dept. of random bullshit
One Last, Pathetic Attempt to Rally Our Flagging Troops
Okay, so now we've officially reached the end of the road. With just a few hours remaining until the close of the 2005 European Weblog Awards, Hungary (pop. 10,045,407) is being trounced by tiny Slovenia (pop. 1,935,677). We've plum run out of original ideas for trying to turn back the Alpine Slav avalanche, so we're just going to return to a tried and true classic, the famous "national poem" (Talpra Magyar) that all-time Magyar great Sándor Petőfi read on the steps of the National Museum on March the 15th, 1848, an act historians consider akin to throwing out the first baseball of the War of Independence against the Habsburgs. It didn't work against the Austrians, but, hell, we're talking friggin' Slovenia here - it's like going into Wisconsin! Anyway, here goes nothing:
Rise up, Magyar, the country calls!
It's 'now or never' what fate befalls...
Shall we live as slaves or free men?
That's the question - choose your 'Amen"!
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
For up till now we lived like slaves,
Damned lie our forefathers in their graves -
They who lived and died in freedom
Cannot rest in dusts of thraldom.
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
A coward and a lowly bastard
Is he, who dares not raise the standard -
He whose wretched life is dearer
Than the country's sacred honor.
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
Sabers outshine chaine and fetters,
It's the sword that one's arm betters.
Yet we wear grim chains and shackles.
Swords, slash through damned manacles!
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
Magyar's name will tell the story
Worthy of our erstwhile glory
we must wash off - fiercely cleansing
Centuries of shame and condensing.
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
Where our grave-mounds bulge and huddle
Our grandson will kneel and cuddle,
While in grateful prayer they mention
All our sainted names' ascension.
God of Hungarians, we swear unto Thee,
We swear unto Thee - that slaves we shall no longer be!
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