The Eighth Tribe, 1976 (3. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1976-03-01 / 3. szám
Page 2 THE EIGHTH TRIBE March, 1976 WHAT IS THE EIGHTH TRIBE? The Hungarian Nation when entering the Carpathian Basin in the 9th century A.D. was composed of seven Magyar tribes of Scythian origin. Many hundreds years later some of the people left Hungary for a newly discovered land — and this segment became the Eighth Tribe. To those who were born in this land, speaking or not the Hungarian language, Reformed, Lutheran, Catholic or any other faith, even if only a trace of Hungarian origin in them, to these this Magazine is dedicated. There are many social activities pursued by today’s generation to further or keep up some of the Hungarian customs in their own respective areas. We would like to bring all these to our readers, so they know what is happening in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, New York, Florida and California or wherever it may be. Send us pictures and descriptions of your groups. There are many of the second and third generation, who have achieved distinguished fame in their fields. We would like to bring this to the attention of our readers, so all of us can be proud of their achievements. The first issue of The Eighth Tribe was published April, 1974. THE EIGHTH TRIBE Editor ........................................................... Sándor E. Chomos Contributing Editors: ........... Albert Wass, Joseph Széplaki and Dr. István S. Tuba Published and printed monthly by the Bethlen Press, Inc. P. O. Box 637, Ligonier, Pa. 15658, U.SA. Second Class Postage paid at Ligonier, Pa. 15658, U. S. A. Subscription: $8.00 yearly. Sándor Petőfi: RÁKÓCZI Our homeland’s saint, the leader of freedom, Our bright star on a dark night, Oh Rákóczi, in memory of you We flame and burst into tears! And yes, those that you soldiered with, They shall soon triumph, But you shall not be here for the triumph, You cannot come hack from the depth of your grave. For the return of your ashes We would gladly make a pilgrimage, But where did they put you into the ground, Where is your grave? No one knows! They drove you from your nation, Even your name was driven away, And from the load of the century your grave has collapsed, It lies above you, like a shield. Oh, but your spirit, your spirit was not lost, Such a spirit cannot be lost: When the battle begins, Fly down to us with your heroic ghost. Take the flag, take it with your ghost hands, Carry it before us as you carried it so long ago, And with an enthusiastic voice from another world, Strengthen the hearts of our troops. And we shall storm at the enemy, And if there shall be one hundred precious hands reaching after us, And if there shall be one hundred faces of death before us: There will be no one amongst us who will look back. And when our day of victory arrives. The glorious holiday of freedom, A million lifts shall shout: He who started it finished it! Pest, 1848, April 21 Translated by Frank Szomy
