Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/162

Her brightness and glory,
The valleys around;
The mountains, though hoary,
Grow young at the sound.
Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke, brekeke;
Too-oo—koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo!

There is in the forest
A colorless bird,
Whose song is the poorest
And saddest e'er heard—
Deep, deep in the bushes
The creature is hidden,
Whence oft his noise gushes—
O, why not forbidden!
His voice thrilling o'er us
Confuses our chorus.
The Gods, interfering,
Have punish'd the fool,
And given him a hearing
Of melody's school;
He flies with his riot,
He hurries away,
Leaves heaven to its quiet,
And earth to be gay.
Yes! gay with our music till winter, and then
We bury our voice in sad silence again,
Till the spring breaks anew on the freshness of youth,
And we walk in the spirit of music and truth,
To pour forth our anthems o'er forest and plain.