{The following verses relate to a journey that the Poet undertook among the Magyars}

I strolled by the Danube’s unending blue stream

As one who delights in an innocent dream.

Only one question arose in my breast,

Was I in Buda or was I in Pest?

To Margaret’s sweet island I wended my ways

To see where the princess lived out her brief days.

‘Mongst ruins there lingers her influence blest –

But comes it on Buda or comes it on Pest?

I sat in the shade as they brought me cool beer

And mused on the fates that had carried me here.

A scruple there was that could not be repressed:

‘Here’ was it Buda; or ‘here’ was it Pest?

Then off to the holiest shrine in the land

To worship King Stephen’s still mighty right hand.

I crossed the great flood to the east from the west;

But crossed I from Buda? Or crossed I to Pest?

That day has gone by but its memories remain

And oft as I lay me to sleep, once again

Such blissful remembrance steals o’er my brain

Of that pilgrimage past as could soothe every pain

Did not that one doubt bring distress in its train

Th’ intolerable doubt that exterminates rest –

When was it Buda? Ah, when was it Pest?