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A few years after the Hungarian national revolution of 1848 was brutally crushed by the tyranny of the combined forces of the Austrian emperor Franz Joseph and the Russian tzar, the Austrian tyrant decided to visit Hungary.

The poets of the country were requested to write an ode to the emperor fit for his visit. One of the greatest poets of our history, János Arany wrote the following tale, a perfect metaphore for the actual situation: the king of England, Edward who conquered Wales, visits his new land. He also wishes for a bard (or poet) to praise him, yet none of the Welsh patriots are willing to praise him. 500 bards are burned on stakes, who refuse to give in to the tyrant's wishes.

Here is the poem, with a magnificent English translation:

Arany János:

THE BARDS OF WALES

Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed,
"For I will see if Wales," said he,
"Accepts my rule indeed.

"Are stream and mountain fair to see?
Are meadow grasses good?
Do corn-lands bear a crop more rare
Since wash'd with rebel's blood?

"And are the wretched people there,
Whose insolence I broke
As happy as the oxen are
Beneath the driver's yoke?

"In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem,
The fairest in your crown:
The stream and field rich harvest yield,
And fair and dale and down.

"And all the wretched people there
Are calm as man could crave;
Their hovels stand throughout the land
As silent as the grave."

Edward the king, the English King
Bestrides his tawny steed;
A silence deep his subjects keep
And Wales is mute indeed.

The castle named Montgomery
Ends that day's journeying;
The castle's lord, Montgomery,
Must entertain the king.

Then game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
A hundred hurrying servants bear
To please the appetite.

With all of worth the isle brings forth
In dainty drink and food,
And all the wines of foreign vines
Beyond the distant flood.

"You lords, you lords, will none consent
His glass with mine to ring?
What? Each one fails, you dogs of Wales,
To toast the English king?

"Though game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
Your hand supplies, your mood defies
My person with a slight.

"You rascal lords, you dogs of Wales,
Will none for Edward cheer?
To serve my needs and chant my deeds
Then let a bard appear!"

The nobles gaze in fierce amaze,
Their cheeks grow deadly pale;
Not fear but rage their looks engage,
They blanch but do not quail.

All voices cease in soundless peace,
All breathe in silent pain;
Then at the door a harper hoar
Comes in with grave disdain:

"Lo, here I stand, at your command,
To chant your deeds, O king!"
And weapons clash and hauberks crash
Responsive to his string.

"Harsh weapons clash and hauberks crash,
And sunset sees us bleed,
The crow and wolf our dead engulf -
This, Edward, is your deed!

"A thousand lie beneath the sky,
They rot beneath the sun,
And we who live shall not forgive
This deed your hand hath done!"

"Now let him perish! I must have"
(The monarch's voice is hard)
"Your softest songs, and not your wrongs!"
In steps a boyish bar😛

"The breeze is soft at eve, that oft
From Milford Havens moans;
It whispers maidens' stifled cries,
It breathes of widows' groans.

"You maidens, bear no captive babes!
You mothers, rear them not!"
The fierce king nods. The lad is seiz'd
And hurried from the spot.

Unbidden then, among the men,
There comes a dauntless third
With speech of fire he tunes his lyre,
And bitter is his wor😛

"Our bravest died to slake your pride -
Proud Edward, hear my lays!
No Welsh bards live who e'er will give
Your name a song of praise.

"Our harps with dead men's memories weep.
Welsh bards to you will sing
One changeless verse - our blackest curse
To blast your soul, O king!"

"No more! Enough!" - cries out the king.
In rage his orders break:
"Seek through these vales all bards of Wales
And burn them at the stake!"

His men ride forth to south and north,
They ride to west and east.
Thus ends in grim Montgomery
The celebrated feast.

Edward the king, the English king
Spurs on his tawny steed;
Across the skies red flames arise
As if Wales burned indeed.

In martyrship, with song on lip,
Five hundred Welsh bards died;
Not one was mov'd to say he lov'd
The tyrant in his pride.

.................................

"'Ods blood! What songs this night resound
Upon our London streets?
The mayor shall feel my irate heel
If aught that sound repeats!

Each voice is hush'd; through silent lanes
To silent homes they creep.
"Now dies the hound that makes a sound;
The sick king cannot sleep."

"Ha! Bring me fife and drum and horn,
And let the trumpet blare!
In ceaseless hum their curses come -
I see their dead eyes glare..."

But high above all drum and fife
and trumpets' shrill debate,
Five hundred martyr'd voices chant
Their hymn of deathless hate.


(Transl. by Watson Kirkconnel)

---

Arany János: A Walesi bárdok

Edward király, angol király
Léptet fakó lován:
Hadd látom, úgymond, mennyit ér
A velszi tartomány.

Van-e ott folyó és földje jó?
Legelőin fű kövér?
Használt-e a megöntözés:
A pártos honfivér?

S a nép, az istenadta nép,
Ha oly boldog-e rajt’
Mint akarom, s mint a barom,
Melyet igába hajt?

Felség! valóban koronád
Legszebb gyémántja Velsz:
Földet, folyót, legelni jót,
Hegy-völgyet benne lelsz.

S a nép, az istenadta nép
Oly boldog rajta, Sire!
Kunyhói mind hallgatva, mint
Megannyi puszta sir.

Edward király, angol király
Léptet fakó lován:
Körötte csend amerre ment,
És néma tartomány.

Montgomery a vár neve,
Hol aznap este szállt;
Montgomery, a vár ura,
Vendégli a királyt.

Vadat és halat, s mi jó falat
Szem-szájnak ingere,
Sürgő csoport, száz szolga hord,
Hogy nézni is tereh;

S mind, amiket e szép sziget
Ételt-italt terem;
S mind, ami bor pezsegve forr
Túl messzi tengeren.

Ti urak, ti urak! hát senkisem
Koccint értem pohárt?
Ti urak, ti urak!... ti velsz ebek!
Ne éljen Eduárd?

Vadat és halat, s mi az ég alatt
Szem-szájnak kellemes,
Azt látok én: de ördög itt
Belül minden nemes.

Ti urak, ti urak, hitvány ebek!
Ne éljen Eduárd?
Hol van, ki zengje tetteim -
Elő egy velszi bárd!

Egymásra néz a sok vitéz,
A vendég velsz urak;
Orcáikon, mint félelem,
Sápadt el a harag.

Szó bennszakad, hang fennakad,
Lehellet megszegik. -
Ajtó megől fehér galamb,
Ősz bárd emelkedik.

Itt van, király, ki tetteidet
Elzengi, mond az agg;
S fegyver csörög, haló hörög
Amint húrjába csap.

„Fegyver csörög, haló hörög,
A nap vértóba száll,
Vérszagra gyűl az éji va😛
Te tetted ezt, király!

Levágva népünk ezrei,
Halomba, mint kereszt,
Hogy sírva tallóz aki él:
Király, te tetted ezt!”

Máglyára! el! igen kemény -
Parancsol Eduárd -
Ha! lágyabb ének kell nekünk;
S belép egy ifju bárd.

„Ah! lágyan kél az esti szél
Milford-öböl felé;
Szüzek siralma, özvegyek
Panasza nyög belé.

Ne szülj rabot, te szűz! anya
Ne szoptass csecsemőt!...”
S int a király. S elérte még
A máglyára menőt.

De vakmerőn s hivatlanúl
Előáll harmadik;
Kobzán a dal magára vall,
Ez íge hallatik:

„Elhullt csatában a derék -
No halld meg, Eduár😛
Neved ki diccsel ejtené,
Nem él oly velszi bárd.

„Emléke sír a lanton még -
No halld meg, Eduár😛
Átok fejedre minden dal,
Melyet zeng velszi bárd.”

Meglátom én! - S parancsot ád
Király rettenetest:
Máglyára, ki ellenszegűl,
Minden velsz énekest!

Szolgái szét száguldanak,
Ország-szerin, tova.
Montgomeryben így esett
A híres lakoma. -

S Edvárd király, angol király
Vágtat fakó lován;
Körötte ég földszint az ég:
A velszi tartomány.

Ötszáz, bizony, dalolva ment
Lángsírba velszi bár😛
De egy se birta mondani
Hogy: éljen Eduárd. -

Ha, ha! mi zúg?... mi éji dal
London utcáin ez?
Felköttetem a lord-majort,
Ha bosszant bármi nesz!

Áll néma csend; légy szárnya bent,
Se künn, nem hallatik:
„Fejére szól, ki szót emel!
Király nem alhatik.”

Ha, ha! elő síp, dob, zene!
Harsogjon harsona:
Fülembe zúgja átkait
A velszi lakoma...

De túl zenén, túl síp-dobon,
Riadó kürtön át:
Ötszáz énekli hangosan
A vértanúk dalát.

(1857. június.)