Ferenc Kölcsey

HYMN

Bless the Magyar, Lord we pray,
Nor in bounty fail him,
Shield him in the bloody fray
When his foes assail him.
He whom ill?luck long has cursed,
This year grant him pleasure,
He has suffered with the worst
Time beyond all measure.

To Carpathian peaks you brought
Bendeguz's nation,
Beautiful the land you wrought
For their occupation.
Wherever the Danube rolls
Where the Tisza urges
Heroic seed of Árpád's soul
Flowers along their verges.

Ears of ripe corn wave to us
Across Cumanian meadows,
Tokay grapes extend to us
Honey dripping shadows.
Flags of ours you plant upon
Turkey's forts and fences,
Matthias's horde tramples down
Wien's proud defences.

Ah, but through our crimes and faults
Furiously driven,
You unleashed your thunderbolts
Hurling them from heaven,
Arrows of the Mongol hordes
Rained on us in battle,
Then the Turkish overlords
Took us for their chattel.

Osman lips, how frequently,
With their fearsome crowing,
Celebrated victory
As our blood was flowing.
Dearest land, sons of your clay
Turned on their own mother,
You, their charnel house, where they
Laid waste to each other.

Fugitive, concealed, alone,
Fearing sword and sentry,
Vainly seeking for a home
In his native country,
Climbs the peak, flees to the vale,
Doubt and care uphold him,
Seas of blood lap at his heel,
Seas of fire enfold him.

Castle once, now heap of stones;
Fled are all its graces,
Death-cries, rattles, sighs and groans
Occupy their places.
Ah but liberty disdains
Veins that death must vanquish,
Red-eyed orphans in their chains
Weeping where they languish.

With the Magyar take your stand,
Lord, in his vain struggles,
Shield him with your mighty hand
From that sea of troubles.
He whom ill-luck long has cursed
This year grant him pleasure,
He has suffered with the worst
Time beyond all measure!

(George Szirtes)