The late nineteenth century marked the dawning of a new age in Europe politics and culture. After the
failed revolutions of 1848 to 1849, politicians, artists, intellectuals, and the general public cast aside the
promises of idealists and claimed to see society as it really was: combative, competitive, and inherently
disordered. The document below will help us see who the intensity of nationalist fervor was unleashed by
the failed revolutions of 1848.
Sandor Petofi
National Song” of Hungry
1848
Background:
As news of the February Revolutions in Paris spread, it inspired people seeking change to take to the streets
across Europe, including in Hungary. Long under Habsburg control, in the 1830s a growing segment of the
Hungarian population advocated for national self-determination. They faced stiff opposition, however,
from the absolutist, autocratic court in Vienna, which ultimately erupted into violence there and in another
Hungarian city, Pest-part of modern day Budapest. On March 15, 1848, a group of intellectuals gathered in
front of the new Hungarian National Museum in Pest to outline their demands for their nation. Among
those leaders was the popular radical poet Sandor Petofi (1823-1849), who recited his poem, “National
Song,” urging bystanders to free Hungary from Habsburg tyranny. Tens of thousands of supporters
thronged the city within hours. Although the ensuing revolution was ultimately crushed, in 1991 the
National Assembly of Hungary designated March 15 as one of three national days commemorating
Hungary’s statehood.
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RISE, Magyar! Is the country’s call!
The time has come, say one and all:
Shall we be slaves, shall we be free?
This is the question, now agree!
We truly swear,
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
Alas! Till now we were but slaves;
Our fathers resting in their graves
Sleep not in freedom’s soil. In vain
They fought and died free homes to gain.
But by the Magyar’s God above
We truly swear,
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
A miserable wretch is he
Who fears to die, my land, for thee!
His worthless life who thinks to be
Worth more than thou, sweet liberty!
Now by the Magyar’s God above
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
The sword is brighter than the chain,
Men cannot nobler gems attain;
And yet the chain we wore, oh, shame!
Unsheath the sword of ancient fame!
For by the Magyar’s God above
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
The Magyar’s name will soon once more
Be honored as it was before!
The shame and dust of ages past
Our valor shall wipe out as last.
For by Magyar’s God above
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
And where our graves in verdure rise,
Our children’s children to the skies
Shall speak the grateful joy they feel,
And bless our names the while they kneel,
For by the Magyar’s God above
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant’s yoke
No more to bear!
'Magyar' is pronounced 'something akin' to MA-DYAR
with stress on the first syllable