll feel as does the eager seaman out at sea Whose craft toward the shore is driven by the gale. The wind then turns and although he is near the shore, Nevertheless he cannot yet a safe port gain. While this eternal longing makes me sick and sore, For thee — my dear, — I'll deem 't is sweet to bear my pain. The body to whose wounds the sharp knife is applied Can no such pain feel as is felt by me just now. I'd suffer not to burning stake if I'd be tied As I do by the yearning longings I avow. One drop of balm, I pray, put on this burning pain, One tiny drop from hope's deep well apply sweet maid: That thou in time to come, be it in years, wilt deign My woes with the reward "may be" to have repaid. Oh no! do not encourage me with future's bliss, It is not alms I want! My soul's salvation give! What I said "I would wait" — as false thou must dismiss, My patience has long since become a fugitive, — And wild horse like it runs, my soul with it is borne, It runs on paths perilous to a high degree, Where by a wild beast into shreads it might be torn, Dost know this wild beast's name? It is — insanity! Give me, dear maid, give me back to myself, I pray, Give me back to the world, restore this life of mine. But no! keep me for sweet thyself, I wished to say, Thou can'st thus cast me off, fore'er my life is thine. Tell me: "come to my loving arms! Thou hast conquerred!" 232 ALEXANDER PETOFI And at these mighty words, the heavens e'en might fall, Who cares? Can man a death more glorious have preferred Than 'neath this blissful weight feel death has ended all? And if thou lovest me not, thy love I ne'er should own, "Pis all the same, united is my soul with thee As are the leaf and twig. Ere winter's blasts have blown The leaves are sere and lifeless fall the}- from ■ the tree; This is our fate, e'en to the grave- Go far away. Shun me, — 't is all in vain, beyond all thy control. A dark form which ne'er leaveth me. be night or da}', Thy shadow 't is? Oh, no! It is my doleful soul. I DREAM OF GORY DAYS. (Veres napokrol almodom.) I dream of dread and gory days. Which come this world to chaos casting. While o'er its ruining works and ways The new world rises everlasting. Could I but hear, could I but hear The trumpet's blare to carnage calling! I scarce can wait till on my ear The summons sounds, to some appalling. SELECTED LYRICS 233 Then to the saddle quick I'd spring, My mettled steed with joy bestriding,, And haste to join the noble ring Of heroes, who to fight are riding. And should a spear-thrust pierce my breast, There will be One — a fair thought this is — By whom my wound will then be dressed, My pain assuaged by balmy kisses. If taken captive I should be, This One, my dungeon's gloom adorning, Will surely come to visit me, In radiance like the star of morning. And should I die, and should I die On scaffold or 'mid cannons' rattle, This One with tears will then be nigh To wash away the blood of battle. BRIGHT-BLUE THE NIGHT. (Vilagos kek a csillagos ejszaka.) Bright-blue the night, stars gleam on high- While from the open window I The heaven view with wistful eyes: My soul to my beloved-one flies. Bright, starry sky and sweetheart maid, No fairer things our Lord-God made; At least I, who the world well know, Can truly say I find it so. The waning moon sinks to the west, Behind yon mountain to find rest. My own woe like she groweth pale, Until to note it e'en I fail. 234 ALEXANDER PETOFI Within the sky the Pleiads glow, Some roosters in the distance crow. It dawns, a sharp fresh wind arose, It coolingiy around me blows. Shall I my window leave, lie down? Let golden dreams my sleep now crown? Oh, no! -not e'en the fairest dream, Makes life so sweet it now doth seem. ONE THOUGHT TORMENTS ME. (Egy gondolat bant engemet.) One thought torments me sore, lest I Upon a pillowed couch should die — Should slowly fade like fair, frail flower Whose heart the gnawing worms devour; Or, like the light in some void room, Should faintly flicker into gloom. Let no such ending come to me, O God! but rather let me be A tree, through which the lightning shoots, Or which the strenuous storm uproots; Or like the rock from hill out-torn And thundering, to the valley borne! When every nation wearing chains Shall rise and seek the battle plains, W T ith flushing face shall wave in fight .Their banners blazoned in the light! ''For liberty!" Their cry shall be — Their cry from east to west, Till tyrants be suppressed. There shall I gladly yield My life upon the field. SELECTED LYRICS 235 There shall my heart's last blood flow out, And I my latest cry shall shout. May it be drowned in clash of steel, In trumpets' and in cannons' peal; And o'er my corpse Let tread the horse, Which gallops home from victory's gain And leaves me trodden 'mid the slain. My scattered bones shall be interred Where all the dead are sepulchred — When, amid slow funereal strains, Banners shall wave o'er the remains Of heroes who have died for thee, O, world-delivering Liberty! THE ROSEBUSH TREMBLES. (Reszket a bokor.) The rosebush trembled when A bird on its twig flew; My own soul trembles when I think, my dear, of you, I think, my dear, of you, My darling, charming maid. Thou art the richest gem My God has ever made. When swollen is the Danube, Then it doth overflow; My heart, with love replete, Doth now for thee just so. Tell me, my dearest rose, Art thou to me still true? Not even thy parents, dear, Can love thee as I do. 236 ALEXANDER PETOFI I know thy love was mine 'Neath last year's summer sun; But winter came since then — Who knows what he has done? Shouldst thou love me no more, I pray God bless thee still; But, if thou lov'st me. then, A thousandfold he will. MY SONGS. (Dalaim.) Oft am I sunk in deepest thought, Although my musings bring me naught, My thoughts o'er all the country fly, Flit o'er the earth, soar to the sky, The songs which from my lips then roll Are moon-rays of my dreamy soul. Instead of dreaming, better 'twere If for my future I should care; And yet I ask, what care have I Since God doth guard me from on high, The songs which from my lips then roll Are mayflies of my care-freed soul. But if a lovely maid I meet, My thoughts to inner depths retreat; And then into her eyes I gaze, As on the lake fall starry rays. The songs which from my lips then roll Are roses of my love-bound soul. SELECTED LYRICS 237 If mine her love, my joy wine crowns, If not, then wine my sorrow drowns, And where wine in abundance flows, There gayety right swiftly grows- The songs which from my lips then roll Are rainbows of my misty soul. Yet, while I hold the glass in hand, The yoke oppresses many a land; And joyous as the glasses ring, As sadly bondsmen's fetters cling; The songs which from my lips then roll Are clouds that overcast my soul. Why do men dwell in slavery's night? Why burst they not their chains in fight? Or do they wait till God some day Shall let rust gnaw their chains away? The songs which from my lips then roll Are lightning flashes from my soul. THE IMPRISONED LION. (A rab oroszlan.) The boundless desert is his home no more, Within an iron cage he now must roar. He, so debased, the desert's royal king, To stand thus fettered by an iron ring! To trifle with his sorrow let us cease; 'Tis desecration to disturb his peace. 238 ALEXANDER PETOFI If of his liberty he is bereft, Its memory still be to his heart's ease left. If to the tree his near approach be stayed, Let him at least enjoy a little shade. See in his mien what majesty is found. And with what grandeur do his looks abound! Although from him his liberty they took, The}- could not take his proud, heroic look. Even as the pyramid he seemeth grand. Which towered above his own loved land. His memory fondly leads him back again; Once more is he upon his native plain, That vast expanse of wilderness where o'er The wild simoom hath raced with him of yore. O glorious land! O happy days and sweet' But hush! He hears the prison-keeper's feei. And lo! the world of fantasy hath fled When cruel keeper smites him on the head- A stick — and such a boy commands him now O heavenly powers to this he has to bow. Hath he become so pitiful and poor, This deepest degradation to endure? Behold the stupid herd, the gaping crowd At his humiliation laugh aloud. How dare they breathe, for should he break his chain Nn soul of them from hell-fire would remain! SELECTED LYRICS • 239 IF BORN A MAN, THEN BE A MAN. (Ha ferfi vagy, legy ferfi.) If born a man, then be a man, And not a wretched grub That pusillanimously bears Fate's every knock and rub! Fate is a cur that only barks' But fears a manly blow; A man must ever ready be To bravely meet his foe! If born a man, then be a man, And boast not of the fact; More clear tongued than Demosthenes Are valiant thought and act- Build up, destroy, but silent be When finished; spare display Just as the storm that does its work Subsides and dies away. If born a man, then be a man, Hold honor, faith, thy own; Express them even if thy blood Should for thy creed atone. Forfeit thy life an hundred times Ere thou thy word dost break; Let all be lost, 'tis not too much To pay for honor's sake. If born a man, then be a man, And bargain not away Thy independence e'en for all The great world's rich array. Despise the knave who sells himself, The man who has his price! "A beggar's staff and liberty'' Be ever thy device! 240 ALEXANDER PETOFI If born a man, then be a man, Strong, brave and true as steel! Then trust that neither man nor fate Can crush thee 'neath their heel. An oak be, which the hurricane May shake and break and rend; But ne'er possess the power its frame Or giant force to bend! SONG OF THE DOGS AND WOLVES. (A kutyak es farkasok dala.) I. How fierce the tempest blows — The winter's cruel twin: The chill and freezing snows To reign outside begin. What heed we who enjoy The kitchen corner snug? Where masters kind supply Straw and a cosy rug. For food we have no care; When masters gorge their meat, The remnants are our share, i Which we may freely eat. Full oft we feel the log That hurts, but then, we own That nothing harms a dog — A fact too widely known! SELECTED LYRICS 241 When' master's wrath is o'er, And he has ceased to beat Grateful we crawl before And lick his gracious feet. II. How fierce the tempest blows — The winter's cruel twins: Chill rain and freezing snows To reign outside begin. Empty the country is, Our home this barren space; Not e'en a bush affords To us a hiding place. -g : Without 'tis bitter cold, And hunger fierce within; Relentlessly pursue These foes of ours, born twin. Besides those foes, a third — The loaded gun— we dread, When the milk-white snow Is stained with bloody red. We freeze, we starve, we feel , The shot wounds in our breast; Hard is our lot, but yet With freedom we are blest! I AM A MAGYAR. (Magyar vagyok.) A Magyar I ! The splendor of my land Xaught can surpass. She is the loveliest Upon the globe, .and countless as the sand The beauties are she bears upon her breast. 242 ALEXANDER PET0FI In mountains she is rich and from their height One casts his glance beyond the distant sea; -Tier fertile plains arc wide, you think they might Extend to where the world's end seems to be. A Magyar 1! By nature am I sad As are the first tunes of my nation's lay. And though I often smile when I am glad, I never laugh, however I be gay. But when the utmost joy doth fill my breast, In freely flowing tears breaks out my glee: Yet joyous seems my face when most depressed. For none shall ewer dare to pity me. A Magyar 1! With pride 1 cast my eye Over the sea of history past and see Vast, mighty rocks that almost reach the sky; They are my nations deeds of braver}'. We, too, were acting once on Europe's stage. And ours was not an empty, useless role! When, at the play, our sword we drew in rage- All feared us. as the child the thunder's roll. A Magyar I ! But what is that to-day? Ghost of a glorious past that restless stirs At dark, but which the midnight spells must lay In dreamless sleep down is his sepulchres. How mute we are! Our neighbors nearest by Scarce gain a sign that we are yet alive; One brother will the other vilify And in our land, but wrong and falsehood thrive- A Magyar I! But O! how I deplore To be a Magyar now! It is a shame That while the sun in brightness shines all o'er, Xo gleam or dawn to us as yet there came; Still all the wealth on earth could not suffice My love of thee dear spot, e'er to efface; Dear native land, 1 still must idolize An<4 love thee still in spite of thy disgrace! NtW YORK, N. Y, LIBRARY SELECTED LYRICS 243 A HOLY GRAVE. (Szent sir.) Far, very far away, Whence in the gentle spring, To us the swallows come; Far, very far away, Where in our wintry days, The swallow has her home. A holy grave doth rise, Close to the green sea-waves That wash the yellow shore; A weeping willow's branch, A wild shrub's crape-like veil This lone grave shadeth o'er. Beside this single shrub, There comes no thing to mourn The glorious dead's decease, Who for a century, After a busy life, Sleeps here in endless peace. He was a hero bold, The last-left valorous knight. Who for fair freedom fought: But how could fate protect One on whom his own land Ingratitude had wrought- He into exile went, Lest his degenerate land He should be forced to see, And, seeing, he should curse; While from an alien shore He looks with charitv. 244 ALEXANDER PETOFI And here, day after day, He watched the clouds that came From his own dearest home. Was it the sunset glow, Or yet his country's shame That burned in heaven's dome? He often sat to catch The murmur of the waves That move the rolling sea. He almost dreamed he heard His country once again, Was happy, proud and free! That he should hear once more His native land was free Was still his fond belief. And for his freedom's news He waited, until death Brought him most sweet relief. At home, even now, his name Is hardly known. But one Remembers him, the bard. Forgotten he would be — Sang not the bard of him, Freedom's eternal guard! THE WIND. (A szel.) To-day, a soft, mild, whispering breeze am I, As gently o'er the greening fields I rove, Breathe kisses on the faces of the buds, My sweet, warm kiss, the pledge of my true love. SELECTED LYRICS 245 "Bloom, bloom! fair daughters of the balmy spring!" Soft whispering in their ears 'bloom! bloom!' I say Then, as their coverings they shyly ope, In bliss upon their breasts I faint away. To-morrow though I am the shrill-voiced wind, The bush in fear shall tremble in my path, Beholding in my hands the whetted knife, It knows I shall -deprive it of its green. "Ye foolish, trusty maidens fade away!" I hiss unto the flow'rs and withered, sere They fade away upon the autumn's breast, While cold and scornful I but laugh and jeer. To-day a meek breeze I, as o'er smooth streams I peacefully and calm float through the air Observed but by the little, weary bee, Who, flying homewards from the meads, doth bear Her burden at her side, — the gathered sweets For honey-making, — culled from flowers bright. The tiny creature on. my palm I bear And thus assist her in her weary flight. To-morrow, once again, the tempest mad! O'er angry seas on my wild steed I'll ride, Cause in my wrath their dark-green locks to shake, The lord like, who by stubborn child's defied. I'll sweep the sea, and if a ship I meet, Her wings, the flult'ring sails I'll wrest. And with her mast write on the waves her fate: "No more wilt thou in any harbor rest!" — | o THE FLOWERS. (A viragok.) Out in the field to where I go, Midst blade o' grass fair flowers grow. The flowers ; sweet, which here I see How precious are you all to me. 246 ALEXANDER PETGFI As had I met a 'beauteous maid My heart throbs with the joy conveyed, Plant flowers fair, — when (nice 1 die, — Above the grave wherein 1 lie. Beside the flowers I take my seat And then with friendly chat I greet. E'en love's confession make to them. Do you love me? I ask of them They answer not. but 1 can tell They understand me very well. Plant flowers fair, — when once I die, — Above the grave wherein 1 lie. Who knows? Does not the flower's scent Its very language represent? We grasp it not. it doth not reach Our souls as does sweet human speech; .Man's soul the sweet perfume enjoys, lint does not hear the spirit voice. Plant flowers fair. — when once I die. — Above the grave wherein 1 lie. Aye. aye! this scent is speech, e'en more! It is a song, a song of spirit lore. When 1 cast off this earthly clay And in the grave am laid away. I'll no more scent that sweet perfume I'll hear the song within my tomb! Plant flowers fair, — when once I die T — Above the grave wherein I lie. This scent, the flowers' melody. At one time be my lullaby. The gentle tune of which shall bring Sweet sleep to me each coming spring. From spring to spring these songs shall thril My soul, my sleep with bright dreams fill. Plant flowers fair, — when once I die. — Above the grave wherein I lie. SELECTED LYRICS 247 RAGGED HEROES. (Rongyos vitezek.) I also could with rythm and rhyme My poems clothe and deck them out, Just as a dandy it behooves To dress for some gay ball or rout. But then these cherished thoughts of mine Are not like fashion's idle toys, Who find, beperfumed and begloved, In fancy garb their chief est joys. The clash -of swords, the cannon's roll Have died in rust; a war begun Is now without a musket waged — But with ideas shall be won. I, too, the gallant ranks have joined, And with my age am sworn to fight, Have in command a stalwart troop, Each song of mine a valiant knight. My men, 'tis true, are clad in rags, But each of them is brave and bold; We gauge the soldier not by dress But by his deeds of valor bold. I never question if my songs . Will live beyond me; 'tis but naught To me; if they are doomed to die They fall at least where they have fought. Even then the book shall hallowed be Wherein my thoughts lie buried deep; For 'tis the heroes' burial place Who for the sake of freedom sleep. 248 ALEXANDER PETOEI FIRE. (Tiiz.) Not like the willow tree rots in the swamp Do I want pass away. My death Be like the oak's on high which is consumed By lightnings fiery breath. Give me the flaming fire! For fish and frogs The water might be good enough. For poetasters too, who froglike croak Their labored doggerel like stuff- A flaming fire! Thou art my element! Throughout the days of long ago My bod\- often froze, my soul howe'er Was e'er surcharged with fiery glow. Come, pretty little maid. I love thee well Come, passionately I love thee! But fiery be thyself, or else: good-bye My love, we two can not agree. Innkeeper, bring a jug of wine! but heed: Good wine! If water}" at all. That jug flies either at thy head or I Shall promptly smash it on the wall. This is the only life that's worth to live: With fiery maid and fiery wine! And what I have almost forgot to name: We must not miss, the song divine. Then sing a song! a fiery song! The tongue Shall rot within the human frame Which can not sing a song from which the heart Is not inspired by holy flame. SELECTED LYRICS 249 Not like the willow tree rots in the swamp Do I want pass away. My death Be like the oak's on high which is consumed By lightning's fiery breath. MY JULIA IS MINE, AT LAST. (Birom vegre Juliskamat.) My Julia is mine at last, Forever mine alone, To God and all the world, I can Proclaim her as my own. In joyful mood now, I have not Forgotten former woe, Shall I now laugh, shall I now weep With joy, I do not know. Am I the man who until now But misery had seen? And to whose heart, each day of life A dreadful curse had been? Am I indeed the man who now With happiness is blessed? No man throughout the world has e'< Bliss like my own possessed. Most eagerly the fall of leaves, . The autumn I expect, The autumn will my life's spring be: I'll be bridegroom-elect. 250 A^EX A N D E R P ETC EI Into the future I not look. I do not even try. This future is like noonday-sun. It would blinden my eye. 1 rather look into the moon, Into the yesterday. It is as fair, but gentler is The pale moon's silver ray. Mow glorious this yesterday Which at her home 1 spent. Eternity 'tis in its bliss That one day's great event. 'Tis then I drew her to my side. .And burning hot the breath Which, when 1 kissed her ruby lips. -My lips encountereth. My own lips flamed up from that kiss! E'en now 1 feel the glow, As if a melting sun's fierce flames Would still within me flow. I do not even fear the grave. Its cold can do no harm. These flames shall even there my heart Protectingly keep warm. — i o THOU ART MINE. (Te az enyem. en a tied. . .) Thou art now mine and I am thine. And all the world is ours! Though high above does brightly shine The sun in midday hours: Xot e'en the sun on high. Can aiwwhere espy Such happy folks as you and I. SELECTED LYRICS 251 .My rose is but a little maid, My knee holds her secure, My rose is but a little maid, Her soul is big and pure. My sweetheart's soul is grand, And wide its bounds expand It is as big as fairyland. Cometh my Julia to my mind, I can see in the dark, In her white soul, bright eyes I find The light creating spark. These two torches suffice To see with my own eyes The glories of the Paradise. Remembrest thou, of course thou must, Dear mother, when 1 played Before our house, how I would thrust Myself ahead, and made The boys to do the thing I wished about to bring? I wanted to become the king! Well, mother dear, I hear you yet A-laughing at thy boy, Who on his childish head had set As crown, a broken toy. But God Almighty, He Had heard my childhood's plea, Indeed a king he made of me! ] am a king since mine thou art Sweet Julia! mine alone! Xot on my head, within my heart The crown which now I own. God bless thee Julia dear, No king on earth my peer, Since thy sweet love crowns my career! 252 ALEXANDER PETGF1 HOW BEAUTEOUS IS THE WORLD. (Mily szep a vilag.) Did I once curse my life As <»ne big. dreadful strife? Did through the world affright I roam, like ghosts at night. Indeed, I blush with shame, To have injured thy fame Thou life, which art so sweet, Thou world, with bliss replete- My wild youth's stormy days Have calm become. The rays Of heaven's smiling eye Spread light beneath the sky, Like loving mothers do When they their babies view. Indeed, our life is sweet. The world with bliss replete. Each day that comes and goes Weeds out one of my woes. A garden is once more My heart, and by the score Sweet flowers therein bloom Each with a rich, perfume. Indeed, our life is sweet, The world with bliss replete. No more with diffidence I view faith; confidence My soul gladdens anew, As if friends, good and true, Who had been absent long Around me now would throng. Indeed, our life is sweet, • The world with bliss replete. SELECTED LYRICS 253 Friends of my youth! Come nigh, And nearer still, for I Shall nevermore offend By mistrusting a friend. Mistrust, — the devil's own, — Forever I disown. Indeed, our life is sweet, The world with bliss replete. And comes then to my mind, The flower which had entwined Itself around my heart, — A fair dream's counterpart, — The brown maid I adore Who loves me with loves lore: Indeed, then life is sweet, The world with bliss replete. AT THE END OF THE YEAR. (Az ev vegen.) Thou goest; thy course is run, old year! Well go! But stay, pass not alone; Dark is the next world, so one might Be led astray; my song shall light The road, and thus thy way be known. Again I grasp my good old lute, Once more I touch its tuneful strings; It has been mute, but I will try To conjure its old melody, If still it passionately sings. 254 ALEXANDER I'LTOFI If e'er thou sangest sweet. let now Ihe mellowest lay thy strings outpour; A song as fair as ever came From thee, and worthy of thy fame Shall solemnize this parting hour. Who knows? who knows? This may the last The last song be that I shall hear. Laying aside the lute to-day, Wake it again I never may. To die may be my fate this year. The army ui the God of Wars I joined and now go forth to fight. • A next year 1 may never see; But yet I hope my poetrj With blood dipped battle-blade to write. Sing. I beseech of thee; ( >, sing In accents silver-clear, my lyre! Let mild or thunderous be thy voice. Let it be sad, let it rejoice; But sing with passion and with fire. A tempest thou shalt be. which will O'er hill and vale with fury sweep; A zephyr be. which smilingly Lulls with its mellow lullaby The verdant meadows into sleep. Or yet a mirror be. wdierein My youth, my love, shall meet my eye. My youth which dies, but never wanes. My love which ever green remains. Eternal as the vault on high! O sing, sweet lute, thy sweetest tunes. Give all the song that in thee \s! The setting sun sheds with delight His rays from yonder flaming height And spends the remnant that is his. SELECTED LYRICS 25; And if thy swan song it may be, Peal it forth mighty and sublime; Not to be lost of men with ease. But let it over centuries Come echoing- from the rocks of time. AT THE HAMLET'S OUTSKIRTS. (Falu vegen kurta korcsma...) Outside the hamlet, on the sands Of Szamosh's banks, an inn there stands, Which in the stream were mirrored clear, Did eventide not draw so near. The night draws nigh, the daylight wanes, And qui ft o*er the landscape reigns; The swinging bridge is safely bound, And darkness girds it all around. But, in the tavern, hark the noise. The laugh and shout of village boys. The sound of cymbals cleaves the air; The gipsy-player tarries there. "Come, pretty hostess, darling mine, Pray give us some of your best wine; Let it possess my grandsire's years With fervor such as is my dear's. "Strike, gypsy boy, strike up! I swear I want to dance a livelier air — My money all to you I roll; To-night I'll dance away my soul." 256 ALEXANDER PETOFI But some one knocks. "My master says Too great the noise is that you raise; Unless in bounds your mirth you keep, He swears he cannot go to sleep!" "Bad luck to you! — your master tell That both of you can go to hell! Play, gypsy boy, for spite now play, Even if my shirt the piper pay. " Again a knock comes. "For God's sake, Pray do not such a turmoil make! I beg of you now to be still, My mother lies near here very ill." None answer her. The noise has ceased, Their passion quickly is appeased. Mute has become the gypsy's play, The boys in silence homeward straw TWILIGHT. (Alkony.) The sun is like a withered rose, Which, dropping, bends her weary head. Her leaves, just like his pallid rays, With sad smiles o'er the landscape spread. Mute and calm the world around me I hear the distant curfew bell; From heaven or dreamland come the sweet And distant sounds, I cannot tell. Attentively I list, I love Sweet reveries' adagios: God knows what I feel and feel not — And where my mind, God only knows. SELECTED LYRICS 257 AUNT SARAH. (Sari neni.) Upon the threshold sits, by age bent down, Aunt Sarah, bowing low her silver crown; An eyeglass rides upon her bony nose, I fancy her own funeral shroud she sews. Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? What heretofore she did in dresses wear — The folds and creases — now her face doth bear; Clad now in faded rags, her dress I trow Must have been new some twenty years ago. Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, W!hen "Darling Sally" you were named by all? I almost freeze when I behold her head, Life's winter hath thereon its white snow shed; And like a stork's nest in the chimney there, Looks on her hoary head her straggling hair* ' ., Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, ' < When "Darling Sally" you were named, by all? Her eyes, once bright, have left their native place, Sunk in, and beautify no more her face. They faintly flicker in a ghastly gloom, As tapers left to burn in some death room. Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? A barren plain, it seems, is now her breast, As if beneath not e'en a heart did rest. Her heart, not wholly dead, still pulsates there, And sometimes does its old emotions share. Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? ALEXANDER PET< Youth is a spendthrift, who will freely spend His wealth and charms, and does not apprehend The miser father— Age— who will s Gather the treasures spent, take them away. Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall. When "Darling bally" you were 'named by all? HOMER AND OSSIAN. Where is the Greek, where is the Celt? They disappeared, like cities dealt \ deathly blow by ocean's flow Which swallowed them, we only know Where once they stood, because we >ee Their towers' spires above the These mighty towers still seen by man. Are y< »u : 1 lomer and ( )ssian ! A beggar one, of royal blood The other, but what is more odd The sinilarity we find: — The beggar and the prince — both blind! Who knows, did not both lose their sight i>y looking in the dazzling light Of their own soul, their glory bright? Great geniuses both! Did they With magic hand on their lutes play Divine command like, they to build FOr men a world, which their mind filled With thoughts inspiring, wonderful. Sublimely grand and beautiful ? Did you hear Homer? In his song: The thoundrous bolts, the passions strong • Eternal smiles oi peaceful joy, With dawn's brightness laughingly . toy, SELECTED LYRICS 259 The midday sun's gold rays spread o'er The sea's blonde waves and o'er the shore Of islands green, where gently play The demigods with human clay. Yea! Mortal men, — God's from above, — Unite to play thy plays: sweet love! And did you e'er to Ossian list? In northern sea's eternal mist, Above wild peaks, when thundrous storms, In dreadful nights the shapeless forms Let loose! his clarion voice is heard And all the nature seemeth stirred. With blooded hues, when like abed The sun had gone, the moonrays spread A spectre shroud o'er the horrid scene: The field o'er which the marching ghosts,- Of former days' the warrior hosts, — Led by their captains can be seen. All that is light and fair and bright Is in thy song, thou beggar-knight, • Homer! Thou art the world's delight. All that is drear, austere, severe Is in thy song thou royal seer. Prince Ossian! to mankind dear Are ye, Homer and Ossian! Proceed! Proceed to inspire men With your immortal songs! and when To centuries, milleniums, — Time 's pitiless, — the world succumbs: Your name, your fame shall e'er remain Untarnished, your laurels retain Their freshest green! and great you'll be Till time 's lost in eternity! ALEXANDER J'l-.i THE MOON'S ELEGY. (A hold elegiaja.) 1 wonder why I am the moon? My ( rod! What arc my sii - Why is my misery so great, Why must from pain I vince? I'd rather be earth's humblest slave, Than here proud king of night, < >n earth in sandals walk, than here J n bi " its, spurred like a ki I'd rather smell the barroom's breath, Than starry flov s s nt; Is there a good man who does not ( r'er my sad fate lament ? Each dog, each poet barks at me- These rhyming whittlers e'en Think, out of sympathy with them J am so pale-faced seen. J, sympathize with them, whose heart Is unmoved, but wh Move jto the tune of doggerel \ One from these fellows hears? 'Tis true. 1 am pale faced, howe'er 1 am not so fn >m w It is from wrothful ire, because Those foolish chumps below- Dare kinship claim, and look on me As were they chums of mine. And with them I would be engaged In guarding herds of swine. Once in a while I truly hear A God-born son of song. And blissfully I list to lays Which rise from passions strong. But until one such minstrel sings. What winnings must I hear! SELECTED LYRICS 261 And how these poetasters thrive, And how they persevere To mew and blab! At evenings I Do actually fear To rise because their screeching song- Is sure to reach my ear. Just as I thought! There 's one right here! Look at him! How he sprawls, See-saws the air! He thinks he sings, In truth he only bawls. Lie sighs as does some gipsy lad Who just had come to grief, I wonder if his moans and groans Bring him any relief? What things he talks! Constantly asks That I should look and see What does just now his sweetheart do? All right! I grant his plea. Well then, your sweetheart just now crawls Out of the oven door, Brings forth the baked potatoes which She had put in before. She eagerly bite»s into one Oh! what a face she makes! She burned her lips, her yell and howl All of the household wakes! O! What a face! well you deserve To have such just a belle! Now, having told you what she does There 's but one thing to tell: Pray, sing no more, but sneak away And go, yes, go to hell. o ROSEBUSH ON THE HILLSIDE GROWS. (Rozsabokor domboldalon.) A rosebush on the hillside grows; Come; darling, on my breast repose- Thy love then whisper in my ear, Let me that joyful story hear! ALEXANDER PET0FI Within the Danube's rushing waves, The sun it, seems, its shadows laves, And o'er them sways and glows in glee, As I sway thee upon my knee. It has been said of me, that I Am atheist and God deny; Yet even now 1 pray intent. To read thy heart-beats I am bent. o AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER. (Szeptember vegen.) The garden flowers still blossom in the vale, Before our ho,use the poplars still are green; But soon the mighty winter will prevail; Snow is already on the mountain seen- The summer sun's benign and warming ray Still moves my youthful heart, now in its spring; But lo! my hair shows signs of turning gray. The wintry days thereto their colors bring. This life i> short; too early fades the rose; To sit here on my knee, my darling, come; Wilt thou who on my breast dost now repose, Not kneel, perhaps to-morrow '>'er my tomb? O! tell me. if before thee 1 should die. Wilt thou, with broken heart, weep o'er my bier, Or will some youth efface my memory. And with his love soon dry the mournful tear? If thou dost lay aside the widow's veil, Pray hang it o'er my tomb. At midnight I Shall rise, and. coming forth from death's dark vale Take it with me to where, forgot, I lie, And stanch with it my ceaseless flowing tears, Flowing for thee who hast forgotten me, And bind my bleeding heart, which ever bears, Even then and there, the truest love for thee. SELECTED LYRICS 263 MASTER PAT6. (Pato Pal ur.) Like an enchanted prince, beyond The famous Nowhere's mighty pond, Lives in a hamlet all alone, A Mister Pato, grouchy grown. Ah! what could be made of this life: Would there be here a young, fair wife, Master Pato's answer is: "We have lots of time for this!" The ancient home threatens to fall: The plaster 's peeled of from the wall, The winds took of the roof a piece, And now and then a shutter seize, Let's make repairs, or by and by, We'll through the ceiling view the sky. Master Pato's answer is: "We have lots of time for this!" The garden 's bare, howe'er the field, Does all the richer harvest yield Of poppies and dandolines, And choicest weeds of all designs. Why do the farm hands hang, around? Why 's rust upon the ploughshares found? Master Pato's answer is: "We have lots of time for this!" His fur-cloak and his pantaloon, So threadbare are that both shall soon Just fit but for mosquito nets, Does ever he new garment gets? The stuff has been bought long ago, The tailor must be sent for though. Master Pato's answer is: "We have lots of time for this!" 264 ALEXANDER PET0FI And thus he passes all his days. His fathers gave him means and ways. And rich inheritance, but he Of misery is never free. Look 'not upon his faults with scorn: As a Magyar he was born. And his country's motto is: "We have lots of time for this!" ON A RAILROAD. (Vasuton.) I am in raptures, happy, gay: Glorious scenes now greet my eye. Only the birds ere now could fly, But men can also fly to-day. Fleet-winged thought or venturous mind. We'll in the race with you compete. Spur on your horse! A splendid heat! We shall, withal, leave you behind. Hills and vales, seas, men and trees. What else I pass God only knows; My wonder, my amazement grows, Viewing these misty sceneries. The sun runs with us as in dread Of quick pursuit— a madman's thought — By devils who, if him they caught, Into small fragments then would shred. He ran and ran and onward fled. But all in vain! He had to stop, Tired, on a western mountain top: Blushing with shame, his face is red. SELECTED LYRICS 265 But in our ride we still proceed; We weary not, feel no fatigue; And, rolling up league after league, To reach new worlds shall yet succeed. A thousand railroads men shall build Throughout the earth, till endless chains Or iron lines, like human veins, t The world with healthy life have filled. The railroads are the veins of earth; Culture and progress prosper where They cause pulsations in the air; To nation's greatness they give birth . Build railroads,, more than heretofore; You ask whence you shall iron take? The chains and yokes of slavery break; Let human slavery be no more! o ■ MY WIFE IS DEAD. (Meghalt a felesegem.) My wife I loved is dead, Satis tarde quidem, All my hopes have fled, Debuisset pridem. As housewife she was fine Cuncta dissipavit, She hated beer and wine But semper potavit- Oh! thou most cruel death. Cum sero venisti? Where's my Elizabeth! Quam bene fecisti! To church I wend my way, Adibo popinam! 266 ALEXANDER PETCFI And for her soul Ell pray, Moerorem deponam! I wish she would return. Quod Deus avertat. Ed fast, my meals I'd spurn, Ut ibi maneat. Ed hold her in esteem. Crinium tractibus, To kiss her, my one dream Per dorsum fustibus What am I now to do? Ducam pulchriorem, Ell say to the world adieu, Quaeram meliorem! MY MOTHERS HEN. (Anyam tyukja.) Well, this is rich! The hen housed in the room! Good mother hen. art happy I presume- God has been good to thee to be kept, where My own good mother takes of thee good care. Right here thou art allowed to hop around, On trunk and table e'en thou hast been found. Right in the room thou hast been cackling loud, And not chased out, to stay thou wert allowed. They would not chase thee out, oh no! indeed! As if thou wert a dove, the choicest feed Is sought for thee, fine grains of corn and wheat, Xo prince receives more wholesome food to eat. SELECTED LYRICS 267 But then, good mother-hen, for all this, I Expect of thee that thou wilt truly try For my own mother each and every day; — She needs it, don't forget! — fresh eggs to lay. And now, my short-tailed dog, I talk to thee, Just prick thy ears and listen now to me: A faithful servant thou hast been till now, And always well behaved, I must allow. Just list', my good old dog and don't forget, For chicken meat thy teeth thou must not whet- Thou and this hen must e'er as friends be known, My mother does no other chicken own. NATIONAL SONG. (Nemzeti dal.) Rise, Magyar; 'tis the country's call! The time has come, say one and all: Shall we be slaves, shall we be free? Thjs is the question, now agree! For by the Magyar's God above We truly swear, We truly swear the tyrant's yoke No more to bear! Alas! till now we were but slaves; Our fathers resting in their graves Sleep not in freedom's soil. In vain They fought and died free homes to gain. But by the Magyar's God above We truly swear, We truly swear the tyrant's yoke No more to bear! 268 A I . E X A X D E RIM l T F I A miserable wretch is he Who fears to die, my land, for thee! His worthless life who thinks to be Worth, more than thou, sweet liberty! >Rnv by the Magyar's God above We truly swear. We truly swear the tyrant's yoke No more to bear! The sword is brighter than the chain, Men cannot nobler gems attain: And yet the chain we wore, oh, shame! Unsheath the sword of ancient fame! For by the Magyar's God above We truly swear, We truly swear the tyrant's yoke Xo more to bear! The Magyar's name will soon once more Be honored as it was before! The shame and dust of ages past Our valor shall wipe out at last. For by the Magyar's God above W'e truly swear. We truly swear the tyrant's yoke Xo more to bear! And where our graves in verdure rise Our children's children to the skies Shall speak the grateful joy the}' feel. And bless our names the while they kneel- For by the Magyar's God above We truly swear, We truly swear the tyrant's yoke X T o more to bear! SELECTED LYRICS 269 MY WIFE AND MY SWORD. (Felesegem es kardom.) Upon the roof a dove, A star within the sky Upon my knees my love, For whom I live and die; In raptures I embrace And rock her on my knees, Just as the dewdrop sways Upon the leafy trees. But why, you surely ask, Kiss not her pretty face? It is an easy task To kiss while we embrace! Many a burning kiss I press upon her lip, For such celestial bliss I cannot now let slip. And thus we pass our day, I and my winsome wife, Bright as a rare gem's ray Has been our wedded life. A friend — my sword — it seems This love likes not at all; He shoots his angry gleams Upon me from the wall. Lock not on me, good sword, With eyes so stern and cold, There should be no discord Between us, comrades old. To women leave such things As green-eyed jealousy; To men but shame it brings, And you a man must be! 270 ALEXANDER PETOFI But, then, if you would pause To think who is my love, You never would see cause Your comrade to reprove She is the sweetest maid She is so good and true; Like her, God has but made, I know, a very few. If thee, good sword, again Shall need our native land; To seek the battle-plain Will be my wife's command. She will insist that I Go forth, my sword, with thee, To fight — if need, to die — For glorious liberty! THE FALLEN STATUE. (A ledolt szobor.) A monument stood on a mountain high; So loft}- was the mount, seemed to the sky To reach; the clouds its girding belt suggest, The noon sun on its shoulders took his rest. Upon this mountain top, a monument In bronze, majestic and magnificient Stood. There he holds a sword to action drawn, And waves aloft a banner to the dawn. How came this statue to the mountain top? Fell it from heaven? Did men carry it up? If heaven-born, 'tis sacred all the time; If built by men. still more is it sublime. SELECTED LYRICS 271 It was the joint work of earth and heaven. To mortal men's toil God His help hath given; Miriad hands, at work for centuries, Achieved the shaping of this masterpiece. But it was done! The statue stood erect . All Europe looked at it with deep respect. All knees bend low, some with esteem sincere, While others crawl in dust, impelled by fear. The mountain stands, though barren is its crown. But where's the monument? Did its renown The heavens covet, and from here below Transplanted it into its realm? But no! An earthquake came, which shook it from its base, And then the storm-wind swept it from its place, Till thundering it fell. The statute's now Down in the valley, swallowed by the slough. My fatherland! Thou saintly monument! Dragged into the mire, all impotent, Three hundred years unmercifully bled, Then left in the foul swamp, — a living dead! Around thy head, which once the stars on high With gems to deck would with each other vie. Came worms of earth to crawl. It was supposed That bled to death thy life's career hath closed. My fatherland! Beloved fatherland! What sentiment was it, that I, unmanned By gruesome recollections of the past, Felt my heart quiver like a wind-tossed mast? Our woe begone! Our doelful days are o'er! The saintly monument which we adore We rescued from the slough into the air Of light and freedom and the sun's bright glare! 272 ALEXANDER PETOFI Come one! come all! Let .us its body clean, Untarnished shall it be, as it has been Of yore! Come all! The women with their tears, Men with their blood to wash the scars and sears. When in the former splendor it shall shine, We can retire to rest, dear friends of mine. But no! Xot even then! Xew tasks await Our undivided efforts for the state. We must replace the statue on the height Where once it stood in glorious splendor bright! From whence with sword and battle flag, unfurled, Looked dignified on the admiring world! Up, all of you, my nation's sires and sons! Disgrace on him who now his duty shuns. Esteem is his who truly pays his dues: Disgrace, — esteem! — between the two now choose! THE GOD OF THE MAGYARS. (A magyarok istene.) Away, ye narrow minds, who even now Dare harbor doubts about the future's days; For who will not a mighty God avow, His loving care for our home who gainsays? The times, the people's tempests, dire and dread, Is held by Him in His parental care; For centuries He has upheld our Land, To fight the robber foe from everywhere. "The times, the people's tempests, dire an dread, Would have scattered us, as if we were But dust; His saintly wings were o'er us spread — The gales past o'er our heads — and all was fair. SELECTED LYRICS 273 The volumes of our story read, you'll trace His power divine on every page thereof; Like golden thread runneth His kindly grace Throughout our life, which he hath blessed with love. And thus we lived the thousand years that passed; And should these thousand years have lasted but That now, when we have reached the port, the last Waves shall us all unsparingly englut? Xot for a moment think that this can be; It would be sacrilege to think this e'en. t No human being would, of course not He, Upon His children play a trick so mean. The Magyar nation sinned, her sins were great; For all transgressions though she did atone. She has had virtues, too; rewards await Her still — 'rewards the future can't postpone. Thou, my dear home, wilt live because thou must! Sweet joys and glory be henceforth thy share! Forever freed of woe and care, 'tis just To look expectant toward a dawn most fair. FAREWELL. (Bucsu.) The sun had hardly dawned, when lo! it set. I had but come, and now I must depart. Scarce had I time to greet and kiss thee, dear, When duty calls and we again must part- God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 274 ALEXANDER PETOFI I carry now the sword and not the lute, The minstrel as a soldier now must fight. A golden star hath led me heretofore. The blood-red sky is now my guiding light God's blessing on you, pretty "little wife, Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! "lis not ambition which prompts me to leave; No laurels rest where thou the roses red Of happiness hast placed upon my brow. ^ Which 1 shall never take from off my head. God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, Good-bye, my heart, my. love, my soul, my life! "lis not ambition which prompts me to leave; Thou know'st ambition died within my soul. 'Tis for my fatherland I sacrifice My life upon the field where cannons roll. God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! If none my dearest country should defend. Alone I would defend her with all might; Xow, when all rise to seek the battle plains, Shall 1 remain at home, afraid to fight? God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! I ask thee not to think of me when gone, The while I fight for fatherland and thee; Mjy love to thee is pure and well I know One thought alone thou hast, and that for me. God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! Perchance a crippled wreck I shall come home, But thou, my darling wife, wilt love me still; For. by our God, when 1 return, the same Pure love, as now, my heart shall ever thrill. God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! SELECTED LYRICS 275 THE AUTUMN HAS COME... (Itt van az osz, itt van ujra.) Autumn has come, autumn 's here Beauteous always, spreading cheer, Heaven only knows the reason, Why, but I best love this season. 1 sit upon a nearby mound, Whence I with leisure look around, Softly murmur in the breeze The sere leaves falling from the trees, A-smilling spreads these autumn days All o'er the earth, the sun his rays, The loving mother will thus gaze Upon her sleeping offspring's face, This is not death o'er which we weep, The earth in autumn 's but asleep- All nature shows it is not dead, It rests awhile its weary head. It quietly disrobes, the gay Dress of summer 's put away. Its flow'ry dress again will don When roused from sleep by springtide's sun, Then sleep fair nature, gently sleep, Till o'er the earth spring's breezes sweep, And dream the brightest golden dreams ' Of sunlit fields and laughing streams. My lute touched by my finger tips, A song arises on my lips, A lullaby for thee we sing, Fair nature sleep! sleep till the spring! 276 ALEXANDER PETOFI Come here, sit close to me my fay, But silent be, until my lay Dies out as dies the breeze which blows Above the stream which yonder flows. And when we kiss, thy lips, I' trust But gently touch my own, we must Not nature, which is gone to rest, In her sweet autumn sleep molest. HERE IS MY ARROW. (Itt a nyilam. . .) Here is my arrow! what shall I hit? The king upon his throne doth sit- His royal self my aim! I trust My aim was sure, he bites the dust. Now raise a cheer! For the republic cheer! The crowns are very costly things, Unfit for it are all the kings, , Crown for the kings? Why should we straddle A donkey with a velvet saddle? Now raise a cheer! For the republic cheer! His purple regal cloak we'll take For what it is best fit to make Therefrom: we make from it, of course, A blanket for a good old horse. Now raise a cheer! For the republic cheer! SELECTED LYRICS 277 The sceptre in his iron fist We wrest from him, let us insist That he a spade and shovel take Wherewith his own grave he shall make Now raise a cheer! For the republic cheer! One only thing, I say just now: We have been foolish: I allow, Henceforth we shall have (better sense, Hold in contempt the king's pretense! Now raise a cheer! For the republic cheer! WHO WOULD BELIEVE? (Ki gondolna. . .) Who would believe that on this plain A few weeks since two armies stood, Engaged in fierce, destructive fight, Drenching the country with their blood? A direful day it was throughout, Foe facing here, foe charging there, Death in the van death in the rear; Sabres were flashing in the air. Then, like a troubled brow, The sky was cloudy, dark and wild. Now it looks pleasant, like the smile Upon the bright face of a child. The earth was like a hoary head; Covered with snow was all the scene; Now like the hopes of ardent youth The earth is dressed in brightest green. 278 ALEXANDER PETOFI Then bullets whistled through the air, We heard the mighty cannon's roll; Above us now the nightingale Pours out in song her lovebound soul. Wherever then we cast our eyes We only saw death's ghastly show; But now the sweetest-scented flowers In beauteous efflorescence grow. Who would believe that on this plain A few weeks since two armies stood, Engaged in fierce, destructive fight, Drenching the country with their blood? WAR SONG. (Csatadal.) The trumpets blare, drums beat the call: Our boys are off to fight or fall; Forward! The bullets whistle, sabres clash And rouse the Magyar spirit rash. Forward! May freedom's flag wave on the hight, That all the world behold the sight! Forward! Unfurl the flag! the world shall see The proud inscription, "Liberty!" Forward! The world the Magyar valor knows, He bravely faces all his foes: Forward! SELECTED LYRICS 279 A virtue God the Magyar gave; He made his nature truly brave: Forward! Uipon a ,gory ground I tread, A comrade's blood has made it red: Forward! A hero he! Can I be less? Boldly onward let me press: Forward! If our blood this earth must blot, If even to die here be our lot: Forward! For thee our lives we freely give, Dear Fatherland, that thou shalt live! Forward! IN MY NATIVE LAND. ( Sziilof oldemen.) This landscape fills my heart with thrilling joy; Here, years ago, 1 dwelt, a happy boy; Flere was I born, in this fair village-place; I yet recall my dear old nurse's face; Her simple cradle song sounds ever near, And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. WJhen still a child I went abroad to roam; Now, a grown man, again I seek my home; Ah! twenty years since then have passed away. 'Mid joy and sorrow, yea, 'mid toil and play. For twenty years it echoed in my ear, And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 280 ALEXANDER PETOFI My early playmates all, where now are ye? If one of you 'twere mine again to 'see, Most lovingly Ed clasp him to my breast. The thought that I grow old would be suppressed Yet this is now my five-and-twentieth year, And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. As fleet-winged birds flit round from bough to bough So do my restless thoughts flit backward now; As sweets are gathered by the honey-bees, So do my musings call glad memories — Each pleasant spot of old to me is dear — And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear- I am a child, I am a child again; I romp about, whistling an old refrain — Upon a hobby-horse 1 ride, my horse Is thirsty, to the trough I ride of course. It drank enough, now "go" I say with cheer And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. The sun has almost run his daily course, Tired are rider and his hobby-horse. Yes, I go home. Upon my nurse's breast Her lullaby half lulls to drowsy rest. As from her lips I catch the cadence clear, And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. o THE DREAM. (Az alom.) The dream Is nature's gift to man most dear, His fondest hopes fulfilled appear; The poor man dreaming, feeleth not That he enhungered is or cold; In purple dressed he thinks his hut A mansion filled with wealth untold. SELECTED LYRICS 281 The king in dreams Can neither judge nor grace bestow, In sleep, alike are high and low. The youth, while dreaming, rolls in bliss, His sweetheart gives and takes sweet kiss; But when I dream it seems to me I fight for the world's liberty! I PARTED FROM THE LITTLE GIRL (Elvaltam a leanykatol.) From the little girl I parted, My darling sweetheart who had been. Our last kiss left me broken hearted, The parting's sorrow was most keen. Ah, well! this happened long ago! The tide and time though ceaseless flow, The parting's bitter woe they heal, I do not feel it any more- The sweetness of that kiss of yore I'll not forget! e'en now I feel. THE POET'S MONOLOGUE. (Kolto lenni vagy nem lenni.) May they be damned, may they be cursed, The moments when conceived and nursed I had been into life by her, — To my poor mother I refer — 282 ALEXAXRER PETOFI To be a bard, a man of woe. Poetry! thou art we know, To the candid human heart The false and spiteful counterpart Of spider's web, which pitiless Restrains us in its vile duress. This spider with its venomous fangs Imbibed much of my blood. The pangs Caused by the meshes' knotty ties I do not heed. I sacrifice My heart, if while I undertake The tainted-twisted mesh to break, J find these spiders' snares entwine This throbbing-tortured heart of mine, That I must pluck it out! Ah me! I yield it up! I must be free. But with my blood, oh no, indeed This murd'rous insect I'll not feed... What compensation is in store For all the heart's blood I outpour? Some worthless fame or work renown, Or even of fair glory's crown? All of this is but dazzling naught, X'ot worth to sacrifice one brought; And at the best, where is the bard Secure e'en of this poor reward? Henceforth within thy shores. I race O! ordinary commonplace And with thy tranquil water's flow I peacefully my wont ways go. There is no fear I hit a reef, Or mine be even a single leaf Of laurel wreath; fame and repute "Will not be mine and destitute Of bliss IT1 be, but Fll have rest And this itself does bliss suggest. SELECTED LYRICS 283 Shall all my life I mute remain, To song though tuned my heart and brain? My very life an instrument, Of tuneful -song, shall it be sent Into oblivion? Fore'er Mlust I forego what 's sweet and fair? Not sing with joy, my woes be mute Forevermore discard my lute? Can ought the ocean's roaring wave Command to be still as the grave? I'll not be mute, poetry, no! Because to sing I can't forego, I nurture thee with the free flood Of my tormented heart's best blood. I do not care what is my fate, Remain unknown or plaudits wait My songs I'll sing and sing again. Inspired by joy, by hallowed pain I'll sing until my latest breath, Until my voice is stilled by death. THE BEGGAR'S GRAVE. (A koldus sirja.) A wild beast like who feels his death is nigh, The hoary beggar went into the plain, That in the prairy's heart might himself hie To die, and until then unknown remain. "Poor lads" who found his corpse had dug a hole And threw the body in. The beggar's staff Was used then for a slab, upon the pole They hung his bag; that was his epitaph. 284 ALEXANRER PETOFI Where in the desert not a tree e'er grows The tiny hill stands with its unique sign: Fair nature- who on all thy aid bestows, Makest that grass and wild flowers entwine That lonely grave- And such is fate: Once in his life he rags and patches wore. While now the glorious sun did decorate His grave with flowers fair from nature's store. To 'him 'tis all the same, it matters though A great deal, that he now had found his rest. Who knows what perils did he undergo. What fateful tasks he was forced to contest? The hand, with which he used when hoary grown As a support that knotty, stout, good cane, When youth, force and strength had been his own: Had drawn a bright sword on the battle plain. He had been there, the midst of bloody strife! And of his precious blood he freely gave. Fought for his master's power and pelf and life W T ho let him famished then go to his grave. Well, he is dead... Forgotten now is all. The misery, also the battle cries. A deadly silence reigns Which doth appal. And undisturbed in dreamless sleep he lie: But now and then a songbird will descend Upon that staff and warble with a glee. W T hat song might sing that tiny feathered friend Where on the slab a beggar's bag we see? SELECTED LYRICS 285 THE STORK. (A golya.) We have all kinds of birds, and man Prefers one for its plumage bright Or for the song wherewith it can The human heart fill with delight. The bird I love best can not sing. Is not a gaudy feathered thing But like myself, is back and white, Without a beauteous tail or wing. The stork 's my favorite, like me He dwells upon his lowland's planis, — My own dear home- — Still it might be That it my heart's best love enchains Because I've known him long. When I Yet, in my cradle whined, his cry I heard, my mind e'en now retains, His crackling call when he rose high. My childhood's years were his. My mind Was serious e'en when a lad. While chums of mine would pleasure find To drive the herd, I felt most glad When from a nearby hay stack viewed The trials of the stork's young brood, As they their flying lessons had To rise to higher altitude. The thought arose then in my brain, I cogitated long and deep: Why did not providence ordain That man too 'through the air may sweep. Like birds. True, we can walk, but I Aspired on wings to rise and .fly, - , ,. Instead upon the earth to creep, ; I" longed to reach, the starry sky. 286 ALEXAXRER PETtfFI I longed to reach the starry hight: I envied e'en the sun who spread A covering of brightest light Over our own earth's hoary head. His heart's blood pours out every eve- What mean reward. — it made me grieve — To stab those who lignt's pathways tread Eair autumn season's golden days The children joyously salute. Good motherlike the season lays Into their baskets luscious fruit. The autumn is no friend of mine 1 told him "keep your fruit and wine And scare not off my stork, you brute!" I felt depressed when I then saw Them gather and begin their flight; As for my wasted youth, with awe Looked after them and felt contrite. Upon the roof the empty nest With melancholy filled my breast, As if some mystic breath the sight Of my own future would suggest. With winter gone, earth casts away Its heavy coat of snowy white. It dons for spring a waistcoat gay, Embroidered green and light and bright: In springtide's days my own soul too Will clad itself in vestments new. To meet the stork. I with delight, Went forth into the distant blue. When later on, the spark afire: The boy a youth-to-be had grown. Beneath my feet the earth 's a pyre. And I resolve not to lie prone: • 1 mount a horse, as if the pace SELECTED LYRICS 287 For blowing wind I'd make, I race, The reins e'en of my horse I've thrown, My swift run 's o'er the pnszta's face. I love the puszta; 't is where I Feel always home, where I am free, Where when I cast about my eye Naught will impede its sight. I see No mighty cliffs and rocks which look Like threatening ghosts, hear not the brook A-murmuring roll down when she The course to freedom's regions took. Say not the puszta is not fair, It is, but like a modest maid Prefers to hide from vulgar stare Her beauty with a dense veil's aid. Of course, does comrades, friends she hail, She promptly casts away the veil Spellbound they look and see displayed A beauty from some fairy tale- I love the puszta! Venturesome I cross it oft on my swift steed. When to remotest spots I come To which no footprints of men lead: Dismounting, lie down in the grass, As o'er the scene my view I pass, I see my stork in near-by reed. Within the puszta's very heart The stork and I our day dreams weaved The pond's depth seemed to be his part, The mirage my close heed received. And thus we two, the stork and I The best years of my youth see fly. He was my friend; I felt bereaved Did I not find him always nig'h- 288 ALEXAXRER PETOFI E'en now I love that bird, to me That stork appears to be the one Reality we do not see Only in dreams by fancy spun. And eagerly, year after year I wait that he again appear, And leaves he for a warmer sun, i bless mv friend to me most dear. ALEXANDER PETOFI 289" ALEXANDER PET6FI From a Lecture, delivered before the Petofi Sick and Benevolent Society of New York. ''O Charity! thou fairest gift of heaven, thou family link of nations, thou work of their security, thou deliver of the of their security, thou deliverer of the Thus asked that immortal Chieftain of Liberty, Louis Kossuth. That realm has come. It surely has come to universal recognition among the Hungarians, of New York. Probably no nationality which enriches this proud Metropolis has so many and such well organized and so well conducted charitable societies as have the Magyars, and among the many, the Petofi Society occupies the high, the proud rank of being one of the oldest, one of the richest, one of the most generous. All its vocation is love, all its life is charity. The religion of charity has its apostolate, and to it is pledged its aid, "it hath a tear for pity, and a hand open as day for melting charity." The Petofi Society celebrates to-day the twenty-fifth anniversary of its existence. With pardonable pride it points to its work of the 290 ALEXANRER PETOFI past, and enthusiastically it pledges itself to continue its work in the future. Though in the first instance it is a charity society, and thougn in its labor of love it knoweth no race, no creed, no religion, and is as broad and as wide as is the horizon from the mountain top, still it is also a Magyar patriotic body of Magyar patriotic men, who love their old home as they have been taught to love it by that sublimely great song- ster whose immortal name it has adopted, who love truth, honor, fraternity, benevolence and charity as they have been inspired to love it .by Alexander Petofi. Freedom and love, aims so incalculably valu- able to battle for, so divinely blissful to enjoy, so high and heavenly to die for their attain- ments, are the spring wells from which rise the songs of the world's sublimest songster— Alex- ander Petofi. His poetry "bears us on spotless wings far above the sensuous sphere of earth, and like the repentant tear which the Peri conveyed to the Angel, removes the crystal bar that binds the gates of Paradise, and reveals the golden ladder which leads from earth to heaven. This golden-tongued singer of songs, whose melodies are translated into thirty-two langu- ages, who lived for love and who died for his country, was born in the last hour of the last day of the year 1822, at Little-Koros, on the Magyar Lowland. His schooldays are his pur- gatory. From one he is expelled ; from another ALEXANDER PETOFI 291 he runs away. Then he enlists as a common soldier in an Austrian regiment, then again he becomes a strolling company's ambitious actor, to find that he is a miserable failure . . . How he suffered !-friendless, penniless, cold, hungry. It was then that he sang : For sagest reason of their own The gods made mortal teeth of bone; Had mine been made of steel, they must, For want of use. have gone to rust. But "truth crushed to earth" lives, and his genius conquered. At the end of 1844 he is at Pest and the associate editor of a literary journal of high repute. Here, at the house of the editor-in-chief, Vahot, he meets Etelka, and falls in love with her. Before he ever plucked up courage to confess to her his de- votion, the young maiden of fifteen summers is carried off by grim death, and at her grave he pours out in passionate accents his deep- rooted holy affection. A whole volume of the. most delicious poetry, surcharged with hallowed pain, he published under the title, "Cyprus Lombok," and de- dicated it to her memory. Had he never written another line, his fame as a poet of the highest order would have been firmly established with that volume alone. What wonder that after this awful blow struck at him by cruel fate he grew sick of Pest and again went forth to ramble through- 292 ALEXANDER PETY3FI out the land! He was famous already how- ever, and wherever he goes he finds a most hearty welcome. Song follows song, and never yet has a poet been living who sang such inspiring apotheosis to love and wine, surpassing himself only when he chants a national anthem, a martial song or a patriotic hymn. Wine and love are the elements of his soul, but he is always pure, always noble. Delightful night! I play now with my rose, Here in the garden, where a balmy zephyr blows. Quiet is all, a dog barks in the far; While in the high Beautiful sky Gleam brightly, moon and star. I would have been a faithless star, for I, God knows, would not remain up in the high. What care I for the star-lit heaven above? Yes, I know Down I'd go Ever}- night to thee, my love. To the highest pinnacle of mighty passion rose Petofi in the love songs he created in the year 1846, when he had the good fortune to meet Julia Szendrey, and married her. Let me give here but one : A rose bush on the hillside grows, Come, darling, on my breast repose. Thy love then whisper in my ear, Let me that joyful story hear. ALEXANDER PETGFI 293 Within the Danube's rushing waves The sun. it seems, its shadows laves, And o'er them sways and glows in glee, As I sway thee upon my knee. It has been said of me that I Am atheist, and God deny; Yet even now I pray intent, To read thy heart-beats I am bent. In his and the other poems born of his love for her, the flame of oriental passion is found. Love and fatherland are the fountain-heads of all happiness, of all life. His love songs are full of boundless passion and tender emo- tion, but always pure and holy. He has genuine gayety, he praises the good suppers of good comrades, where wine flows, pleasantry abounds, ideas pour forth, poetry sparkless and causes a carnival of beautiful figures and good- humored people to move about in the human brain. He lives, it seems, but for wine, woman and liberty, yet his was a soul captivated by sublime and chaste beauty, and he impressed his inward nobleness on all of his beauteous word paintings of family life, landscapes, meditations. His sarcasm is bitter and cutting, at men's folies and vices he strikes telling blows. Petofi was Hungary's greatest poet. He is- one of the greatest poets of all of the world. Every smile, every tear of his was a song, and in palaces and in straw-thatched huts, in con- cert halls and in wayside inns are sung his 294 ALEXANDER PETOFI sublimely beautiful songs, testifying to a popu- larity no other poet of any other language ever enjoyed; a popularity as enduring as are the stars on high! Then came the revolution. What a grand historic spectacle we behold! A nation rises in its might and struggles for constitutional rights, for historical existence, and inspired by the sublime battle hymns of Petofi, the Ma- gyars are victorious, until Austria calls the Czar, who treads with iron heels upon Hunga- rian liberty and crushes Magyar life. Two Hungarians have played a most cons- picuous part in this fight. One was that great- est of all the great exiled Magyars, whose very language, poured into men's hearts, was a lambent flame to animate with a more exalted and a diviner life — Louis Kossuth. The other was our own Petofi. On March 15, 18848, he published his famous "Talpra Magyar," and when his powerful battle hymn was first being read to the popu- lace of Pest, ten thousand hands were uplifted and as many voices echoed the oath: Now, by the Magyar's God above We truly swear, We truly swear, the tyrant's yoke Xo more to bear! He joined the Honved's and is in many a battle as an aide-de-camp of General Bern. In the winter of 1848-49 he came home, to Pest, ALEXANDER PET6FI 295 and is blessed by pressing his new born babe to his heart. But of short duration was his visit. Thesun had hardly dawned, when lo! it set; I had but come, and now I must depart, Scarce had I time to greet and kiss thee, dear, When duty calls and we again must part. God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, Good-bye, my heart, my love, my soul, my life. And then he went again into the battlefield. With sword in hand he fought for a holy cause, while with the lyre he inspired his people to hold that cause sacred and dear to their hearts. How well did he succeed! Where the three hundred Spartans fell is well known to history, yet who can tell us how many Termopyles Hungary has? Petofi died as he hoped and prayed to die. Listen to his prayer: When ever} r nation wearing chains Shall rise and seek the battle plains. With flushing face shall wave in fight Their banners blazoned in the light; "For Liberty!'" Their cry shall be. Their cry from east to west, Till tyrants be depressed. There shall my heart's last blood flow out And I my latest cry shall shout; May it be drowned in clash of steel. In trumpet's and in cannon's peal; And o'er my corse Let tread the horse, Which gallops home from victory's gain, And leaves me trodden 'mid the slain. 296 ALEXANDER PETOI/I At the battle of Segesvar, on July 31, 1849, he was last seen, and it is now settled beyond doubt that he fell there and was buried in the great common grave, where, after the battle. all the heroic dead found their eternal rest. His life lasted but twenty-six years ; his songs are immortal. Not if he had grown hoary in the service of his country, could he have grown greater in fame or stronger in the love of his people. As long as the Magyar will love his father- land, and as long as man will love woman and woman will love man, just so long will Petofi's memory live, and so long will his memory be kept green by us and by our posterity. He was an eternal light among the lights of heav- en, a central star amidst the central stars in the heaven of song. ALEXANDER PETOFI GLOSSARY. Alfold — ■ Lowland. The mighty stretch of fertile land in Hungary, between the Danube and the Tisza, extending to the Slavonian mountains. Delibab — Mirage, — Fata Morgana. "Cserebogar, sarga cserebogar" — Mayfly, yellow Mayfly, the opening line of a famous Magyar folk song. Arvaleanyhaj — Orphan girl's hair, a peculiar grass of the Magyar lowland, resembling the aigret- tes in modern millinery, couchgrass, quitch- grass, capillus veneris. Eger. — A city in the comitatus — county — of Heves famous for its wine. Puszta, — The Magyar prairy. "Szegenylegeny" — "Poor lad", the thief of the Magyar lowland, plying his vocation in the prairy and nearby hamlets. Kis-Kunsag, — that part of Hungary where the descendants of the ancient Kuns reside, on the lower Tisza's shore. Kukoricza Janos — John Kukoricza. In the Magyar language the given — christian name — is put after the family name. Kukoricza — Corn. Janos — John. Etelka. — The "ka" is a suffix, put to the name and denotes a term of endearment — te. diminutive. Etel — Ethel. Etelka — dear Ethel, or dear little Ethel. INDEX. Page Preface 3 The Apostle . . . 9 Childe John 76 Simple Steve 125 Cypress Leaves 149 — 174 I '11 tell what until now # 149 What would I not "have* done 150 Where art 151 Ah! How sadly 152 Close that coffin 152 If while alive 153 I am here 154 Up in the zenith 155 I '11 not disturb thy peace 155 For two long days . 156 Why dost thou look into my room 157 Why mockest nature 158 Why should it be odd? 159 Where art thou? 159 She, the darling little girl 160 I stood beside her grave 161 It is not true 161 Thou wert 162 If but my friends would not 162 I have wandered far away 163 Come, Spring; come 164 Time heals all wounds 165 A tinge of blue 166 Did I complain? 166 How sad is life for me 167 When sorely suffering 168 The snow, the funeral pall 169 If in her life 169 Page Our hoary earth 170 Within this room 170 My mother, my mother 171 The clock struck twelve 172 Do I in vain 173 Mysterious, enchanting 178 Discarded flute 174 SELECTED LYRICS. At Home 177 On the Danube 178 A funny story 178 In the 'forest' 180 What use 180 From afar 181 Longing for death . 182 Wolf adventure 183 I 184 Living death 185 The last charity 185 Into the kitchen door I strolled 188 Love is, love is a dark pit 189 You cannot bid the flower 189 At the cross road 190 My little flute 191 I 'cl like to sav 192 At the funeral 192 Mournful is the day 193 Yoices from Eger 193 The moonrays lave 195 The best laid plans 196 Through the village 197 My grave 197 On an ass the shepherd rides 198 The Alfold 198 The evening 200 Bright star" 201 Happy night 202 How vast this world 202 Two brothers 203 Its raining 4 204 Page Drunk for the Country's sake 205 The leaf is falling 205 The forest home 206 The good old landlord 208 The Magyar Noble 209 Fair maiden of a village fair 210 Bargain 212 My love 212 Streamlet and stream 213 My fatherland 214 Oh, judge me not . 215 If God 216, I 'd be a tree 217 The ruins of the inn 218 My dreams 220 Curse and blessing 222 Sweet joy 222 The Maniac 223 I do not weep 220 What is the end of man 226 What is glory 227 Majestic night 227 Are they lovers 227 Untability 228 We were in the garden 228 Poetic fancy 't was 229' I dream of gory days 232 Bright blue the night 233 One thought torments me 234 The rosebush shakes - 235 My songs 236 The inprisoned lion 237 If born a man, then be a man 239 Song of the dogs and wolves 240 I am a Magyar 241 A holy grave 243 The wind 244 The flowers 245 Eagged heroes 247 Fire 248 My Julia is mine 249 Thou art mine 250 How beauteous is the world 252 Page At the end of the year 25'.'> At the hamlet 's outskirt 255 Twilight 256 Aunt Sarah N 257 Homer and Ossian 258 The ^ioon 's elegy 26' > A rosebush on the hillside grows 2C i At the end of September 2(52 Master Pato 268 On a rail road 264 !My wife is dead 265 My mother 's hen 266 Notional song 267 My wife and my sword 269 The fallen statue 270 The God of the Magyars 272 Farewell 27.". The autumn has come 275 Here is my arrow 276 Who would believe 277 War song 27