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HUNGARIAN FOLK-SONGS.
" Since you would not be mine,
No other shall you wed. My blood shall flow with thine,
One mingled streamlet red. Our bodies side by side
In one tomb close shall lie, To God, the glorified
Our souls together fly."
THE MURDERED YOUTH.
They have killed the gallant youth, For his sixty florins white,
In the Tizta they have thrown him, For his stallion bay and bright.
The Tizta would not keep him In its waves nor let him float,
On the strand a fisher found him And took him into his boat.
His mother came to wake him, But her voice he could not hear, " Rise up, rise up, my gallant son, Your mother's heart is here."
His father came to wake him, But his voice he could not hear, V Rise up, rise up, my gallant son, Your father's house is near."
His sweetheart came to wake him, But her voice he could not hear, |
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