Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/114

"We give not milk-white steed to hounds,
To fish, no saddles gay;
To reapers give no golden bits—
We know not what they'd say."

And so the heralds hasten back;
While, fill'd with dread alarms,
Retreating wide to Duna's side,
The Count his army arms.

At Kelemfold, Arpād the bold
O'er Duna's waters goes;
At Cseke's land his forces mann'd—
In Tetem were the foes.

The Magyar throng in Érd was strong,
And on Szászhalom's plain:
In those proud wars, the Magyars,
By God upheld, their foemen quell'd,
And mighty was their gain.

His brave-ones dead, the Herczeg fled—
Alone he fled—alone:
The Magyar ranks reach'd Duna's banks—
The Polish Count was gone.

Alone he ran, poor flying man!
What could he do but leap—
To save himself in Duna's stream,
And hide him in the deep?