Arany János - Győrei Zsolt (szerk.): The trill of the nightingale (Budapest, 2019)
II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - In Autumn (George Szirtes)
In Autumn Cool, melancholy autumn days; Boredom enters, sits down with me, A mournful, imprisoned bird, and stays. My songs are cold and dumb as she. What should I do? Lie down and read...? Not Homer with his brilliant light, I call on Ossian instead Whose notes are fogged and faint with night. Too much of pain in cloudless skies In the sea’s smooth and smiling face, On valleys where the sun must rise - I’m not now fitted for such grace. A blue veil masks the fountainhead A gold barque skims the foam in flight - I call on Ossian instead Whose notes are fogged and faint with night. Blue is the hill of Zeus, and oh Here is a wondrous isle, all green With boughs above and boughs below, A shady grove, a forest scene, A wave-tossed precious flower bed, Great swathes of sheep billowing white I call on Ossian instead Whose notes are fogged and faint with night. Smoke crowns the wood and shrouds the hedge As if to welcome me as guest. Here heroes sup and roast and pledge And round the campfire sing and jest, Youth and maiden to lutesong tread Drinking in nectar, their eyes bright. I call on Ossian instead Whose notes are fogged and faint with night. Though bloody battles rage, for them Freedom requires no sacrifice, Nor tyranny nor chains condemn Their nation in its paradise. They have no laws there, happy breed - Age-old custom preserves the right. I call on Ossian instead Whose notes are fogged and faint with night.
