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HUNGARIAN FOLK-SONGS. |
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They are sweeping the wide street.
The soldiers start marching down ; A maid of sixteen, red and sweet,
Is following out of town.
The young captain turns and speaks : " What this means I must know."
She answers with tear-wet cheeks, " I follow where'er you go." |
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The roads are thick with snow, The black steed gallops wide.
His bridle reins hang low In his mad master's ride.
The brigand on the steed
Breathes deep, and sadly sighs, " I dreamed not, in my need, She 'd sell me to the spies.
" Of all the brigands cursed, Who rob on the wide plain, The soldiers seek me first, To bind me with a chain.
" My father was a thief,
My grandfather likewise. To honest life's relief, How can such seed arise ? " |
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