Nightfall in Hungary
As when the sun in darkness sets,
And night falls on the earth,
Along the azure fields above
The stars of heaven come forth;
So when the sun of Liberty
Grows dim to mortal eyes,
From out the gloom, like radiant stars,
The world's true heroes rise.
The men of human destiny,
Whom glorious dreams inspire;
High-priests of Freedom, in whose souls
Is shrined the sacred fire.
The fire that through the wilderness
In steadfast lustre streams;
That on the future, dim and dark,
Sheds its effulgent beams.
Thus, oh Hungaria! through the night
That wraps thee in its gloom,
Light from one burning soul streams forth,
A torch above thy tomb.
Thy tomb! oh no -- the mouldering shroud
The worm awhile must wear,
Ere, from its confines springing forth,
He wings the upper air.
Thy tomb! then from its door ere long
The stone shall roll away,
Thou shalt come forth, and once again
Greet the new-risen day.
The day that prayed and waited for
So long, shall surely rise,
As surely as to-morrow's sun
Again shall greet our eyes.
What though before the shape evoked
The coward heart has quailed,
And when the hour, the moment came,
The recreant arm has failed: --
What though the apostate wields the sword
With fratricidal hand,
And the last Romans wander forth
In exile o'er the land: --
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poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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