Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/120

14 Uttering despairing tones of lamentation,

"Merciful Isten! I have left my dwelling:

What will befal me in this dreary desert?

"O miserable fortune! But my fortune

Is far less grievous than those youthful heroes',

Who fell beneath the sword-strokes of the foeman.

"For them, I'll haste to death—for them, I'll make me

A burial-bed upon the gloomy desert:

God! let the wolves and wild fowl be my mourners.

"Into God's hand I now my soul deliver."

Szilagyi hastened thither—and the maiden

Smiled joyous while he led her forth. They journey'd

Towards the Magyar land; they reach'd the borders;

And then Hajmási said to his companion,

"Let's strive who shall possess the lovely maiden."

But swift Szilagyi turn'd upon Hajmási:

"Nay, at thy peril; thou art wed already

To a fair bride: I'm pledged unto the maiden."

Then cried the imperial daughter to the heroes,

"Nay! not for me shall hero blood be wasted:

Fling me upon the sword—not your own bosoms."