My body answers you, my blood Leaps at your maddening, piercing call The fierce notes startle, and the veil Of this dull present seems to fall. My soul responds to that long cry; It wants its country, Hungary! Not mine by birth. Yet have I not Some strain of that old Magyar race? Else why the secret stir of sense At sight of swarthy Tzigane face, That warns me: “Lo, thy kinsmen nigh.” All ’s dear that tastes of Hungary. Once more, O let me hear once more The passion and barbaric rage! Let me forget my exile here In this mild land, in this mild age; Once more that unrestrained wild cry That takes me to my Hungary! They listen with approving smile, But I, O God, I want my home! I want the Tzigane tongue, the dance, The nights in tents, the days to roam. O music, O fierce life and free, God made my soul for Hungary!
Music of Hungary
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