Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Anne ReeveAldrich

1581 Music of Hungary

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!