Arany J�nos:
A walesi b�rdok
The Bards of Wales
by J�nos Arany
Edward kir�ly, angol kir�ly
L�ptet fak� lov�n:
Hadd l�tom, �gymond, mennyit �r
A velszi tartom�ny.
Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed,
"For I will see if Wales" said he,
"Accepts my rule indeed."
Van-e ott foly� �s f�ldje j�?
Legelőin fű k�v�r?
Haszn�lt-e a meg�nt�z�s:
A p�rtos honfiv�r?
"Are stream and mountain fair to see?
Are meadow grasses good?
Do corn-lands bear a crop more rare
Since wash'd with rebel's blood?"
S a n�p, az istenadta n�p,
Ha oly boldog-e rajt'
Mint akarom, s mint a barom,
Melyet ig�ba hajt?
"And are the wretched people there,
Whose insolence I broke,
As happy as the oxen are
Beneath the driver's yoke?"
Fels�g! val�ban koron�d
Legszebb gy�m�ntja Velsz:
F�ldet, foly�t, legelni j�t,
Hegy-v�lgyet benne lelsz.
"In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem,
The fairest in thy crown:
The stream and field rich harvest yield,
And fair are dale and down."
S a n�p, az istenadta n�p
Oly boldog rajta, Sire!
Kunyh�i mind hallgatva, mint
Megannyi puszta sir.
"And all the wretched people there
Are calm as man could crave;
Their hovels stand throughout the land
As silent as the grave."
Edward kir�ly, angol kir�ly
L�ptet fak� lov�n:
K�r�tte csend amerre ment,
�s n�ma tartom�ny.
Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed;
A silence deep his subjects keep
And Wales is mute indeed.
Montgomery a v�r neve,
Hol aznap este sz�llt;
Montgomery, a v�r ura,
Vend�gli a kir�lyt.
The castle named Montgomery
Ends that day's journeying;
The castle's lord, Montgomery,
Must entertain the king.
Vadat �s halat, s mi j� falat
Szem-sz�jnak ingere,
S�rgő csoport, sz�z szolga hord,
Hogy n�zni is tereh;
Then game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
A hundred hurrying servants bear
To please the appetite.
S mind, amiket e sz�p sziget
�telt-italt terem;
S mind, ami bor pezsegve forr
T�l messzi tengeren.
With all of worth the isle brings forth
In dainty drink and food,
And all the wines of foreign vines
Beyond the distant flood.
Ti urak, ti urak! h�t senkisem
Koccint �rtem poh�rt?
Ti urak, ti urak!... ti velsz ebek!
Ne �ljen Edu�rd?
"Ye lords, ye lords, will none consent
His glass with mine to ring?
What! Each one fails, ye dogs of Wales,
to toast the English king?"
Vadat �s halat, s mi az �g alatt
Szem-sz�jnak kellemes,
Azt l�tok �n: de �rd�g itt
Bel�l minden nemes.
"Though game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
Your hand supplies, your mood defies
My person with a sight.
Ti urak, ti urak, hitv�ny ebek!
Ne �ljen Edu�rd?
Hol van, ki zengje tetteim -
Elő egy velszi b�rd!
"Ye rascal lords, ye dogs of Wales,
Will none for Edward cheer?
To serve my needs and chant my deeds
Then let a bard appear!"
Egym�sra n�z a sok vit�z,
A vend�g velsz urak;
Orc�ikon, mint f�lelem,
S�padt el a harag.
The nobles gaze in fierce amaze,
Their cheeks grow deadly pale;
Not fear but rage their looks engage,
They blench but do not quail.
Sz� bennszakad, hang fennakad,
Lehellet megszegik. -
Ajt� megől feh�r galamb,
Ősz b�rd emelkedik.
All voices cease in soundless peace,
All breathe in silent pain;
Then at the door a harper hoar
Comes in with grave disdain:
Itt van, kir�ly, ki tetteidet
Elzengi, mond az agg;
S fegyver cs�r�g, hal� h�r�g
Amint h�rj�ba csap.
"Lo, here I stand, at thy command,
To chant thy deeds, O king!"
And weapons clash and hauberks crash
Responsive to his string.
"Fegyver cs�r�g, hal� h�r�g,
A nap v�rt�ba sz�ll,
V�rszagra gyűl az �ji vad:
Te tetted ezt, kir�ly!
"Harsh weapons clash and hauberks crash,
And sunset sees us bleed,
The crow and wolf our dead engulf
This, Edward, is thy deed!
Lev�gva n�p�nk ezrei,
Halomba, mint kereszt,
Hogy sirva tall�z aki �l:
Kir�ly, te tetted ezt!"
"A thousand lie beneath the sky,
They rot beneath the sun,
And we who live shall not forgive
This deed thy hand hath done!"
M�gly�ra! el! igen kem�ny -
Parancsol Edu�rd -
Ha! l�gyabb �nek kell nek�nk;
S bel�p egy ifju b�rd.
"Now let him perish! I must have"
(The monarch's voice is hard)
"Your softest songs, and not your wrongs!"
In steps a boyish bard:
"Ah! l�gyan k�l az esti sz�l
Milford-�b�l fel�;
Sz�zek siralma, �zvegyek
Panasza ny�g bel�.
"The breeze is soft at eve, that oft
From Milford Haven moans;
It whispers maidens' stifled cries,
It breathes of widows' groans."
Ne sz�lj rabot, te szűz! anya
Ne szoptass csecsemőt!..."
S int a kir�ly. S el�rte m�g
A m�gly�ra menőt.
"Ye maidens bear no captive babes!
Ye mothers rear them not!"
The fierce king nods. The lad is seiz'd
And hurried from the spot.
De vakmerőn s hivatlan�l
Elő�ll harmadik;
Kobz�n a dal mag�ra vall,
Ez ige hallatik:
Unbidden then, among the men,
There comes a dauntless third.
With speech of fire he tunes his lyre,
And bitter is his word:
"Elhullt csat�ban a der�k -
No halld meg Edu�rd:
Neved ki diccsel ejten�,
Nem �l oly velszi b�rd.
"Our bravest died to slake thy pride.
Proud Edward hear my lays!
No Welsh bards live who e'er will give
Thy name a song of praise."
Eml�ke s�r a lanton m�g -
No halld meg Edu�rd:
�tok fejedre minden dal,
Melyet zeng velszi b�rd."
"Our harps with dead men's memories weep
Welsh bards to thee will sing
One changeless verse our blackest curse
To blast thy soul, O king!"
Megl�tom �n! - S parancsot �d
Kir�ly rettenetest:
M�gly�ra, ki ellenszegűl,
Minden velsz �nekest!
"No more! Enough!" cries out the king.
In rage his orders break:
"Seek through these vales all bards of Wales
And burn them at the stake!"
Szolg�i sz�t sz�guldanak,
Orsz�g-szerin, tova.
Montgomeryben �gy esett
A h�res lakoma. -
His man ride forth to south and north,
They ride to west and east.
Thus ends in grim Montgomery
The celebrated feast.
S Edward kir�ly, angol kir�ly
V�gtat fak� lov�n;
K�r�tte �g f�ldszint az �g:
A velszi tartom�ny.
Edward the king, the English king
Spurs on his tawny steed;
Across the skies red flames arise
As if Wales burned indeed.
�tsz�z, bizony, dalolva ment
L�ngs�rba velszi b�rd:
De egy se birta mondani
Hogy: �ljen Edu�rd. -
In martyrship, with song on lip,
Five hundred Welsh bards died;
Not one was mov'd to say he lov'd
The tyrant in his pride.
Ha, ha! mi z�g?... mi �ji dal
London utc�in ez?
Felk�ttetem a lord-majort,
Ha bosszant b�rmi nesz!
" 'Ods blood! What songs this night resound
Upon our London streets?
The mayor should feel my irate heel
If aught that sound repeats!"
�ll n�ma csend; l�gy sz�rnya bent,
Se k�nn, nem hallatik:
"Fej�re sz�l, ki sz�t emel!
Kir�ly nem alhatik."
Each voice is hush'd; through silent lanes
To silent homes they creep.
"Now dies the hound that makes a sound;
The sick king cannot sleep."
Ha, ha! elő s�p, dob, zene!
Harsogjon harsona:
F�lembe z�gja �tkait
A velszi lakoma...
"Ha! Bring me fife and drum and horn,
And let the trumpet blare!
In ceaseless hum their curses come�
I see their dead eyes glare�"
De t�l zen�n, t�l s�p-dobon,
Riad� k�rt�n �t:
�tsz�z �nekli hangosan
A v�rtan�k dal�t.
But high above all drum and fife
And all trumpets' shrill debate,
Five hundred martyr'd voices chant
Their hymn of deathless hate.
(translated by Watson Kirkconnell)
19th century poetry converted to some Rhapsody-ish symphonic metal. Good stuff. Some songs are free for download, too.
And curse the lord for lack of BBcode tables.
Originally Posted by Evans
