and silent as they came,--stealing away, because the bloodbounds of my
country's murder lurks from every corner on that night, and on this day,
and leads to prison those who dare to show a pious remembrance to the
beloved. To-day, a smile on the lips of a Magyar is taken for a crime of
defiance to tyranny; and a tear in his eye is equivalent to a revolt. And
yet I have seen, with the eye of my home-wandering soul, thousands
performing the work of patriotic piety.

And I saw more. When the pious offerers stole away, I saw the honored dead
half risen from their tombs, looking to the offerings, and whispering
gloomily, "Still a cypress, and still no flower of joy! Is there still the
chill of winter and the gloom of night over thee, Fatherland? Are we not
yet revenged?" And the sky of the east reddened suddenly, and quivered
with bloody flames; and from the far, far west, a lightning flashed like a
star-spangled stripe, and within its light a young eagle mounted and soared
towards the quivering flames of the east; and as he drew near, upon his
approaching, the flames changed into a radiant morning sun, and a voice
from above was heard in answer to the question of the dead:

"Sleep yet a short while; mine is the revenge. I will make the stars of the
west the sun of the east; and when ye next awake, ye will find the flower
of joy upon your cold bed." And the dead took the twig of cypress, the sign
of resurrection, into their bony hands, and lay down.

Such was the dream of my waking soul. And I prayed; and such was my prayer:
"Father, if thou deemest me worthy, take the cup from my people, and give
it in their stead to me." And there was a whisper around me like the word
"Amen." Such was my dream, half foresight and half prophecy; but resolution
all. However, none of those dead whom I saw, fell on the 15th of March.
They were victims of the royal perjury which betrayed the 15th of March.