When in 1849, Hungarian prime minister Lajos Batthyány was about to be executed for his part in the struggle, he wrote to his wife: "bless the children and kiss them for me, let them not be ashamed, for they should not be ashamed of their father, the shame of my death will -- sooner or later -- fall back on those who have killed me in injustice and ingratitude". Thus it will be with the character assassins of the current Hungarian prime minister (or indeed of any decent person).
The title of this poem is Life or Death. It was written in 1848 by Sándor Petőfi, one of the greatest Hungarian poets of all time. This is an excerpt (first two verses). Original.
From the Carpathians to the Danube
An angry cry, a violent storm
With straggling hair, and bloody forehead
Stands the Magyar, all alone.
Had I not been born Hungarian
I'd still treat it as my place of birth
Because it's forsaken, the most forsaken
Out of all the nations from the earth.
Poor, poor people, my orphan nation,
Why have you been left to die?
Why do god, the devil, and all their henchmen
Seek to destroy your tree of life?
And why with angry hands do they tear
At the green leaves in angry glee,
Those, who for centuries had rested
In the shade of this great tree.
An angry cry, a violent storm
With straggling hair, and bloody forehead
Stands the Magyar, all alone.
Had I not been born Hungarian
I'd still treat it as my place of birth
Because it's forsaken, the most forsaken
Out of all the nations from the earth.
Poor, poor people, my orphan nation,
Why have you been left to die?
Why do god, the devil, and all their henchmen
Seek to destroy your tree of life?
And why with angry hands do they tear
At the green leaves in angry glee,
Those, who for centuries had rested
In the shade of this great tree.
