The Puszta in Winter

O'er the widening Puszta's plains, in plains still widening lost,See autumn's heralds round—a melancholy host!The flowers that spring unfolded,The fruits that summer moulded—All—all the thriftless autumn flings away,And leaves to winter darkness and decay.

No longer heard from far the sheep-bells tinkling sound,No longer shepherds' pipes fling their sweet music round;No more the birds are filling,With their melodious thrilling,Heaven's arch! Still'd is the genet's whispering,And even the grasshopper has ceased to sing.

The outstretched wilderness is like a frozen sea,And as a weary bird the sun sinks wearily;Perhaps some hoary clownMay watch his going down,And silently salute the setting sun—But the world heeds not that his race is run.

Empty the fisher's hut—no voice, no living sign,And from the village stalls no lowing of the kine;And if the steeds are driven,Before day dawns in heaven,To the filled water-troughs—the careless steersLook listless on, and shake their shaggy ears.

The herdsman gathers up the green tobacco leaves,Then piles them in a heap, then binds them into sheaves:And from his boots he takesThe pipe—the ashes shakes;Fills it—enkindles it—and, half asleep,Looks on the lazy oxen and the sheep.

All—all is silent—all within the Csárda door,There the good host and hostess sleep and snore;What tho' the cellar's keyBe careless thrown away:Is the good wine in any danger?—No!No man can find his way across the snow.

The north wind and the east in rage contesting blow,This storms the heavens above, that shakes the earth below;Scatters the snowy flakes,As when the bellows makesThe sparks mount upward from the glowing fire—Tempests of hail and rain rave in discordant choir.

At last they rest exhausted,—o'er the Puszta's bed,Like a grey coverlet, a misty shroud is spread;And like a shapeless massI see the Betyar pass;And hear his horse dull-neighing in the wind,—The raven o'er him, and the wolf behind.

And as a monarch rules a subjugated land,Wearing a golden crown, waving a sceptral wand;So the uprisen sun,A more majestic one,Surveys his sovereignty, and then sinks downTo his night's rest, wearing the golden crown.