cultural resources in henrik ibsen's early environment - Ibsen.net

While life's riddles
Seem to you solved,
A springtime reigns
Gently in your breast!
Ah, soon it vanishes!
Then a mournful sound
From the heartstrings
Gentle and long
Kindly reminds you
About the spring's delight,
Those melody-streams
Are echoes
Of flower-dreams
And spring-song!
TO HUNGARY!
The battle no longer thunders hollowly from the land of the Magyars! From the
battlefield muffled sighs mingled with a lament for the dead to bring through the night's
calm the sad and muted message: the Magyar is no more, his last great struggle is fought!
Freedom's heroic band succumbed before the barbarians' wild hordes, on the ruins tyranny
stands again as freedom's murderer. Rejoice ye, purple-bedecked monarchs! Once again
violence celebrated its triumph,--freedom's flame is vanquished anew!
Wretched land! O, your sons' best heart's blood is poured, yet, those noble fallen heroes
have won a martyr's crown. See, you gird Europe's hope with your brave champions'
corpses; soon perhaps that doomed land becomes another Poland!
Yet, beyond the night of thralldom will beam a glorious sunrise, then will your heroes of
freedom rise from the dead, to join with them who fell fighting by Weichsel's banks and
with those who are wet with blood-stains from the soil of the scaffold Germany!
Yes, when those young kinsmen rising bravely leap against the throne like an autumn
hurricane and topple the foundations of tyranny's pillars, then shall the name of the
Magyars be called proudly by their heroes, to thunder like a beautiful battle-cry from
those victorious ranks!
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