The arm be quick blasted, and withered the hand,
That treason would scatter throughout our wide land!
The tree that bears blossoms so rich and so fair,
Oh! who would, e'er rudely its branches impair!
(IVE the Magyar a welcome, ye sons of the free, Since his life is devoted, O Freedom! to thee; Bless the hero that comes to her blood-purchased soil, Where no king can enslave and no tyrant despoil.
Give the Magyar a welcome with heart and with hand,
Where each man is a monarch who lives in the land;
Let him feel that the flag which floats o'er him in pride
Wraps the brave in its starry folds graceful and wide.
Though he comes not in pomp, though he comes not in power,
To be gazed at by crowds for a brief passing hour,
There's a halo around him, a spell in his name,
That may yet the down-trodden of Europe inflame.
Though he hears not the drum and the bugle of war,
Let the winds waft the shouts of his welcome afar:
They may wake the hushed spirit of Freedom again,
And her songs be re-echoed on mountain and plain.
Hard on Hungary's neck rests the Autocrat's heel;
Deep in Hungary's heart reeks the Austrian's steel:
Her people are crushed and her banners are riven—
Oh! why sleep the bolts of the vengeance of Heaven?
Perjured monarchs may prate, and their minions deride
The soul-strivings of millions with Right on their side;
They may stagger with blood, like the drunkard with wine,
But where, where shall their thrones be when freemen combine?
Sooner waves of the ocean their murmurs may cease,
Or the tiger in mercy his victim release,
Than the despots of Europe would slacken the yoke
Till shivered to atoms by Freedom's bold stroke.
Then, oh! welcome brave Kossuth, ye favored of carth,
For he fought, like your sires, for the land of his birth:
May the flame that he kindled unquenchably burn,
Until Honor and Glory shall hail his return.
Y dearest Louise, oh! I cannot upbraid,
Although with my heart you have sad havoc made: With a form of such grace, and a face so divine, I fear, my dear loved one, you ne'er will be mine.
Like the raven, your hair is so black and so bright,
And your eyes are as dark as the darkness of night,
Yet so lovely and beaming, they quickly impart
A love-speaking thrill to my bachelor heart.
And, charming Louise, oh! your rich coral lips
Are sweet as the honey the mountain-bee sips;
Your cheeks are more fair than the roses that bloom,
And shed in Love's garden their matchless perfume.
Words fail to express all the joy and the bliss
I feel in the warmth of your rapturous kiss:
When first your fair form to my bosom I pressed,
Love kindled its flame in my bachelor breast.
Oh! give me but hope, sweet Louise, and I vow
I shall love you through life full as warmly as now:
In joys and in sorrows, in weal and in woe,
Our young hearts were made for each other, I know.
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