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| Soldiers, what finer worth |
So when the Turks they spy, |
| is there upon this earth |
joyous, give battle cry, |
| than the borderlands can show? |
wielding lances gallantly. |
| Where in the time of Spring |
Should the odds prove too great, |
| beautiful birds all sing |
sharply they turn and wait, |
| setting our hearts all aglow- |
though blood-drenched, unflinchingly |
| the fields have a fresh smell |
fall on the chasing foe |
| where dew from heaven fell, |
and strike them, blow for blow, |
| delighting us through and through! |
routing them victoriously. |
| |
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| Let the foe but appear- |
Open fields and grottoes |
| brave soldiers have no fear, |
are the spots where each goes, |
| their hearts are roused by battle. |
to lay ambush on the road- |
| High-spirited they rise, |
fighting hard night and day |
| and shouting their war-cries |
is their work and their play, |
| quickly they prove their mettle. |
they crave battlefields and blood; |
| Some fall, wounded or slain, |
thirst and hunger's their treat, |
| but the foe flees again- |
they do not dread the heat, |
| our lads have suffered little. |
this, their life, they find is good! |
| |
|
| Banners and gory spears |
Loving their soldier's trade, |
| each one of our men bears |
they wield their trusty blade, |
| riding in the army's van. |
to roll heads down on the ground! |
| They dash like the sharp wind, |
Many men met their doom, |
| footmen follow their lead, |
eaten by wild beasts, soon |
| for such is the battle plan. |
after they were slain. And 'roun |
| Pommels of leopard-hide, |
now come hungry vultures, |
| gleaming shields at their side |
carnivorous creatures- |
| hang beside each crested man. |
such reward their bravery found! |
| |
|
| Arabian steeds-dash, fly, |
Braves of the borderland, |
| heeding the trumpet-cry, |
noble and glorious band! |
| then, those standing sentinel |
Warriors of grand repute! |
| dismount, and with swords drawn, |
Through the whole world your name |
| wait until the new dawn. |
has won honour and fame, |
| When night on the battle fell, |
like rich orchards ripe with fruit. |
| the soldiers, tired and spent, |
With good luck and riches |
| go to sleep in their tent |
may God fill your britches- |
| for a brief refreshing spell. |
may God's boon be absolute! |
| |
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| For honour and good name, |
|
| for manhood and for fame, |
Joseph Leftwich and Adam Makkai |
| they leave everything behind- |
|
| they give up all they own |
|
| nobly, and quite alone, |
|
| staunch models of humankind- |
|
| like hunting hawks they fly |
|
| across the smoke-stained sky, |
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| of the wind they one remind! |
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