144 HUNGARIAN LITERATORE see, grand yet gloomy visions, as though lighted by the ruddy flame of a torch wildly blown about by the wind. As an exam ple Jet us take the first and the last two stanzas of the Hoary Gypsy : • Come, gypsy, play : thou had'st thy pay in drinks, Let not the grass grow under thee, strike up l On bread and water who will bear :,je's ills 1 With flowing wine fil l high the parting cup. This mundane life remains for aye the same, It freezeth now, then burneth as a flame ; Strike up l How long thou yet wilt play who knows 1 Thy bow-strings soon will wear out, I suppose. With wine and gloom are füled the cup and heart, Come, gypsy, play, let ali thy cares depart l The stars above this earth-all sorrows' home Leave them in peace, their woes let them endure l From sin and stain by rushing of wild streams And tempests' fury they may yet grow pure. And Noah's ark of old may come again And in its compass a new world contain. Strike up l How long thou yet wilt play who knows 1 Thy bow-stYJngs soon will wear out I suppose. With wine and gloom are filled both cup and heart, Come, gypsy, play, let ali thy cares depart l Strike up l But no- -n ow leave the cords alone ; When once again the world may have a feast, And sileni have became the storm's deep groans, And wars and strifes o'er ali the world have ceased, Then play inspiringly ; and, at the voice Of thy sweet strings, the gods may even rejoice 1 Then take again in hand the songfui bow, Then may thy brow again with gladness glow, And with the wine of joy fül up thy heart ; Then, gypsy, play, and ali thy cares depart 1 What a profoundly sad picture he presents to us in his
- LoEw, "Magyar Poetr}·. "
