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Arany János: The bards of Wales (A walesi bárdok in English)

Portre of Arany János
Portre of Bernard Adams

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A walesi bárdok (Hungarian)

Edward király, angol király
Léptet fakó lován:
Hadd látom, úgymond, mennyit ér
A walesi tartomány.

Van-e ott folyó és földje jó?
Legelőin fű kövér?
Használt-e a megöntözés:
A pártos honfivér?

S a nép, az istenadta nép,
Ha oly boldog-e rajt'
Mint akarom, s mint a barom,
Melyet igába hajt?

Felség! valóban koronád
Legszebb gyémántja Wales:
Földet, folyót, legelni jót,
Hegy-völgyet benne lelsz.

S a nép, az istenadta nép
Oly boldog rajta, Sire!
Kunyhói mind hallgatva, mint
Megannyi puszta sír.

Edward király, angol király
Léptet fakó lován:
Körötte csend amerre ment,
És néma tartomány.

Montgomery a vár neve,
Hol aznap este szállt;
Montgomery, a vár ura,
Vendégli a királyt.

Vadat és halat, s mi jó falat
Szem-szájnak ingere,
Sürgő csoport, száz szolga hord,
Hogy nézni is tereh;

S mind, amiket e szép sziget
Ételt-italt terem;
S mind, ami bor pezsegve forr
Túl messzi tengeren.

Ti urak, ti urak! hát senki sem
Koccint értem pohárt?
Ti urak, ti urak!... ti Wales ebek!
Ne éljen Eduárd?

Vadat és halat, s mi az ég alatt
Szem-szájnak kellemes,
Azt látok én: de ördög itt
Belül minden nemes.

Ti urak, ti urak, hitvány ebek!
Ne éljen Eduárd?
Hol van, ki zengje tetteim -
Elő egy walesi bárd!

Egymásra néz a sok vitéz,
A vendég Wales urak;
Orcáikon, mint félelem,
Sápadt el a harag.

Szó bennszakad, hang fennakad,
Lehelet megszegik. -
Ajtó mögül fehér galamb,
Ősz bárd emelkedik.

Itt van, király, ki tetteidet
Elzengi, mond az agg;
S fegyver csörög, haló hörög
Amint húrjába csap.

"Fegyver csörög, haló hörög,
A nap vértóba száll,
Vérszagra gyűl az éji vad:
Te tetted ezt, király!

Levágva népünk ezrei,
Halomba, mint kereszt,
Hogy sírva tallóz aki él:
Király, te tetted ezt!"

Máglyára! el! igen kemény -
Parancsol Eduárd -
Ha! lágyabb ének kell nekünk;
S belép egy ifjú bárd.

"Ah! lágyan kél az esti szél
Milford-öböl felé;
Szüzek siralma, özvegyek
Panasza nyög belé.

Ne szülj rabot, te szűz! anya
Ne szoptass csecsemőt!..."
S int a király. S elérte még
A máglyára menőt.

De vakmerőn s hívatlanul
Előáll harmadik;
Kobzán a dal magára vall,
Ez íge hallatik:

"Elhullt csatában a derék -
No halld meg Eduárd:
Neved ki diccsel ejtené,
Nem él oly walesi bárd.

Emléke sír a lanton még -
No halld meg Eduárd:
Átok fejedre minden dal,
Melyet zeng walesi bárd."

Meglátom én! - S parancsot ád
Király rettenetest:
Máglyára, ki ellenszegül,
Minden walesi énekest!

Szolgái szét száguldanak,
Ország-szerin, tova.
Montgomeryben így esett
A híres lakoma. -

S Edward király, angol király
Vágtat fakó lován;
Körötte ég földszint az ég:
A walesi tartomány.

Ötszáz, bizony, dalolva ment
Lángsírba walesi bárd:
De egy se bírta mondani
Hogy: éljen Eduárd. -

Ha, ha! mi zúg?... mi éji dal
London utcáin ez?
Felköttetem a lord-majort,
Ha bosszant bármi nesz!

Áll néma csend; légy szárnya bent,
Se künn, nem hallatik:
"Fejére szól, ki szót emel!
Király nem alhatik."

Ha, ha! elő síp, dob, zene!
Harsogjon harsona:
Fülembe zúgja átkait
A walesi lakoma...

De túl zenén, túl síp-dobon,
Riadó kürtön át:
Ötszáz énekli hangosan
A vértanúk dalát. (*)

1857

(*) A történelem kétségbe vonja, de a mondában erősen tartja magát, hogy I. Eduárd angol király, Wales tartomány meghódítása (1277) után, ötszáz walesi bárdot végeztetett ki, hogy nemzetök dicső  múltját zöngve, a fiakat föl ne gerjeszthessék az angol járom lerázására. A.J.

 



Source of the quotationhttp://mek.niif.hu

The bards of Wales (English)

Edward the king, the English king,
Forward spurred his grey.
Fain would I see the land of Wales,
Tell me its worth, I pray.
 
Has it rich pasture, rivers, woods,
Arable land besides?
All well watered with their blood
That 'gainst me dared to rise?
 
And what of the Welsh, that wretched breed?
Are they as content
As I would wish, and as the ox
That 'neath the yoke is pent?
 
Zounds, my liege, the finest jewel
In thy crown is Wales.
With plough and pasture, woods and streams,
Abound its hills and vales,
 
While the Welsh, that wretched breed,
Not a murmur raise.
Silent are their hovels all
As neglected graves.
 
Edward the king, the English king,
Onward spurred his grey.
Silence reigned where'er he went
And no man said him nay.
 
Montgomery the castle was,
Montgomery its lord,
Where one fateful evening
The king found bed and board.
 
Game and fish and every dish
That eye and tongue delight
Were served him by a hundred men;
It was a wondrous sight.
 
All manner of meat and drink there was
That this fine isle can bear;
Many a wine from overseas
Foamed and sparkled there.
 
My lords and gentles! Will none of you
Raise his cup to me?
My lords and gentles ... Dogs of Wales,
Own you no fealty?
 
Meat and fish and every dish
Delightful to the sense
I here perceive, but in yourselves
A devilish pretence.
 
My lords and gentles! Treacherous curs,
Will you not drink to me?
Where is a bard to praise my deeds
And sing my victory?
 
Pale of cheek the noble Welsh
Looked around; in dread
And in fury met their eyes;
Not a word was said,
 
Conversation ceased forthwith,
Not a breath was heard.
White of head, from near the door
Arose an ancient bard.
 
'Here, O King, is one will sing
Thy deeds that so inspire.'
Weapons clashed, the dying gasped,
As he swept the lyre.
 
'Weapons clash, the dying gasp,
The sun sinks in lakes of gore.
Before the beasts of night a feast
Hast thou spread, my lord.
 
Piled like sheaves at harvest-time
Lie thousands put to the sword,
And they that live weep as they glean.
This is thy work, my lord.'
 
Out! To the stake! The king's command.
That was exceeding hard.
A softer song is what we need.
Arose a youthful bard.
 
'O, softly blows the evening breeze
O'er Milford, off the sea.
In it moan the grief of widows,
Maidens' misery.
 
Bear ye no children to be slaves,
Ye mothers, do not nurse ...'
Him to the stake the king dismissed
As brusquely as the first.
 
But recklessly, unbidden too,
A third rose in his stead.
The theme itself sang from the harp
And this is what it said:
 
'Brave men have perished in the fight -
Mark thou my words, O King -
No bard of Wales will praise thy name,
None stoop to such a thing.
 
The harp preserves their memory -
Mark thou my words, O King -
A curse on thy head is every song
The bards of Wales shall sing.'
 
We shall see! The king commands,
And dreadful is his word,
That any bard who will not sing
His praise shall not be spared.
 
His henchmen left to course the land
At the king's behest.
And so in high Montgomery
Took place the famous feast.
 
Edward the king, the English king,
Homeward spurred his grey.
All round the pyres lit up the sky
Of those that said him nay.
 
'Tis said five hundred went to die,
Went singing to their doom;
None could bring themselves to sing
To English Edward's tune.
 
What is that sound? In London's streets
Who is it sings so late?
The Lord Mayor's life is forfeit if
The king is kept awake.
 
Now silence deep: not one fly's wing
Within or without is stirred.
The king lies waking - risks his head
Who utters but a word!
 
'Let there be music! Fife and drum,
And let the trumpet bray!
The curses of that feast in Wales
Ring in my ears this day.'
 
But o'er the sound of fife and drum
And brazen trumpet's clang
Five hundred voices raise the song
That the martyrs sang.

(*)Although doubted by scholars, it is strongly held in the oral tradition that King Edward I of England had five hundred bards executed after his conquest of Wales in 1277, lest they incite the Welsh youth to rebellion by reminding them in their songs of their nation's glorious past. Janos Arany. 

Arany wrote this poem  when the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph first visited Hungary after he defeated it in its 1848-49 War of Independence. Originally he was asked to write a poem to praise the Emperor.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://colecizj.easyvserver.com/poarawa1.htm

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