GYURI BANDI.
The rain falls in a few small drops,
Gyuri Bandi beside the gallows cries,
Beyond Szeged the woodman chops
The tree, from which the croaking raven flies.
Yet Gyuri Bandi naught has done
But twist his kerchief to a solid cord,
And knot it round his wife's neck bone,
To deck a tree for her sovereign lord.