Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/185

Rh I. DAL. 7.

Mint a' szarvas, kit megére.

As the suffering hart confounded

By the lance that tears his veins;

Flies—in vain—for he is wounded,

Vainly flies to woods or plains:

Since thy piercing eye look'd thro' me,

So I flee—and vainly flee;

Still thy magic barbs pursue me—

I am wounded, maid! by thee.

And the wound but seems the stronger,

As my flight is further—longer—

Smitten heart! alas! thy pain

Seeks relief or rest in vain.