Laurel · Sándor Petőfi · Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet

Istók, the Fool

Sándor Petőfi (1823–1849), translated by John Bowring · 1866

iambic tetrameter · ABAB · 704 lines · from Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet

He comes! he comes! he hurries throughIn most bewildered fashion;And how he storms! who ever knewA man in such a passion?

He whips his courser fiercely, wild;He drives his spur-points bloody;He pulls the reins—he sweeps the field,—His cheeks with fury ruddy.

Heydà! nought stops him in his way,No hindrance can restrain him;No barrier there, no toll to pay,—Hell's gate would not detain him.

"Across, across the Puszta wide,—None its expanse can measure,—There's liberty on every side,To right, to left, at pleasure.

"I'll toss my shako in the air,As on my courser dashes;Out of the way! beware! beware!Of mud and mire and splashes."

And while he spoke, the rattling rainCame down in cataract-currents,And drenched him,—while he curs'd again,—With its o'erwhelming torrents.

What did the youngster there, but standAs to the spot close fettered;Like Cæsar, when in Brutus' hand,He saw the glaive that glittered.

Like Cæsar in his mantle clad,Which proudly he wrapped round him:But fate for our poor pelted lad,No covering mantle found him.

.While he who has a thick, warm fur,And is well wrapped within it,May scorn the storm,—he need not stir,But patient wait—a minute.

"And thou! who lingerest thus, I wouldThe thunderbolt should smite thee!Fool, as thou art, begone! no goodIs waiting to invite thee.

"But I,—I am a privileged man,Baptized in Christian font, IDemand a thousand honours, can—A thousand prizes count I.

"I have been drenched enough in rainTo whiten any Moorman;Yet was I born, and must remain,A very, very poor man.

"Let that rain drench my garments thro',Torn by the storm I'll wear them;Yet this, Philosophy will do—'Twill teach me how to bear them.

"My vest an honest tailor made,In his serene enjoyment;But though the bill was never paid,The work gave him employment."

And here the lad laughed out aloud,In laughter queer and curious:Down fell the waters from the cloud,More furious and more furious.

And calm and patient was the lad,Not angry nor offended;It makes the saddest mood more sadTo mourn what can't be mended.

And soon the storm-clouds disappeared,The floods away were driven;And a bright vision Istók cheered,—A rainbow in the heaven.

"Thou lovely bond!" the wanderer cried,"Life's many hues displaying:A peacock stalking in his pride,A promised dawn surveying.

"An arch triumphal, mirroring backThe sun's victorious glances,Scattering the storm-clouds in his track,With glorious golden lances.

"But thou art far,—tho' farther yetMy home—and I am weary;And soon in night the sun will set,And earth be damp and dreary.

"I am no prophet—yet I dareForetell that pretty maidensWill hardly give a listening earThis day to my upbraidings.

"They bear with me, for such a ladWould neither harm nor wrong them;I wish that I a stork's wings hadTo carry me among them.

"What can I do? How shall I fare?And who shall me deliver,When the dark night shall leave me here,In damp and cold to shiver?

"They call me fool—no fool am I,If, in my helter-skelter,I see a cottage where to fly,And in it find a shelter.

"If it should prove a robber's nest,Which welcome kind afforded,It need not break a miser's rest,Whose gold is safely hoarded.

"The chimney smokes—the hearth looks bright;Smoke—light—there must be fire then,And I shall warm me—O delight!Find food—what more desire then!

"And this is logic—sound and good—Which mine own wits have brought me;And if they bring me fire and food,How well my school has taught me."

The Tanya, then, the youngster found,And bent his footsteps tow'rd it;"Tis in the Puszta's farthest ground,And shade and silence guard it.

The walls, the windows tottering stood,A tale of ruin telling—Is it a grave mound's solitude?Or a deserted dwelling?

As orphan-children by the tomb,Of their dead mother weeping,There stood some scathed trees in the gloom,Their mournful vigils keeping.

Nought showed that dwelling wild and wideOf master-mason's doings;But time's hard foot on every sideHad trampled on the ruins.

The mortar with the rubbish lay,The windows all were broken,The shutters swung and creaked—the playOf rain and storm a token.

Before the door, upon the ground,A lazy hound was growling,And friend or foe, the ugly houndSaluted with his howling.

There stood an old man by the sillOf the remoter dwelling,Who, moving slow or standing still,Was equally repelling.

"Twas all so damp, so dark and dull,So dreary, dismal, dying,As if a ban of curses fullUpon the place were lying.

And Istók, as he looked around,Uttered an exclamation:"There must the Tartars still be foundAmidst the desolation.

This is the seat of Tamerlane,Of the vile Tartar races,And here I see of Genghis Khan,The indisputable traces."

So, spite of all the dangers, heAdvancing as a RomanBold,—and his foremost enemyWas an old ugly woman.

She held a poker in her hand,The dying ashes moving;He gently spoke as if he plann'dTo win her heart by loving.

"Good evening, worthy Dame!—round youThe light of morning gathers—A rose of spring-time, wet with dew;—We had the same forefathers."

But soon the beldam stopped the talk,So rash and so provoking—"Begone! the sooner off you walkThe better—with your joking.

"No doubt you think a welcome hereWould be extremely pleasant—You'd like good wine and costly cheer,And honeycomb and pheasant!"

"Yes! better than a cabbage-mess,If to such fare invited:You had not seen me here, I guess,Had I not been benighted.

"But as 'tis night, I would implore"—And then he stopped—forbiddenTo pass the witch-protected door,And enter such an Eden,

Yet asked—" Where is the landlord, Ma'am,For if the landlord knew me,And I could tell him who I am,Perhaps he'd listen to me."

"I am the landlord," said a voice,As if a growling motionHad brought from ocean's deep a noiseTo move that troubled ocean.

An ancient man, with snowy beard,Ploughed forehead, stately stature,And solemn, heavy gait appeared—But gaunt in form and feature.

He stood as stands a grave-cross stark—Unbending and unchanging,When whitening snow, or cloud-storms darkAre wildly, fiercely ranging.

He looked—as looks a church-yard—dull,With ghouls and spirits flurried;Where tombs are thick, and graves are full,In which all joys are buried.

Up rose the youngster's spirit, movedBy one so stern and surly;And thus courageously reprovedThe landlord bluff and burly.

"Be calm! be calm! my worthy host,And hold thy bursting ire in;I am not suffering from the frost,Nor from the heat perspiring.

"But truly to the skin am wet,And drenched my garments rather;So in thy tender mercy letMe dry my clothes, good father!

"And if there be a plank where ICan fling a weary man down,There will I as contented lieAs on the softest swan-down."

"Well!" said the host—it was enough,Though growled in seeming rudeness;The youngster thanked the old man rough,"I'm grateful for your goodness."

He sat the chimney-hearth within,And soon he fell a-dozing,More happy than was ErmelinUpon his throne reposing.

"What want I more?—The world is mine,I heed not saint or sinner;Except that I should like to dine,If I could find a dinner."

Such were his dreams; and in such strait,If seeking an adviser,Altho' a fool, you long might waitBefore you found a wiser.

What was and is, and could not be—What might or might not happen,Had he but worn a night-cap heHad crowded his night-cap in.

And crowded were his brains by this,And other such reflections;The old people heard his reveries,His sighs, his interjections!

Three wagons could not carry allThe burdens of his spirit;And while they heard him cry and call,They only laughed to hear it.

Their tongues were silent as a keyWithin a lock that's rusted;But hunger comes, do what you may,And chance cannot be trusted.

At last—at last the old man cried—For hunger got the upperHand, as the fool had prophesied—"We must sit down to supper."

He listened anxiously to them,And heard the grey-beard tell her,The wife of old.Methusalem—Of plundered safe and cellar.

"We'll get a royal supper then!"He to himself suggested?"And who shall be the serving men?Even I, were I requested.

"O sweet! most sweet! my reverend sir,Will be the supper's flavour;There's only one thing wanting here—A little salt for savour.

"Not common salt—that is not it—That's every where abundant,We want the attic salt of wit,With quips and jokes redundant.

"Why even the fish, in silence bred,Despise our solemn silence,And wish that they themselves were ledTo exile many a mile hence.

"Silence no better is than death,And more than death I dread it;O lend to me your stock of breath,More value I than bread, it.

"Science, and art, and history,Political economy,Are all familiarised to me,As earth's and heaven's astronomy.

"I've lived in north, south, east, and west,In cottage and in palace,Will talk of what may please you best,Without a word of malice.

"But speak, good man! and I'll reply"—A touching melancholyGave forth an answer from his eye—"To me 'tis all, all folly."

"No, that is but a calumny,Reproachful to high heaven;The world cannot all evil be,There's good in evil even."

"Good! good! where's good?" The old man shookHis head in grave dejection;"I know not where to find, or look,For favor or affection.

"I bear the weight of sixty years,With all their bitternesses,For time has turned all smiles to tears,And curses follow kisses.

"The tree of life has lost its fruits,The winds its branches flinging,Wasted its trunk, and torn its roots,Its birds have ceased their singing.

"The very hopes that linger lastAre faded and departed:And nought is left of all the pastBut memories, broken-hearted.

"My very youth was sour and sad,And winter-wrapt and weary:How can old age be gay or gladWhen youth was dark and dreary?

"I loved an angel, heavenly born,Pure as the snow I thought her;But she became a thing of scornAnd shame—pollution's daughter.

"So my spring flower was scathed, I cursedMy destiny ill-fated;I waited for the summer's burst,For autumn fruits I waited.

"They came, they passed, they fled, they broughtOf better days no token;Brought nought but woes and wailings, noughtBut wrecks and ruins broken.

"Short gleam of day,—long darkness gloomed,I lost two lovely children;One lives,—to foul dishonour doomed,O misery bewildering!

"Ten years have past,—I stand bereftOf all, a vile weed, rotten,Down-trodden—one sole longing left,To die, and be forgotten.

"This sad account I fain would close,This bitter, bitter being;Mandate of death! come! from his woesThe wretched prisoner freeing.

"O what a bliss it were to sleepBeyond the reach of sorrow;When eye-balls doomed to-day to weepShall drop no tears to-morrow."

Such was the old man's evidence,Which sad experience taught him;Where Istók found both truth and sense,And suddenly bethought him:

"Why was I wanton with his woe?An old man's woes count double:Father! I would not wound thee! No!Nor trifle with thy trouble.

"Yes, father! I have sinned, and bearThe burthen of confession;Yet you transgress,—Old Man! despair-—Despair is your transgression.

"But of all sins, the very worstIs stubborn Pessimismus!And of all crimes the most accursedIs stupid Atheismus!

"Despair is but hell's fearful cry,Proclaiming in its madness,That heaven is godless vacancy,And earth a void of sadness.

"And they who doubt the grace of God,The great, the good preceptor,Shall feel the smitings of His rod,When they renounce His sceptre.

"For all One Father have—for allThat Father cares, out-pouringThe sun-beams glance, the rain drops fallOn th' heedless as th' adoring.

"But patience! since for all his sonsThat Father spreads a tableWith bounties, blisses, benisons,And gifts incalculable.

"In patience wait! as sun and starBreak though heaven's azure curtain;So constant all His mercies are,But still more bright and certain.

"Yes! even in this world's midnight, HeSome streaks of light hath given;And midst our dark mortality,Hung up a star in heaven.

"And from that star a ray falls down,As radiance fell on Eden,Bright, all the hills with light to crown;Sweet, ocean's depths to sweeten."

So spake the youth, the old man prestHis hand, and when he stopt there,Sweet as the milk from mother's breast,Those gracious words had dropt there.

The old man's heart at nature's touchWas melted—" I implore theeTell me where thou hast learnt so much?What land,—what mother bore thee?"

That land, that mother's honoured name,Flittered like ghosts before him;And many thoughts of sadness cameIn gloomy vision o'er him.

Yet spake he calmly, as in glee:"I heard the owlets screeching;Out of the gloomy ivy-tree,And listened to their teaching.

"A no-where born, unowned am I,The cloud-land my dominion;My ancestors were nobody,My soul a petrel's pinion.

"I wander forth, my pilgrim's staffA fit companion makes me;I doff or don my hat,—I laughOr weep,—as fancy takes me.

"I care for hunger not, nor cold,To me even pain is pleasant;The dawning future makes me bold,Because I hate the present.

"You ask my birth-place, and my school,My history, name, and nation,—Enough—Istók, Istók, the Fool:—That is my appellation."

And the next morning, firm and tightHis knapsack having fastened,To the old man, at morning's light,The grateful Istók hastened;

And gave a kind farewell, and said—"If luck should come,—a prophetOnce visited this humble shed,And parting, told thee of it."

The old man grasps the youngster's hand,He trembles as he hails him;Tears starting in his eye-balls stand,His power of utterance fails him.

At last, words, broken words, and weak,Broke from his lips,—" God guide thee,I would—I would—I cannot speak;But let all good betide thee.

"God guide thee! No! that cannot be—The word, Farewell! I neverCan utter a farewell to thee,So stay with me for ever.

"I'm poor, I'm old, but here, yes, here,You shall find more of loving,Of kindness, peace, than other where,—O dream not then of moving.

"Speak,—speak as you spoke yesterday,It was so wisely spoken;It brought such healing that it mayEven heal a heart that's broken.

"And wilt thou not, dear friend, remain!"The young man answered, "Even,Even as you will; the parting's painBe spared to both by heaven.

"If babbling such as mine can giveAn old man peace or pleasure,In pleasure and in peace we'll live,And babble without measure.

"But there's a rumbling noise at hand,I hear men's voices humming;A waggon on the Puszta sand,And company is coming."

"They must not enter here," cried he;"Here is there room for no man.""What! not my grandfather to see?"Answered a sweet-voiced woman.

The door flung ope, which stood ajar,In leaped a smiling maiden;She was as lovely as a star,With light and love o'erladen.

She clung her to the old man's breast,With smiles, and tears, and kisses;O never was a mortal blest,With such excess of blisses.

"Thy grandchild, I, to thee I cling,O welcome and protect me;I comfort ask, and comfort bring,And thou will not reject me.

"And I am lost, unless in theeI find a sire's protection;My father has abandoned me,—I trust to thine affection.

"For he insists that I shall wed(And for the gift be grateful)A man whose home, and heart, and head,Are most intensely hateful.

"He stood, a cold stone petrified,I wept,—I raved,—I pleaded;O turn not thou, as he, aside,But give the shelter needed.

"I see in thy reproachful eye,A menace to exile me;O give me not to infamy,To doom that would defile me!

"Long, long I dreamed that thou—that thou,—And yet I dared not try thee;O hear me, help me, save me now,Compel me not to fly thee.

"Do what thou wilt, thou canst not beSo steely, stony-breasted;No! thou wilt not surrender me,To wed with the detested."

What could he say?—the poor old man—When hearts are flowing over,No fettering power of language canThought's hidden depths discover.

But sighs and sobs and tears,—insteadOf words—unchecked, out-breaking;The tender look, the bending head,Were eloquently speaking.

The present and the past were blentIn one confused emotion,As mingling rivers, when intentOn flowing towards the ocean.

That ocean whelmed him in th' abyssOf storm-tossed waves confusing—Life, death, weal, woe, light, darkness, bliss,In wild bewildered musing.

After long silence—as the rocks,Heaven-smitten, pour their streaming,—"A friend?—and do my snowy locksGrow dark, or am I dreaming?

"A dream!—What dream? Can this be she,And was it I who taught herTo dance, sweet child! upon my knee—Young man, 'tis my grand-daughter.

"Stretch out thy hand—come near to me,All—all shall be forgiven,For o'er our dark mortality,There shines a star in heaven.

"So come to me, and stay and trust,With me thou shalt abide, dear!I will thy guardian be—thou mustBe ever at my side, dear!"

And many a loving word he said,More than I can repeat now,In gentleness engendered,All sleek and soft and sweet, now!

But hark! without—a thundering voice—A father claims his daughter;"Begone! Begone!" the old man cries,"What misery hast thou brought her?

"Cross not my threshold—but begone!Thou vainly hast pursued her,Or I will be the banished one,And God shall curse the intruder.

"Thy child? O mention not the name!Thou wert the vile invader,Who to disgrace, and sin, and shame,Wretch! did'st conspire to lead her.

"Yes! thro' thy child, just heaven shall meteWhat thou to me hast meted,And my dark history's curse repeat,In thine more dark repeated.

"Again begone! No more intrude,Off—need I further press thee?I would not curse thee if I could,And yet I cannot bless thee."

The old man spoke—more sad than stern,His darkened glance alightedUpon his son—he saw him turn,And flee away affrighted.

The old man stood—a statue grand—Cold—silent—without motion;Standing, as broken icebergs standUpon a frozen ocean.

But when the graceless son had fled,The old man's eyes o'er-swelling,A shower of heavy tear-drops shed,And then he sought his dwelling.

And there sat down, depressed and dumb,Unnerved—unmoved—while, coldly,He saw the young man towards him come,Who thus addressed him boldly.

"I am no longer wanted here,For thou hast found a treasure,Beyond all other treasures dear,Whose worth no words can measure.

"Give me thy blessing, I am gone;My destiny is pressing;Thou honored sire! Thou smiling one!Give—give me both your blessing."

And then he moved, as if to go;The old man's eye-balls glistened—He uttered a pathetic "No!"And while the young man listened,

He said—" I order thee to stay,No difficulty make now,And as my griefs are past away,My joys thou shalt partake now."

"Well! I remain!—So be it then;Instal me the protector,Proclaim me both of beast and men,The ruler and director.

"You have a trusty maiden now,For all the household's guiding;O'er all above and all below,Becomingly presiding.

"And I, a world-experienced man,Called by the doom of fate here,Out of these ancient bear-holes canA noble house create here."

Great was the change; he gathered roundThe servants, fast and faster:And soon the very meanest foundThe influence of the master.

And soap and sand and brush and broom,And three days' thorough labour,Had metamorphosed roof and room,So that no passing neighbour

Had known the place, from dirt and dust,Clean as a soldier's jacket;Keys, locks, bolts, handles free from rust,All brightening in the racket

By Istók made—the fool—who canMake wiser mortals follow;There was a spirit in the man,Not a mere tinkling hollow.

He could command, and was obeyed,A firm, but gentle power;He knew the value of the maid,The influence of a flower.

He rises with the rising morn,And to the Puszta going,Paces the furrows, binds the corn,Or watches o'er the sowing.

And when the maiden, busied still,With household care is toiling,She sees him o'er the window sill,And cheers him with her smiling.

And here,—there,—everywhere he moved,With labour's riches laden;His industry the old man loved,His heart the youthful maiden.

And so hours fled, and so fled days,Such are too swiftly fleeing,While those who saw their happy ways,Felt happier in the seeing.

How was the wonder brought about?It seemed a marvellous history,And many a guess and many a doubtWere mingled in the mystery.

But day to day improvement brought,Some ever new invention;Strange is the magic power of thought,When led by good intention!

When all was ordered—ordered well,He strapped his pack for starting;He sought the old man. sought the belle,To say, "I am departing."

But no! The words he never spoke,For misery to his eye lentThe tears that drowned his tongue, and brokeHis heart, and he was silent.

The old man guessed—the maiden feltThe meanings yet unuttered;Upon his trembling lips they dwelt,Which broken accents stuttered.

Then all fell weeping—maid and manAnd youth—their hot cheeks glitterWith the thick stream of tears that ran,So bursting and so bitter.

And so they sobbed and wept—each breastWith varied passions throbbing;The old man left his seat of rest,His weeping and his sobbing—

Rushed on the youth, and soon untiedThe straps the pack enfolding;The maiden swiftly cast asideThe staff that he was holding.

And sack and staff are there anon,Upon a peg suspended;Istók, the Fool, has never goneFrom thence, as he intended.

Was he a fool? Perchance there's lessOf folly than is seeming,When for substantial happinessWe give up idle dreaming.

What flowers were on the Puszta seen,What music and what dances!A happy wedding is, I ween,The best of life's romances.

And when they left the altar, blestWith pastoral benediction,Tears fell upon the old man's breast,Of joy, and not affliction.

"My children! From my inmost heartI bring congratulation,And now I may in peace depart,For I have seen—salvation."

"Depart! O not till thou hast seen—(We know what comes of courting)Thy great grandchildren on the green,And blessed them in their sporting."

Years pass, and children in their play,Round happy parents gather;The only question is, who mayMost please that dear grandfather.

And now the wild winds drive the clouds,'Tis winter's sharpest weather,The cold mists wrap the earth in shrouds,The white snows drape the heather.

Yet thro' the darkness of the night,When all around seems mourning,There burns in one sweet cot a light,That is for ever burning.

Where by the chimney sit—a clan,Their evening beverage quaffing—A husband, wife and ancient man,And children round them laughing.

The storms to them no terrors bring,No fears to them are coming—Go! listen to the songs they sing,And hear the spindle humming.

Words in this poem 101

hurries n.: A staith or framework from which coal is discharged from cars into vessels.
courser n.: One who courses or hunts. [F. coursier.]
shako n.: A kind of military cap or headress. [Hung. csákó: cf. F. shako, schako.]
beware v. t.: To avoid; to take care of; to have a care for.
spoke n.: The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
youngster n.: A young person; a youngling; a lad.
fettered a.: Seeming as if fettered, as the feet pf certain animals which bend backward, and appear unfit for walking.
glaive n.: A weapon formerly used, consisting of a large blade fixed on the end of a pole, whose edge was on the outside curve; also, a light lance with a long sharp-pointed head. Wilhelm. [F. glaive, L. gladius; prob. akin to E. claymore. Cf. Gladiator.]
clad v.: To clothe. Holland.
thunderbolt n.: A shaft of lightning; a brilliant stream of electricity passing from one part of the heavens to another, or from the clouds to the earth.
vest n.: An article of clothing covering the person; an outer garment; a vestment; a dress; a vesture; a robe. [L. vestis a garment, vesture; akin to Goth. wasti, and E. wear: cf. F. veste. See Wear to carry on the person, and cf. Divest, Invest, Travesty.]
aloud adv.: With a loud voice, or great noise; loudly; audibly. [Pref. a- + loud.]
curious a.: Difficult to please or satisfy; solicitous to be correct; careful; scrupulous; nice; exact. [OF. curios, curius, F. curieux, L. curiosus careful, inquisitive, fr. cura care. See Cure.]
angry a.: Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
triumphal n.: A token of victory.
glorious a.: Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
dreary a.: Sorrowful; distressful. [OE. dreori, dreri, AS. dreórig, sad; akin to G. traurig, and prob. to AS. dreósan to fall, Goth. driusan. Cf. Dross, Drear, Drizzle, Drowse.]
shall v. i.: To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
chimney n.: A fireplace or hearth. Sir W. Raleigh.
dismal a.: Fatal; ill-omened; unlucky. [Formerly a noun; e. g., "I trow it was in the dismalle." Chaucer. Of uncertain origin; but perh. (as suggested by Skeat) from OF. disme, F. dîme, tithe, the phr]
amidst prep.: In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
desolation n.: The act of desolating or laying waste; destruction of inhabitants; depopulation. [F. désolation, L. desolatio.]
khan n.: A king; a prince; a chief; a governor; -- so called among the Tartars, Turks, and Persians, and in countries now or formerly governed by them. [Pers. & Tart. khan.]
dame n.: A mistress of a family, who is a lady; a womam in authority; especially, a lady. [F. dame, LL. domna, fr. L. domina mistress, lady, fem. of dominus master, ruler, lord; akin to domare to tame, subdue. See Tame, and cf. Dam mother, Dan, Danger]
beldam n.: Grandmother; -- corresponding to belsire. [Pref. bel-, denoting relationship + dame mother: cf. F. belledame fair lady, It. belladonna. See Belle, and Dame.]
eden n.: The garden where Adam and Eve first dwelt; hence, a delightful region or residence. [Heb. eden delight, pleasure; also, a place of pleasure, Eden.]
snowy a.: White like snow.
gaunt a.: Attenuated, as with fasting or suffering; lean; meager; pinched and grim. [Cf. Norw. gand a thin pointed stick, a tall and thin man, and W. gwan weak.]
stark adv.: Wholly; entirely; absolutely; quite; as, stark mind.
unbending a.: Not bending; not suffering flexure; not yielding to pressure; stiff; -- applied to material things. [In senses 1, 2, and 3, pref. un- not + bending; in sense 4, properly p. pr. unbend.]
whitening n.: The act or process of making or becoming white.
flurried a.: Agitated; excited.
surly a.: Arrogant; haughty. Cotgrave. [Probably from sir, and originally meaning, sirlike, i.e., proud. See Sir, and Like, a.]
courageously adv.: In a courageous manner.
bluff a.: Having a broad, flattened front; as, the bluff bows of a ship. [Cf. OD. blaf flat, broad, blaffaert one with a broad face, also, a boaster; or G. verblüffen to confuse, LG. bluffen to frighten; to unknown origin.]
sinner n.: One who has sinned; especially, one who has sinned without repenting; hence, a persistent and incorrigible transgressor; one condemned by the law of God.
dine v. i.: To eat the principal regular meal of the day; to take dinner. [F. dîner, OF. disner, LL. disnare, contr. fr. an assumed disjunare; dis- + an assumed junare (OF. juner) to fast, for L. jejunare, fr. jejunus fasting. See Jeju]
anxiously adv.: In an anxious manner; with painful uncertainty; solicitously.
reverend a.: Worthy of reverence; entitled to respect mingled with fear and affection; venerable. [F. révérend, L. reverendus, fr. revereri. See Revere.]
flavour n.: That quality of anything which affects the smell; odor; fragrances; as, the flavor of a rose. [OF. fleur, flaur (two syllables), odor, cf. F. fleurer to emit an odor, It. flatore a bad odor, prob. fr. L. flare to bow, whence the sense of exhalation. Cf. B]
savour v. t.: To perceive by the smell or the taste; hence, to perceive; to note. B. Jonson.
despise v. t.: To look down upon with disfavor or contempt; to contemn; to scorn; to disdain; to have a low opinion or contemptuous dislike of. [OF. despis-, in some forms of despire to despise, fr. L. despicere, despectum, to look down upon, despise; de- + spicere, specere, to look. See Spy, and cf. Des]
shook v. t.: To pack, as staves, in a shook.
dejection n.: A casting down; depression. Hallywell. [L. dejectio a casting down: cf. F. déjection.]
cursed a.: Deserving a curse; execrable; hateful; detestable; abominable.
dishonour n.: Lack of honor; disgrace; ignominy; shame; reproach. [OE. deshonour, dishonour, OF. deshonor, deshonur, F. déshonneur; pref. des- (L. dis-) + honor, honur, F. honneur, fr. L. honor. See Honor.]
bewildering a.: Causing bewilderment or great perplexity; as, bewildering difficulties.
fain v. t.: To be glad ; to wish or desire.
godless a.: Having, or acknowledging, no God; without reverence for God; impious; wicked.
vacancy n.: The quality or state of being vacant; emptiness; hence, freedom from employment; intermission; leisure; idleness; listlessness. [Cf. F. vacance.]
sadness n.: Heaviness; firmness.
preceptor n.: One who gives commands, or makes rules; specifically, the master or principal of a school; a teacher; an instructor. [L. praeceptor, fr. praecipere to teach: cf. F. précepteur. See Precept.]
sceptre n.: A staff or baton borne by a sovereign, as a ceremonial badge or emblem of authority; a royal mace. [F. sceptre, L. sceptrum, from Gr. shaft. See Shaft, and cf. Scape a stem, shaft.]
incalculable a.: Not capable of being calculated; beyond calculation; very great. [Pref. in- not + calculable: cf. F. incalculable.]
mortality n.: The condition or quality of being mortal; subjection to death or to the necessity of dying. [L. mortalitas: cf. F. mortalité.]
prest a.: Ready; prompt; prepared. [OF. prest, F. prêt, fr. L. praestus ready. Cf. Presto.]
hast: , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
glee n.: Music; minstrelsy; entertainment.
unowned a.: Not owned; having no owner. [Pref. un- not + (sense 1) owned possessed, and (sense 2) owned granted, acknowledged.]
nobody n.: No person; no one; not anybody. [No, a. + body.]
pinion n.: A moth of the genus Lithophane, as L. antennata, whose larva bores large holes in young peaches and apples.
doff v. t.: To put off, as dress; to divest one's self of; hence, figuratively, to put or thrust away; to rid one's self of. And made us doff our easy robes of peace. [Do + off. See Do, v. t., 7.]
appellation n.: The act of appealing; appeal. [L. appellatio, fr. appellare: cf. F. appellation. See Appeal.]
knapsack n.: A case of canvas or leather, for carrying on the back a soldier's necessaries, or the clothing, etc., of a traveler. [D. knapzak; knappen to eat + zak a bag. See Knap, v. t., and Sack.]
broke v. i.: To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
betide v. t.: To happen to; to befall; to come to ; as, woe betide the wanderer. [OE. bitiden; pref. bi-, be- + tiden, fr. AS. tidan, to happen, fr. tid time. See Tide.]
rumbling: a. & n. from Rumble, v. i.
voiced a.: Furnished with a voice; expressed by the voice.
ajar adv.: Slightly turned or opened; as, the door was standing ajar. [OE. on char ajar, on the turn; AS. cerr, cyrr, turn, akin to G. kehren to turn, and to D. akerre. See Char.]
clung a.: Wasted away; shrunken. [Prop. p. p. fr. OE. clingen to wither. See Cling, v. i.]
grandchild n.: A son's or daughter's child; a child in the second degree of descent.
intensely adv.: Intently. J. Spencer.
hateful a.: Manifesting hate or hatred; malignant; malevolent.
steely a.: Made of steel; consisting of steel.
discover v. i.: To discover or show one's self.
eloquently adv.: In an eloquent manner.
blent p. p.: Blinded. Also (Chaucer), 3d sing. pres. Blindeth.
streaming a.: Sending forth streams.
shalt: 2d per. sing. of Shall.
thundering a.: Emitting thunder.
intruder n.: One who intrudes; one who thrusts himself in, or enters without right, or without leave or welcome; a trespasser.
invader n.: One who invades; an assailant; an encroacher; an intruder.
mete v. i.: To dream; also impersonally; as, me mette, I dreamed. [AS. m.]
graceless a.: Wanting in grace or excellence; departed from, or deprived of, divine grace; hence, depraved; corrupt.
unmoved a.: Not moved; fixed; firm; unshaken; calm; apathetic.
coldly adv.: In a cold manner; without warmth, animation, or feeling; with indifference; calmly.
boldly adv.: In a bold manner. [AS. bealdlice.]
sire n.: A lord, master, or other person in authority. See Sir. [F. sire, originally, an older person. See Sir.]
pathetic a.: Expressing or showing anger; passionate. [L. patheticus, Gr. pathétique. See Pathos.]
becomingly adv.: In a becoming manner.
neighbour v. i.: To dwell in the vicinity; to be a neighbor, or in the neighborhood; to be near.
morn n.: The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
belle n.: A young lady of superior beauty and attractions; a handsome lady, or one who attracts notice in society; a fair lady. [F. belle, fem. of bel, beau, beautiful, fine. See Beau.]
sobbing n.: A series of short, convulsive inspirations, the glottis being suddenly closed so that little or no air enters into the lungs.
rushed a.: Abounding or covered with rushes.
anon adv.: Straightway; at once. [OE. anoon, anon, anan, lit., in one (moment), fr. AS. on in + an one. See On and One.]
ween v. i.: To think; to imagine; to fancy. [OE. wenen, AS. w, fr. w hope, expectation, opinion; akin to D. waan, OFries. w, OS. & OHG. wan, G. wahn delusion, Icel. van hope, expectation, Goth. w, and D. w]
inmost a.: Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
congratulation n.: The act of congratulating; an expression of sympathetic pleasure. [L. congratulatio: cf. F. congratulation.]
depart v. i.: To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
drape v. t.: To cover or adorn with drapery or folds of cloth, or as with drapery; as, to drape a bust, a building, etc. [F. draper, fr. drap cloth. See 3d Drab.]

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

Istók, the Fool is in the public domain. This text is taken from Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet, by Sir John Bowring (London: Trübner & Co., 1866), Internet Archive, the John Bowring translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.

Cite as: Sándor Petőfi, Istók, the Fool, in Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet (1866), text of Internet Archive, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/petofi-poems-bowring/istok-the-fool.html, id L29784.

Form and metre

Istók, the Fool is 704 lines in 176 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 158 of its 176 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).

See other poems in iambic tetrameter.

Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.

Rhyme words, stanza by stanza

The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm. The first 120 of 176 stanzas.

1 ABAB through^A · fashion^B · knew^A · passion^B
2 ABAB wild^A · bloody^B · field^A · ruddy^B
3 ABAB way^A · him^B · pay^A · him^B
4 ABAB wide^A · measure^B · side^A · pleasure^B
5 ABAB air^A · dashes^B · beware^A · splashes^B
6 ABAB rain^A · currents^B · again^A · torrents^B
7 ABAB stand^A · fettered^B · hand^A · glittered^B
8 ABAB clad^A · him^B · lad^A · him^B
9 ABAB fur^A · it^B · stir^A · minute^B
10 ABAB would^A · thee^B · good^A · thee^B
11 ABAB man^A · i^B · can^A · i^B
12 AAAA rain^A · moorman^A · remain^A · man^A
13 ABAB thro^A · them^B · do^A · them^B
14 ABAB made^A · enjoyment^B · paid^A · employment^B
15 ABAB aloud^A · curious^B · cloud^A · furious^B
16 ABAB lad^A · offended^B · sad^A · mended^B
17 ABAB disappeared^A · driven^B · cheered^A · heaven^B
18 ABAB cried^A · displaying^B · pride^A · surveying^B
19 ABAB back^A · glances^B · track^A · lances^B
20 ABAB yet^A · weary^B · set^A · dreary^B
21 ABAB dare^A · maidens^B · ear^A · upbraidings^B
22 ABAB lad^A · them^B · had^A · them^B
23 ABAB fare^A · deliver^B · here^A · shiver^B
24 ABAB i^A · skelter^B · fly^A · shelter^B
25 ABAB nest^A · afforded^B · rest^A · hoarded^B
26 ABAB bright^A · then^B · delight^A · then^B
27 ABAB good^A · me^B · food^A · me^B
28 ABAB found^A · it^B · ground^A · it^B
29 ABAB stood^A · telling^B · solitude^A · dwelling^B
30 ABAB tomb^A · weeping^B · gloom^A · keeping^B
31 ABAB wide^A · doings^B · side^A · ruins^B
32 ABAB lay^A · broken^B · play^A · token^B
33 ABAB ground^A · growling^B · hound^A · howling^B
34 ABAB sill^A · dwelling^B · still^A · repelling^B
35 ABAB dull^A · dying^B · full^A · lying^B
36 ABAB around^A · exclamation^B · found^A · desolation^B
37 ABAB tamerlane^A · races^B · khan^A · traces^B
39 ABAB hand^A · moving^B · plann'd^A · loving^B
40 ABAB you^A · gathers^B · dew^A · forefathers^B
41 ABAB talk^A · provoking^B · walk^A · joking^B
42 ABAB here^A · pleasant^B · cheer^A · pheasant^B
43 ABAB mess^A · invited^B · guess^A · benighted^B
44 ABAB implore^A · forbidden^B · door^A · eden^B
45 ABAB ma'am^A · me^B · am^A · me^B
46 ABAB voice^A · motion^B · noise^A · ocean^B
47 ABAB beard^A · stature^B · appeared^A · feature^B
48 ABAB stark^A · unchanging^B · dark^A · ranging^B
50 ABAB moved^A · surly^B · reproved^A · burly^B
52 ABAB wet^A · rather^B · let^A · father^B
53 ABAB i^A · down^B · lie^A · down^B
54 ABAB enough^A · rudeness^B · rough^A · goodness^B
55 ABAB within^A · dozing^B · ermelin^A · reposing^B
56 ABAB mine^A · sinner^B · dine^A · dinner^B
57 ABAB strait^A · adviser^B · wait^A · wiser^B
58 ABAB be^A · happen^B · he^A · in^B
59 ABAB this^A · reflections^B · reveries^A · interjections^B
60 ABAB all^A · spirit^B · call^A · it^B
61 -A-A key · rusted^A · may · trusted^A
62 ABAB cried^A · upper^B · prophesied^A · supper^B
64 ABAB then^A · suggested^B · men^A · requested^B
65 -A-A sir · flavour^A · here · savour^A
66 ABAB it^A · abundant^B · wit^A · redundant^B
67 ABAB bred^A · silence^B · led^A · hence^B
68 ABAB death^A · it^B · breath^A · it^B
69 ABAB history^A · economy^B · me^A · astronomy^B
70 ABAB west^A · palace^B · best^A · malice^B
71 ABAB reply^A · melancholy^B · eye^A · folly^B
73 ABAB shook^A · dejection^B · look^A · affection^B
74 ABAB years^A · bitternesses^B · tears^A · kisses^B
75 ABAB fruits^A · flinging^B · roots^A · singing^B
76 ABAB last^A · departed^B · past^A · hearted^B
77 ABAB sad^A · weary^B · glad^A · dreary^B
78 ABAB born^A · her^B · scorn^A · daughter^B
79 ABAB cursed^A · fated^B · burst^A · waited^B
80 ABAB brought^A · token^B · nought^A · broken^B
81 A-A- gloomed^A · children · doomed^A · bewildering
82 ABAB bereft^A · rotten^B · left^A · forgotten^B
83 ABAB close^A · being^B · woes^A · freeing^B
84 ABAB sleep^A · sorrow^B · weep^A · morrow^B
85 ABAB evidence^A · him^B · sense^A · him^B
86 ABAB woe^A · double^B · no^A · trouble^B
87 ABAB bear^A · confession^B · despair^A · transgression^B
88 ABAB worst^A · pessimismus^B · accursed^A · atheismus^B
89 -A-A cry · madness^A · vacancy · sadness^A
90 ABAB god^A · preceptor^B · rod^A · sceptre^B
91 ABAB all^A · pouring^B · fall^A · adoring^B
92 ABAB sons^A · table^B · benisons^A · incalculable^B
93 ABAB star^A · curtain^B · are^A · certain^B
95 AAAA down^A · eden^A · crown^A · sweeten^A
96 ABAB prest^A · there^B · breast^A · there^B
97 ABAB touch^A · thee^B · much^A · thee^B
98 ABAB name^A · him^B · came^A · him^B
99 ABAB glee^A · screeching^B · tree^A · teaching^B
100 ABAB i^A · dominion^B · nobody^A · pinion^B
101 ABAB staff^A · me^B · laugh^A · me^B
102 ABAB cold^A · pleasant^B · bold^A · present^B
103 ABAB school^A · nation^B · fool^A · appellation^B
104 ABAB tight^A · fastened^B · light^A · hastened^B
105 ABAB said^A · prophet^B · shed^A · it^B
106 ABAB hand^A · him^B · stand^A · him^B
107 ABAB weak^A · thee^B · speak^A · thee^B
108 ABAB be^A · never^B · thee^A · ever^B
109 ABAB here^A · loving^B · where^A · moving^B
110 ABAB yesterday^A · spoken^B · may^A · broken^B
111 AAAA remain^A · even^A · pain^A · heaven^A
112 ABAB give^A · pleasure^B · live^A · measure^B
113 ABAB hand^A · humming^B · sand^A · coming^B
114 ABAB he^A · man^B · see^A · woman^B
115 ABAB ajar^A · maiden^B · star^A · o'erladen^B
116 ABAB breast^A · kisses^B · blest^A · blisses^B
117 ABAB cling^A · me^B · bring^A · me^B
118 ABAB thee^A · protection^B · me^A · affection^B
119 ABAB wed^A · grateful^B · head^A · hateful^B
120 ABAB petrified^A · pleaded^B · aside^A · needed^B

Scansion, line by line

Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.

Line	Syl.	Stress
He comes! he comes! he hurries through	8	·····/˘·
In most bewildered fashion;	8	··˘/˘˘/˘
And how he storms! who ever knew	8	·····/˘·
A man in such a passion?	7	·····/˘
He whips his courser fiercely, wild;	8	···/˘/˘·
He drives his spur-points bloody;	7	·····/˘
He pulls the reins—he sweeps the field,—	8	········
His cheeks with fury ruddy.	7	···/˘/˘
Heydà! nought stops him in his way,	7	·······
No hindrance can restrain him;	7	·/˘·˘/·
No barrier there, no toll to pay,—	8	·/˘·····
Hell's gate would not detain him.	7	····˘/·
"Across, across the Puszta wide,—	8	˘/˘/····
None its expanse can measure,—	7	··˘/·/˘
There's liberty on every side,	8	·/˘˘·/˘·
To right, to left, at pleasure.	7	·····/˘
"I'll toss my shako in the air,	8	···/˘···
As on my courser dashes;	7	···/˘/˘
Out of the way! beware! beware!	8	····˘/˘/
Of mud and mire and splashes."	7	·····/˘
And while he spoke, the rattling rain	8	·····/˘·
Came down in cataract-currents,	8	···/˘˘/˘
And drenched him,—while he curs'd again,—	8	······˘/
With its o'erwhelming torrents.	7	·····/˘
What did the youngster there, but stand	8	···/˘···
As to the spot close fettered;	8	·····/˘˘
Like Cæsar, when in Brutus' hand,	7	····/˘·
He saw the glaive that glittered.	8	·····/˘˘
Like Cæsar in his mantle clad,	7	····/˘·
Which proudly he wrapped round him:	8	·/˘··˘··
But fate for our poor pelted lad,	8	···/·/˘·
No covering mantle found him.	8	·/˘˘/˘··
.While he who has a thick, warm fur,	8	········
And is well wrapped within it,	8	····˘···
May scorn the storm,—he need not stir,	8	········
But patient wait—a minute.	7	·/˘··/˘
"And thou! who lingerest thus, I would	8	···/˘···
The thunderbolt should smite thee!	7	·/˘····
Fool, as thou art, begone! no good	8	····˘/··
Is waiting to invite thee.	7	·/˘·˘/·
"But I,—I am a privileged man,	8	·····/˘·
Baptized in Christian font, I	8	˘/˘·/˘··
Demand a thousand honours, can—	8	˘/·/˘/˘·
A thousand prizes count I.	7	·/˘/˘··
"I have been drenched enough in rain	8	····˘/··
To whiten any Moorman;	7	·/˘/˘/˘
Yet was I born, and must remain,	8	······˘/
A very, very poor man.	7	·/˘/˘··
"Let that rain drench my garments thro',	8	·····/˘·
Torn by the storm I'll wear them;	7	·······
Yet this, Philosophy will do—	8	··˘/˘˘··
'Twill teach me how to bear them.	7	·······
"My vest an honest tailor made,	8	···/˘/˘·
In his serene enjoyment;	7	··˘/˘/˘
But though the bill was never paid,	8	·····/˘·
The work gave him employment."	7	····˘/˘
And here the lad laughed out aloud,	8	······˘/
In laughter queer and curious:	8	·/˘··/˘˘
Down fell the waters from the cloud,	8	···/˘···
More furious and more furious.	9	·/˘˘··/˘˘
And calm and patient was the lad,	8	···/˘···
Not angry nor offended;	7	·/˘·˘/˘
It makes the saddest mood more sad	8	···/˘···
To mourn what can't be mended.	7	·····/˘
And soon the storm-clouds disappeared,	8	······˘/
The floods away were driven;	7	··˘/·/˘
And a bright vision Istók cheered,—	8	···/˘···
A rainbow in the heaven.	7	·/···/˘
"Thou lovely bond!" the wanderer cried,	8	·/˘··/˘·
"Life's many hues displaying:	7	·/˘·˘/˘
A peacock stalking in his pride,	8	·/·/˘···
A promised dawn surveying.	8	·/˘˘·˘/˘
"An arch triumphal, mirroring back	8	··˘/˘/˘·
The sun's victorious glances,	8	··˘/˘˘/˘
Scattering the storm-clouds in his track,	8	/˘······
With glorious golden lances.	8	·/˘˘/˘/˘
"But thou art far,—tho' farther yet	8	·····/˘·
My home—and I am weary;	7	·····/˘
And soon in night the sun will set,	8	········
And earth be damp and dreary.	7	·····/˘
"I am no prophet—yet I dare	8	···/˘···
Foretell that pretty maidens	7	˘/·/˘/˘
Will hardly give a listening ear	8	·/˘··/˘·
This day to my upbraidings.	7	·······
"They bear with me, for such a lad	8	········
Would neither harm nor wrong them;	7	·/˘····
I wish that I a stork's wings had	8	········
To carry me among them.	7	·/˘····
"What can I do? How shall I fare?	8	········
And who shall me deliver,	7	····˘/˘
When the dark night shall leave me here,	8	········
In damp and cold to shiver?	7	·····/˘
"They call me fool—no fool am I,	8	········
If, in my helter-skelter,	7	···/˘/˘
I see a cottage where to fly,	8	···/˘···
And in it find a shelter.	7	·····/˘
"If it should prove a robber's nest,	8	·····/˘·
Which welcome kind afforded,	7	·/˘·˘/˘
It need not break a miser's rest,	8	·····/˘·
Whose gold is safely hoarded.	7	···/˘/˘
"The chimney smokes—the hearth looks bright;	8	·/˘·····
Smoke—light—there must be fire then,	8	·····/˘·
And I shall warm me—O delight!	8	······˘/
Find food—what more desire then!	8	····˘/˘·
"And this is logic—sound and good—	8	···/˘···
Which mine own wits have brought me;	7	·······
And if they bring me fire and food,	8	·····/··
How well my school has taught me."	7	·······
The Tanya, then, the youngster found,	8	·/˘··/˘·
And bent his footsteps tow'rd it;	7	···/···
"Tis in the Puszta's farthest ground,	8	·····/˘·
And shade and silence guard it.	7	···/˘··
The walls, the windows tottering stood,	8	···/˘/˘·
A tale of ruin telling—	7	···/˘/˘
Is it a grave mound's solitude?	8	·····/˘·
Or a deserted dwelling?	7	··˘/˘/˘
As orphan-children by the tomb,	8	·/˘/˘···
Of their dead mother weeping,	7	···/˘/˘
There stood some scathed trees in the gloom,	8	········
Their mournful vigils keeping.	7	·/˘/˘/˘
Nought showed that dwelling wild and wide	8	···/˘···
Of master-mason's doings;	7	·/˘/˘/˘
But time's hard foot on every side	8	·····/˘·
Had trampled on the ruins.	8	·/˘˘··/˘
The mortar with the rubbish lay,	8	·/˘··/˘·
The windows all were broken,	7	·/˘··/˘
The shutters swung and creaked—the play	8	·/˘·····
Of rain and storm a token.	7	·····/˘
Before the door, upon the ground,	8	········
A lazy hound was growling,	7	·/˘··/˘
And friend or foe, the ugly hound	8	·····/˘·
Saluted with his howling.	7	˘/˘··/˘
There stood an old man by the sill	8	········
Of the remoter dwelling,	7	·····/˘
Who, moving slow or standing still,	8	·/˘··/˘·
Was equally repelling.	7	·/˘˘˘/˘
"Twas all so damp, so dark and dull,	8	········
So dreary, dismal, dying,	7	·/˘/˘/˘
As if a ban of curses full	8	·····/˘·
Upon the place were lying.	7	·····/˘
And Istók, as he looked around,	8	········
Uttered an exclamation:	8	/˘˘··˘/˘
"There must the Tartars still be found	8	···/˘···
Amidst the desolation.	7	˘/··˘/˘
This is the seat of Tamerlane,	8	········
Of the vile Tartar races,	7	···/˘/˘
And here I see of Genghis Khan,	8	·····/˘·
The indisputable traces."	8	··˘/˘˘/˘
So, spite of all the dangers, he	8	·····/˘·
Advancing as a Roman	7	˘/˘··/˘
Bold,—and his foremost enemy	8	···/·/˘˘
Was an old ugly woman.	7	···/˘/˘
She held a poker in her hand,	8	···/˘···
The dying ashes moving;	7	·/˘/˘/˘
He gently spoke as if he plann'd	8	·/˘·····
To win her heart by loving.	7	·····/˘
"Good evening, worthy Dame!—round you	8	·/˘/˘···
The light of morning gathers—	7	···/˘/˘
A rose of spring-time, wet with dew;—	8	········
We had the same forefathers."	7	····/·˘
But soon the beldam stopped the talk,	8	········
So rash and so provoking—	7	····˘/˘
"Begone! the sooner off you walk	8	˘/·/˘···
The better—with your joking.	7	·/˘··/˘
"No doubt you think a welcome here	8	·····/˘·
Would be extremely pleasant—	7	··˘/˘/˘
You'd like good wine and costly cheer,	8	·····/˘·
And honeycomb and pheasant!"	7	·/˘··/˘
"Yes! better than a cabbage-mess,	8	·/˘··/˘·
If to such fare invited:	7	····˘/˘
You had not seen me here, I guess,	8	········
Had I not been benighted.	7	····˘/˘
"But as 'tis night, I would implore"—	8	······˘/
And then he stopped—forbidden	8	····˘/˘˘
To pass the witch-protected door,	8	····˘/˘·
And enter such an Eden,	7	·/˘··/˘
Yet asked—" Where is the landlord, Ma'am,	8	·····/··
For if the landlord knew me,	7	···/···
And I could tell him who I am,	8	········
Perhaps he'd listen to me."	7	˘/·/˘··
"I am the landlord," said a voice,	8	···/····
As if a growling motion	7	···/˘/˘
Had brought from ocean's deep a noise	8	···/˘···
To move that troubled ocean.	8	···/˘˘/˘
An ancient man, with snowy beard,	8	·/˘··/˘·
Ploughed forehead, stately stature,	8	·˘/˘/˘/˘
And solemn, heavy gait appeared—	8	·/˘/˘·˘/
But gaunt in form and feature.	7	·····/˘
He stood as stands a grave-cross stark—	8	········
Unbending and unchanging,	7	·/˘·˘/˘
When whitening snow, or cloud-storms dark	8	·/˘·····
Are wildly, fiercely ranging.	7	·/˘/˘/˘
He looked—as looks a church-yard—dull,	8	········
With ghouls and spirits flurried;	7	···/˘/˘
Where tombs are thick, and graves are full,	8	········
In which all joys are buried.	7	·····/˘
Up rose the youngster's spirit, moved	8	···/˘/˘·
By one so stern and surly;	7	·····/˘
And thus courageously reproved	8	··˘/˘˘··
The landlord bluff and burly.	7	·/···/˘
"Be calm! be calm! my worthy host,	8	·····/˘·
And hold thy bursting ire in;	7	···/˘··
I am not suffering from the frost,	8	···/˘···
Nor from the heat perspiring.	7	····˘/˘
"But truly to the skin am wet,	8	·/˘·····
And drenched my garments rather;	8	··˘·/˘/˘
So in thy tender mercy let	8	···/˘/˘·
Me dry my clothes, good father!	7	·····/˘
"And if there be a plank where I	8	········
Can fling a weary man down,	7	···/˘··
There will I as contented lie	8	····˘/˘·
As on the softest swan-down."	7	···/˘··
"Well!" said the host—it was enough,	8	······˘/
Though growled in seeming rudeness;	8	··˘·/˘/˘
The youngster thanked the old man rough,	8	·/˘·····
"I'm grateful for your goodness."	7	·/˘··/˘
He sat the chimney-hearth within,	8	···/˘···
And soon he fell a-dozing,	7	·····/˘
More happy than was Ermelin	8	·/˘·····
Upon his throne reposing.	7	····/·˘
"What want I more?—The world is mine,	8	········
I heed not saint or sinner;	7	·····/˘
Except that I should like to dine,	8	········
If I could find a dinner."	7	·····/˘
Such were his dreams; and in such strait,	8	········
If seeking an adviser,	7	·/˘·˘/˘
Altho' a fool, you long might wait	8	˘/······
Before you found a wiser.	7	·····/˘
What was and is, and could not be—	8	········
What might or might not happen,	7	·····/˘
Had he but worn a night-cap he	8	········
Had crowded his night-cap in.	7	·/˘····
And crowded were his brains by this,	8	·/˘·····
And other such reflections;	7	·/˘·˘/˘
The old people heard his reveries,	9	··/˘··/˘˘
His sighs, his interjections!	7	····˘/˘
Three wagons could not carry all	8	·/˘··/˘·
The burdens of his spirit;	7	·/˘··/˘
And while they heard him cry and call,	8	········
They only laughed to hear it.	8	·/˘·˘···
Their tongues were silent as a key	8	···/˘···
Within a lock that's rusted;	7	·····/˘
But hunger comes, do what you may,	8	·/˘·····
And chance cannot be trusted.	7	··˘/·/˘
At last—at last the old man cried—	8	········
For hunger got the upper	7	·/˘··/˘
Hand, as the fool had prophesied—	8	·····/˘·
"We must sit down to supper."	7	·····/˘
He listened anxiously to them,	8	·/˘/˘˘··
And heard the grey-beard tell her,	7	·······
The wife of old.Methusalem—	8	········
Of plundered safe and cellar.	8	·/˘˘··/˘
"We'll get a royal supper then!"	8	···/˘/˘·
He to himself suggested?	7	··˘/˘/˘
"And who shall be the serving men?	8	·····/˘·
Even I, were I requested.	8	/˘···˘/˘
"O sweet! most sweet! my reverend sir,	8	·····/˘·
Will be the supper's flavour;	7	···/˘/˘
There's only one thing wanting here—	8	·/˘··/˘·
A little salt for savour.	7	·/˘··/˘
"Not common salt—that is not it—	8	·/˘·····
That's every where abundant,	8	·/˘˘·˘/˘
We want the attic salt of wit,	8	···/˘···
With quips and jokes redundant.	7	····˘/˘
"Why even the fish, in silence bred,	8	·/···/˘·
Despise our solemn silence,	8	˘//˘/˘/˘
And wish that they themselves were led	8	····˘/··
To exile many a mile hence.	8	·/·/˘···
"Silence no better is than death,	8	/˘·/˘···
And more than death I dread it;	7	·······
O lend to me your stock of breath,	8	········
More value I than bread, it.	7	·/˘····
"Science, and art, and history,	8	/˘···/˘˘
Political economy,	8	˘/˘˘˘/˘˘
Are all familiarised to me,	8	··˘/˘···
As earth's and heaven's astronomy.	9	···/˘˘/˘˘
"I've lived in north, south, east, and west,	8	········
In cottage and in palace,	7	·/˘··/˘
Will talk of what may please you best,	8	········
Without a word of malice.	7	·····/˘
"But speak, good man! and I'll reply"—	8	······˘/
A touching melancholy	7	·/˘/˘·˘
Gave forth an answer from his eye—	8	···/˘···
"To me 'tis all, all folly."	7	·····/˘
"No, that is but a calumny,	8	·····/˘˘
Reproachful to high heaven;	7	˘/˘··/˘
The world cannot all evil be,	8	··˘/·/˘·
There's good in evil even."	7	···/˘/˘
"Good! good! where's good?" The old man shook	8	········
His head in grave dejection;	7	····˘/˘
"I know not where to find, or look,	8	········
For favor or affection.	7	·/˘·˘/˘
"I bear the weight of sixty years,	8	·····/˘·
With all their bitternesses,	7	···/˘˘˘
For time has turned all smiles to tears,	8	········
And curses follow kisses.	7	·/˘/˘/˘
"The tree of life has lost its fruits,	8	········
The winds its branches flinging,	7	···/˘/˘
Wasted its trunk, and torn its roots,	8	/˘······
Its birds have ceased their singing.	8	····˘·/˘
"The very hopes that linger last	8	·/˘··/˘·
Are faded and departed:	7	·/˘·˘/˘
And nought is left of all the past	8	········
But memories, broken-hearted.	8	·/˘˘/˘/˘
"My very youth was sour and sad,	8	·/˘··/··
And winter-wrapt and weary:	7	·/˘··/˘
How can old age be gay or glad	8	········
When youth was dark and dreary?	7	·····/˘
"I loved an angel, heavenly born,	8	···/˘/˘·
Pure as the snow I thought her;	7	·······
But she became a thing of scorn	8	··˘/····
And shame—pollution's daughter.	7	··˘/˘/˘
"So my spring flower was scathed, I cursed	8	···/····
My destiny ill-fated;	7	·/˘˘·/˘
I waited for the summer's burst,	8	·/˘··/˘·
For autumn fruits I waited.	7	·/˘··/˘
"They came, they passed, they fled, they brought	8	········
Of better days no token;	7	·/˘··/˘
Brought nought but woes and wailings, nought	8	·····/˘·
But wrecks and ruins broken.	7	···/˘/˘
"Short gleam of day,—long darkness gloomed,	8	·····/˘·
I lost two lovely children;	7	···/˘/˘
One lives,—to foul dishonour doomed,	8	····˘/˘·
O misery bewildering!	8	·/˘˘˘/˘˘
"Ten years have past,—I stand bereft	8	······˘/
Of all, a vile weed, rotten,	7	·····/˘
Down-trodden—one sole longing left,	8	·/˘··/˘·
To die, and be forgotten.	7	····˘/˘
"This sad account I fain would close,	8	··˘/····
This bitter, bitter being;	7	·/˘/˘/˘
Mandate of death! come! from his woes	8	/·······
The wretched prisoner freeing.	8	·/˘/˘˘/˘
"O what a bliss it were to sleep	8	········
Beyond the reach of sorrow;	7	·····/˘
When eye-balls doomed to-day to weep	8	········
Shall drop no tears to-morrow."	7	·····/˘
Such was the old man's evidence,	8	·····/˘˘
Which sad experience taught him;	8	··˘/˘˘··
Where Istók found both truth and sense,	8	········
And suddenly bethought him:	7	·/˘˘˘/·
"Why was I wanton with his woe?	8	···/˘···
An old man's woes count double:	7	·····/˘
Father! I would not wound thee! No!	8	/˘······
Nor trifle with thy trouble.	7	·/˘··/˘
"Yes, father! I have sinned, and bear	8	·/˘·····
The burthen of confession;	7	·/˘·˘/˘
Yet you transgress,—Old Man! despair-—	8	··˘/··˘/
Despair is your transgression.	7	˘/··˘/˘
"But of all sins, the very worst	8	·····/˘·
Is stubborn Pessimismus!	7	·/˘····
And of all crimes the most accursed	8	········
Is stupid Atheismus!	6	·/˘···
"Despair is but hell's fearful cry,	8	˘/···/˘·
Proclaiming in its madness,	7	˘/˘··/˘
That heaven is godless vacancy,	9	·/˘·/˘/˘˘
And earth a void of sadness.	7	·····/˘
"And they who doubt the grace of God,	8	········
The great, the good preceptor,	7	····˘/˘
Shall feel the smitings of His rod,	8	········
When they renounce His sceptre.	7	··˘/·/˘
"For all One Father have—for all	8	···/˘···
That Father cares, out-pouring	7	·/˘··/˘
The sun-beams glance, the rain drops fall	8	········
On th' heedless as th' adoring.	7	·/˘·˘/˘
"But patience! since for all his sons	8	·/˘·····
That Father spreads a table	7	·/˘··/˘
With bounties, blisses, benisons,	8	·/˘/˘···
And gifts incalculable.	7	··˘/˘˘˘
"In patience wait! as sun and star	8	·/˘·····
Break though heaven's azure curtain;	8	··/˘/˘/˘
So constant all His mercies are,	8	·/˘··/˘·
But still more bright and certain.	7	·····/˘
"Yes! even in this world's midnight, He	8	·/···/··
Some streaks of light hath given;	7	·····/˘
And midst our dark mortality,	9	··/˘·˘/˘˘
Hung up a star in heaven.	7	·····/˘
"And from that star a ray falls down,	8	········
As radiance fell on Eden,	8	·/˘˘··/˘
Bright, all the hills with light to crown;	8	········
Sweet, ocean's depths to sweeten."	7	·/˘··/˘
So spake the youth, the old man prest	8	········
His hand, and when he stopt there,	7	·······
Sweet as the milk from mother's breast,	8	·····/˘·
Those gracious words had dropt there.	7	·/˘····
The old man's heart at nature's touch	8	·····/˘·
Was melted—" I implore thee	7	·/˘·˘/·
Tell me where thou hast learnt so much?	8	········
What land,—what mother bore thee?"	7	···/˘··
That land, that mother's honoured name,	8	···/˘/˘·
Flittered like ghosts before him;	8	··˘·····
And many thoughts of sadness came	8	·/˘··/˘·
In gloomy vision o'er him.	7	·/˘/˘··
Yet spake he calmly, as in glee:	8	···/˘···
"I heard the owlets screeching;	7	·····/˘
Out of the gloomy ivy-tree,	8	···/˘/˘·
And listened to their teaching.	8	·/˘˘··/˘
"A no-where born, unowned am I,	9	····˘/˘··
The cloud-land my dominion;	7	····˘/˘
My ancestors were nobody,	8	·/·˘·/··
My soul a petrel's pinion.	7	···/˘/˘

The first 400 of 704 lines; the reader marks them all.

The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.

More by Sándor Petőfi

Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet