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

III - „His voice, once fine and heady, still a grumble deep” - The Bards of Wales (Bernard Adams)

The Bards of Wales

Edward the king, the English king,

Forward spurred his grey.

Fain would I see the land of Wales,

Tell me its worth, I pray.

Has it rich pasture, rivers, woods,

Arable land besides?

All well watered with their blood That 'gainst me dared to rise?

And what of the Welsh, that wretched breed? Are they as content As I would wish, and as the ox That 'neath the yoke is pent?

Zounds, my hege, the finest jewel In thy crown is Wales.

With plough and pasture, woods and streams, Abound its hills and vales,

While the Welsh, that wretched breed,

Not a murmur raise.

Silent are their hovels all As neglected graves.

Edward the king, the English king,

Onward spurred his grey.

Silence reigned where'er he went And no man said him nay.

Montgomery the castle was,

Montgomery its lord,

Where one fateful evening The king found bed and board.

Game and fish and every dish That eye and tongue delight Were served him by a hundred men;

It was a wondrous sight.