Ne’er shall I rest, but goad and harass thee
Until I stir thy heart, or my heart break.”
“Down there in the plain, Arány wandered after sunset over the snow-covered land. He stopped at the threshold of stately manors, under hamlets’ tiny windows, lit up by the brushwood fire from within. And it is the soul of the plains that speaks from his lips:
“The Nation lives and shudders as its heart
With horror feels destruction’s deadly grip....”
“And above all, alone, like the voice of a giant choir, the voice of Vörösmarty exclaims:
“For come it will, for come it must
The dawn of better days,
For which this land, with pious lips
Beseeches Thee and prays.”