My Fatherland

The sun has set, but stars did not
Shine brightly in the sky above.

Nowhere a light, my midnight oil
Burns and my patriotic love.

The love of home's a beauteous star,
In comely splendor does it shine.

Poor fatherland, poor fatherland,
But few of such bright stars are thine!
My oillamp's light is fluttering
And flickers. Why quivers the flame?
The midnight struck. Might not the ghosts
Of my ancestors fan the same?
Not to ancestors look, Magyar,
They are like coursing suns on high.
You must not look into the sun,
The bright light but blinds your eye.
Ye glorious forefathers ours!
Whose rising once shook all the earth,
On crumbling Europe's forehead, who
Inscribed your own, your nation's worth!

Yea, great were you, Magyar, one day,
And lands and power you possessed; -

In Magyar seas were lost the stars
A-f ailing north and east and west!

It is so long, that laurel wreaths,
Dear Magyarland, adorned you,

That fancy, — though a swift-winged eagle, —
Grew weary ere so far back flew.
That laurel wreath upon your crown
Hath dried so long ago, it seems

To be a legendary myth,
Or has been seen but in our dreams.
Since long I have not wept, but now
My eyes are filled with tears anew.
Tell me, my Magyarland, is this
Your morning's dawn, your sunset's dew?
My nation's glory, what were you?
A shooting star, that shone on high,
Then fell with sudden sweep and lost
Forever is to human eye?
Or, glory of the Magyar, are
A comet you, which comes and goes,
And which in future centuries
Returns, the world to hold in throes?