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

II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - Dawn Bugle (Mark Baczoni)

Dawn Bugle

Bleached morn and brownish night Were in a struggle deep And I was in a fight 'Twixt wakefulness and sleep. Awake, then? Or asleep?

Loud noises came, now hark!

From whence? A bugle's blast,

And hunting dogs that bark.

Wonderful and stirring, Melancholy-sweet, it Blows through flesh unerring,

An otherworldly suite.

And the hound, unknowing,

By instinct whines and yelps:

That cacophony to A wild harmony melts.

Here a sharp, high-toned cry Becomes a drawn-out moan;

There a muffled snorting Provides the baritone.

The rest, they whine and yelp,

Bark and growl, beg, provoke; Their noise an echo boosts,

The calls of hunting folk.

Go to, happy hunters!

The lark, a-waking, calls;

Yours the bud of daytime The smells of woods and falls. Virgin air, light as dew,

Placid streams and meadows, Rose-mood, steely sinew;

Go to, happy hunters!

As for me, I'll be left With but the stems of morn;

Slave to evil habit,

Of my character born.

No lack of fine intent,

But the bed grips so tight!

Go to, happy hunters,

Fare thee well... good night!.