Arany János - Győrei Zsolt (szerk.): The trill of the nightingale (Budapest, 2019)

II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - Family Circle (Neville Masterman)

"But who's that knocking? Sarah, go and see..."

A poor man's asking shelter for the night.

Don't turn him out if he has got no home; how many suffer driven from shut doors.

The eldest girl gets up and asks him in, a crippled soldier bids them a good evening:

"May God bless what you eat," he says to them,

"and those, too, who partake of it," he adds.

The father thanks him. "Come, and have your share mother, put on his plate a little more."

Then he invites him to sit down with them the man says ' no,1 then readily agrees, enjoys a simple but a tasty meal, a jug of water then quenches his thirst.

No words are uttered while they have their food this is the Magyars' custom when they eat.

But when the meal is done all do their best to make it easy for their guest to speak.

At first his words come like a little stream, but like a swelling river they soon flow.

The elder boy, too, lays his hook aside; he leans towards him with attentive eyes; no sooner does the soldier come to pausing the boy entreats him: "Tell another tale!"

"They are not ’ tales'" - the father chides the boy, the soldier understands and carries on.

And they are hanging on his every word, but it's the eldest girl who's most intent.

When no one's listening, or no one sees, she asks about' her brother1 with a blush: for three years she's been asking after him, she'll wait one more before she weds another.

The evening ends; the warm fire shines no more. The glowing cinders now begin to wink.

The children, too, are tired, there's one asleep.

His head is resting on his mother's lap.

The guest speaks less, the silences increase; only the purring of the cat is heard.

Then rustling straw is heaped upon the ground the crickets reign now in this silent realm.