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HUNGARIAN FOLK-SONGS. 299 |
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" Oh, do not go, dear orphans three,
For work you are too small and weak."
" Come, I will give you three small wands, Upon your mother's grave to knock."
" Arise, arise, our mother dear,
Cold and ragged are your flock."
" I cannot rise, dear orphans three,
Within my shroud I 'm dried to bone ; But you have now a second mother, Who will tend you as her own."
" When she combs our tangled hair,
Her talons scratch and make us bleed, And when she gives us food to eat, 'T is with curses she would feed."
BUGA JAKAB.
" Why do you grumble, comrade, that there's nothing in your purse ?
God is good, his gifts are sure, keep up your heart from woe; The winter it will soon be past, the bloom come to the furze,
And where our eyes look round us we will go."
" How can I help my sadness, lad, how can I drop my care ?
All the ills of life I feel in my bosom sore ; I cannot sleep nor rest, nor breathe refreshing air,
My heart is in a well and covered o'er.
" My side is naked to the blast, my coat to rags is torn, My shoulder blade is bleeding raw, where my belt will chafe, |
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