V.

_Gólya, gólya, de messze mégy!_

Far, far the Stork now flies!--ah me! And far am I, true love from thee! My captive chains me and I cannot move, That he may win from me my love.

Deep in the grave my parents lie, My land's a broad heath waste and dry; Great suffering and sorrow still are mine, Yet I can drown them all in wine!