Fraternity-Testvériség, 1941 (19. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1941-08-01 / 8. szám

16

TESTVÉRISÉG

Part III

On then, brave patriot, be not dismayed,

Tho’ clamorous foes, in hateful bands arrayed, Surround thee on all sides, who strain their wits, And with strange zeal display their furious fits, Who use their talents, energy, and might,

To sully thy fame and glory bright,

(Which luminous as stars on heav’n high dome, Glare beacon-like thro’ desolation’s gloom,

And like their golden prototypes divine Will to the end of time remain and shine;)

Who, full of rancour’s virulence and spite,

Despotic might support ’gainst law and right,

By their attempts, which cause brave men to blush, Thy sacred cause and nobile aim to crush.

O, fatal folly! where then wilt thou end,

How long with falsehood’s weapon’s wrong defend, On thine onw heart inflinct the deadly blow,

At freedom’s children aimed, or high or low?

If once success thy dread attempt has crowned, And ’neath tyrannic chariots’ wheels is found Bleeding to death and maimed fair freedom’s cause, What power on earth can seal the source of woes, The fountain-head, whence various poisons glide, And stem the bounding surge of mis’ry’s tide?

A laugh of scorn, contempt, and mockery’s smile, The due reward for cunning, craft, and guile,

Thy labour’s fruit will be and recompence,

Earned and deserved in tyranny’s defence.

Check, then, thy progress, while there is yet time, And cease to prosecute the foes of crime,

But ’gainst its authors hurl thy shafts of wrath, And rent asunder tyrants’ plighted troth!

But no, with trumpet sound loud to proclaim Their sympathy, and cleanse the blood-stained fame Of him, the despot young on Austria’s throne, Whose ancient splendour now fore’er is gone,

An empty phantom but of former might,

The deepest curse and blot in freedom’s sight:

Such are the proudest efforts of thy foes,

In this congenial field their spirit glows;

Or to extol, and lift up to the skies In admiration’s terms and great surprise His act of mercy, shown the other day To Hungary once free and great and gay,

Thy dearly loved and noble fatherland,

Now held in shackles forged by tyrants’ hand; Where, but a while ago, beneath the tree Of law and justice, right and liberty,

A loyal nation dwelled; in tranquil bliss Enjoyed the fruits of peace and happiness;

Among the precious stones the brightest gem,

That form the glory of his diadem;

His house’s firm support and bulwark strong,

Thro’ centuries of hardships’ suffer’d wrong, Inflicted by misrule’s envenomed hand,