Hungarian Lyrics

Literal Translation

Poetic Translation

Isten, áldd meg a magyart
Jó kedvvel, bőséggel,
Nyújts feléje védő kart,
Ha küzd ellenséggel;
Bal sors akit régen tép,
Hozz rá víg esztendőt,
Megbűnhődte már e nép
A múltat s jövendőt!

O, God, bless the Hungarian
With joy and bounty
Extend toward him a guarding arm
If he strives with an enemy
Long torn by ill fate
Bring upon him a joyous year
This people has suffered for
Past and future!

O, my God, the Magyar bless
With Thy plenty and good cheer!
With Thine aid his just cause press,
Where his foes to fight appear.
Fate, who for so long did’st frown,
Bring him happy times and ways;
Atoning sorrow hath weighed down
Sins of past and future days.

Őseinket felhozád
Kárpát szent bércére,
Általad nyert szép hazát
Bendegúznak vére.
S merre zúgnak habjai
Tiszának, Dunának,
Árpád hős magzatjai
Felvirágozának.

You brought our ancestors up
Over the Carpathians' holy peaks
By You was won a beautiful homeland
For Bendeguz's blood
And wherever the waves of
The Tisza and the Danube bellow
Árpád's heroic descendants
Bloomed.

By Thy help our fathers gained
Kárpát’s proud and sacred height;
Here by Thee a home obtained
Heirs of Bendegúz, the knight.
Where’er Danube’s waters flow
And the streams of Tisza swell
Árpád’s children, Thou dost know,
Flourished and did prosper well.

Értünk Kunság mezein
Ért kalászt lengettél,
Tokaj szőlővesszein
Nektárt csepegtettél.
Zászlónk gyakran plántálád
Vad török sáncára,
S nyögte Mátyás bús hadát
Bécsnek büszke vára.

For us on the fields of Kuns
You flourished ripened ears,
On the vine-shoots of Tokaj
Dripped nectar.
Our banner you often planted
On wild Turks' ramparts
And groaned Mátyás' grave army
Vienna's proud fort.

For us let the golden grain
Grow upon the fields of Kún,
And let nectar’s silver rain
Ripen grapes of Tokay soon.
Thou our flags hast planted o’er
Forts where once wild Turks held sway;
Proud Vienna suffered sore
From King Mátyás’ dark array.

Hajh, de bűneink miatt
Gyúlt harag kebledben,
S elsújtád villámidat
Dörgő fellegedben,
Most rabló mongol nyilát
Zúgattad felettünk,
Majd töröktől rabigát
Vállainkra vettünk.

Alas, for our sins
Anger kindled in Your bosom
And You struck Your lightnings
In Your thundering clouds
Now the plundering Mongols' arrows
You swarmed over us
Then from Turks a slave yoke
We took upon our shoulders.

But, alas! for our misdeed,
Anger rose within Thy breast,
And Thy lightnings Thou did’st speed
From Thy thundering sky with zest.
Now the Mongol arrow flew
Over our devoted heads;
Or the Turkish yoke we knew,
Which a free-born nation dreads.

Hányszor zengett ajkain
Ozmán vad népének
Vert hadunk csonthalmain
Győzedelmi ének!
Hányszor támadt tenfiad
Szép hazám, kebledre,
S lettél magzatod miatt
Magzatod hamvvedre!

How often rang from the lips
Of Osman's savage people
On our defeated army's heap of bones.
A paean!
How often did your own son assail
My lovely homeland, upon your breast,
And you became because of your own son
Your own sons' funeral urn!

O, how often has the voice
Sounded of wild Osman’s hordes,
When in songs they did rejoice
O’er our heroes’ captured swords!
Yea, how often rose Thy sons,
My fair land, upon Thy sod,
And Thou gavest to these sons,
Tombs within the breast they trod!

Bújt az üldözött, s felé
Kard nyúlt barlangjában,
Szerte nézett s nem lelé
Honját a hazában,
Bércre hág és völgybe száll,
Bú s kétség mellette,
Vérözön lábainál,
S lángtenger fölette.

The fugitive hid, and towards him
A sword reached into his cave
Looking round about he could not find
His home in his homeland
He climbs the mountain, descends in the valley
Sadness and doubt by his side
Sea of blood beneath his feet
And an ocean of flame above.

Though in caves pursued he lie,
Even then he fears attacks.
Coming forth the land to spy,
Even a home he finds he lacks.
Mountain, vale – go where he would,
Grief and sorrow all the same –
Underneath a sea of blood,
While above a sea of flame.

Vár állott, most kőhalom,
Kedv s öröm röpkedtek,
Halálhörgés, siralom
Zajlik már helyettek.
S ah, szabadság nem virúl
A holtnak véréből,
Kínzó rabság könnye hull
Árvák hő szeméből!

Castle stood, now a stone heap
Happiness and joy fluttered,
Groans of death, weeping
Now sound in their place.
And Ah! Freedom does not spring
From the blood of the dead,
Torturous slavery's tears fall
From the burning eyes of the orphans!

‘Neath the fort, a ruin now,
Joy and pleasure erst were found,
Only groans and sighs, I trow,
In its limits now abound.
But no freedom’s flowers return
From the spilt blood of the dead,
And the tears of slavery burn,
Which the eyes of orphans shed.

Szánd meg Isten a magyart
Kit vészek hányának,
Nyújts feléje védő kart
Tengerén kínjának.
Bal sors akit régen tép,
Hozz rá víg esztendőt,
Megbűnhődte már e nép
A múltat s jövendőt!

Written by: FERENC KÖLCSEY (1823)

Pity, O God, the Hungarian
Who are tossed by waves of danger
Extend over him your guarding arm
On his misery's seas.
Long torn by ill fate
Bring upon him a joyous year
This people has suffered for
Past and future!

Translated by: LASZLO KOROSSY (2003)^[1]
Improved upon: KENDE MAJOROS (2012)

Pity, God, the Magyar, then,
Long by waves of danger tossed;
Help him by Thy strong hand when
He on grief’s sea may be lost.
Fate, who for so long did’st frown,
Bring him happy times and ways;
Atoning sorrow hath weighed down
All the sins of all his days.

Translated by: WILLIAM N. LOEW (1881)