Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/155

Rh Is there, of earth or heaven, no one to hear me—

No one to sooth this bitterness of anguish?

Strike, thou blest hour! whose summoning voice shall call me

Out of my sorrows into my seclusion:

Free my torn heart from this tormented bosom,

And let the earth receive its earth and ashes:

Then, when I speak, some friendly hand may garland

O'er the tall cross some melancholy flowrets—

Friendship's mementoes—truth's sweets breathing pledges―

Dropping a tear upon my clayey ruins.