Itt-Ott, 1977 (10. évfolyam, 1-6. szám)
1977 / 4. szám
Under bloody banners The soldiers bear lances, Standards flutter in the breeze,Mighty armies spying, Across the fields flying, They ride swiftly, as the wind,Panther-skin capes trailing. Shiny helmets blazing, They're handsome in everything. Good Saracen chargers Prance under their masters When a distant bugle calls,Some of them mount the guard, While the rest, who dismount, Greet the morning, at daybreak, Where in the dark of night After the wearying fight They had laid themselves to rest. In guarding their good name, Their honor and their fame They outdo all other men,Pictures of manliness And of courageousness, To all they are examples When, like the swift eagles They wing with the breezes, Striking, cutting, giving chase. Spying the enemy, They shout for victory And they splinter their lances,If luck is not with them, If odds are against them, They fall back without orders, Bloodied and still reeling, Against the foe wheeling, Often beat their pursuers. The breadth of the meadows, The woods with their shadows, Are like palaces to them,Ambushes on byways, Skirmishes on highways, The only schooling they get,Starvation, thirst and heat Out on the battlefield And wear are their amusement. 24
