Had a horse, a finer no one ever saw,
But the sheriff sold him in the name of law,
E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.
But no matter, more was lost at Mohács* field.

Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground,
Don't know even where the spot  could now be found.
In the county roll 'tis safe inscrib'd and seal'd,
But no matter, more was lost at Mohács field.

Had a sweetheart, mourn'd her loss long years and years,
Thought her dead and ev'ry day gave her my tears;
Now I find her 'neath another's roof and shield,
But no matter! more was lost at Mohács field.

Note: The defeat of the Hungarian army of 25,000 men by 200,000 Turks at Mohács on August 29th, 1526 was one of the greatest disasters in the history of the nation. The proverb, the refrain of the song, is still in constant use among the people.

Text Authorship:

• by Francis Alexander Korbay (1846 - 1913) [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
• by J. S. of Dale  [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

Based on:

• a text in Hungarian (Magyar) from Volkslieder (Folksongs)  [text unavailable]
  • Go to the text page.

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

• by Francis Alexander Korbay (1846 - 1913), "Had a horse, a finer no one ever saw", published 1893 [contralto or baritone and piano], from Hungarian Melodies , no. 3, London, Schott , also set in German (Deutsch) [ sung text checked 1 time]

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

• Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by Georg von Schulpe, Dr. ENG ; composed by Francis Alexander Korbay.
  • Go to the text.
    

Researcher for this page: Bertram Kottmann

This text was added to the website: 2012-08-23
Line count: 12
Word count: 113

Hatte einst ein graues Ross, nun ist's dahin,
der Stadthauptmann nahm es mir in Szegedin!
War beim Kauf trunk nicht einmal! Potz alle Welt,
mehr verloren einst noch wir auf Mohács's Feld!

Hatte einst ein weißes Haus, es ward zerstört
durch das Feuer, wem doch jetzt sein Grund gehört?
Aufgeschrieben steht dies wo, doch alle Welt,
mehr verloren einst noch wir auf Mohács's Feld!

Hatte einst ein Lieb mit Wangen zart und rot,
ich bewein' sie täglich nun als wär' sie tot;
doch sie lebt, nur mit 'nem Andern, alle Welt,
mehr verloren einst noch wir auf Mohács's Feld!