Fraternity-Testvériség, 1941 (19. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1941-05-01 / 5. szám
14 TESTVÉRISÉG ODE TO KOSSUTH 1 Hail to the Champion of Freedom! Hail to the bold Refugee From the yoke of an Egypt — the rod of an Edom — To the Isle of the Brave and Free! Lord of the Spirit unconquer’d and chainless! Whom no edicts could crush, whom no threats could dismay From the Land of thy Love, with a fame bright and stainless, The Soldier — the Chieftain — unscathed from the fray, The Martyr for Justice — the Victim for Truth — Thrice welcome to England, illustrious Kossuth! 2 Shame on the Austrian Tyrant! What was the Patriot’s crime? The love of his country — a soul too aspirant, Intent on a mission sublime. Though bred to a peaceful profession, not idle When his province was menaced by Emperor and Czar, He press’d, with an ardour no state-craft could bridle, To his citizens’ aid, and shone foremost in war; And thrice he defeated the slaves that assay’d him, Victorious o’er all — till a recreant betray’d him. 3 Envoy intrepid and fearless! In the hall of the Despot he pleaded Sad Hungary’s cause, writh an eloquence peerless, That e’en adverse senators heeded: Yet that voice, which could awe listening foes, with its cadence, Or rally a host, at a word, round his side, To arms, and to vengeance — pour’d forth no upbraidings; They granted a charter — ignored it amain, And gave him —- proscription — a brand — and a chain! 4 Shame on the false Hapsburg’s minions! Serfs of a treacherous Kero! Thought they to shackle proud Genius’ pinions — Sully the soul of a hero? Go, soft sycophants! Scale yon Carpathian eyrie, Bind the eagle, just ready to soar on the wind — On Africa’s sands, tame the forest-king fiery — Then fetter the lofty, invincible Mind! Or first force the Sun from his course, in your wrath, Ere ye turn that Fabricius from Honour’s high path! 5 Is there no hope for the Exile? None for his country down-trodden? The Spirit of Genius is buoyant and flexile — E’en from her sons’ graves, blood-sodden, Fair Freedom, though planted in Winter’s rude rigour, Long nourish’d with life-drops—long water’d with tears— Towers forth, to Faith’s gaze, like the Oak, in full vigour, ’Neath Prosperity’s Sun, in the vista of years: The Patriot may die, but his cause is immortal, And his eye, time-bedimm’d, shall yet glimpse Triumph’s portal!
