'A peacock takes its perch upon the county hall –
A sign that freedom comes to many folk in thrall.'

Let the proud, frail peacock, whose feathers daze the sun,
Proclaim that to-morrow here all will be undone.

To-morrow all will change, be changed at last.
New eyes In new battles will turn with laughter to the skies.

New winds will make laments in the old Magyar trees,
While we await, await new Magyar mysteries.

Either we all are fools, and to a man shall die,
Or else this faith of ours will prove it does not lie.

New forges and new fires, new faiths, new holy men,
Either you’ll come to life, or be nothing again.

Either the ancient hall will fall from the flame’s stroke,
Or our souls will sit here, bound in the ancient yoke.

Either in Magyar words new meanings will unfold,
Or the sad Magyar life will linger as of old.

'A peacock takes its perch upon the county hall –
A sign that freedom comes to many folk in thrall.'