Subscribe to our social channels to get the latest news about Hungary!
The 200th anniversary of Poet János Arany’s birth was commemorated in Wales – VIDEO
Change language:
The 200th anniversary of Poet János Arany’s birth was commemorated not only in Hungary but also in Wales, hungarianambiance.com said.
Passers-by could listen Arany’s classic ballad “A walesi bárdok” (The Bards of Wales) every four hours in Peter Zollmann’s excellent translation meanwhile, on the tower of the Church of St. John the Baptist in Cardiff, built in the 12th century, the ballad was light painted as a special effect.
The bards of Wales’
Translated by Peter Zollman
King Edward scales the hills of Wales
Upon his stallion.
“Hear my decree! I want to see
My new dominion.
“Show me the yield of every field,
The grain, the grass, the wood!
Is all the land now moist and rich
With red rebellious blood?
“And are the Welsh, God’s gift, the Welsh,
A peaceful, happy folk?
I want them pleased, just like the beast
They harness in the yoke.”
“Sire, this jewel in your crown,
Your Wales, is fair and good:
Rich is the yield of every field
The grassland and the wood.
“And, Sire, the Welsh, God’s gift, the Welsh,
So pleased they all behave!
Dark every hut, fearfully shut
And silent as the grave.”
King Edward scales the hills of Wales
Upon his stallion.
And where he rides dead silence hides
In his dominion.
He calls at high Montgomery
To banquet and to rest;
It falls on Lord Montgomery
To entertain the guest:
With fish, the meat, and fruit so sweet,
To tease the tongue, the eyes,
A splendid spread for a king to be fed
A lordly enterprise.
The waiters file with the best this Isle
Can grow in drink and food,
And serve the fine Bordeaux and Rhine
In gracious plentitude.
“Now drink my health, you gentle sirs,
And you, my noble host! You Sirs…
Welsh Sirs… you filthy curs,
I want the loyal toast!
“The fish, the meat you served to eat
Was fine and ably done.
But deep inside it’s hate you hide:
You loathe me, every one!
“Well, then, you sirs, you filthy curs,
Who will now toast your king?
I want a bard to praise my deeds,
A bard of Wales to sing!”
They look askance with a furtive glance,
The noblemen of Wales;
Their cheeks turn white in deadly fright,
As crimson anger pales.
Deep silence falls upon the halls,
And lo, before their eyes
They see an old man, white as snow,
An ancient bard to rise:
“I shall recite your glorious deeds
Just as you bid me, Sire.”
And death rattles in grim battles
As he touches the lyre.