Arany János: A walesi bárdok

The Bards of Wales: by János Arany

Arany János

Watson Kirkconnell

Bernard Adams

Peter Zollman

Neville Masterman

Ozsváth Zsuzsanna

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

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

Edward the king, the English king,
Forward spurred his grey.
Fain would I see the land of Wales,
Tell me its worth, I pray.

King Edward scales the hills of Wales
Upon his stallion.
"Hear my decree! I want to see
My new dominion.

Edward the King, the English King,
Rode on a dapple grey charger
‘I wish to know the worth’, said he,
‘of my Welsh lands over the border.

King Edward sits his palfrey grey,
Looks on his conquests' pales:
Let's see, says he, what worth to me
Is this domain of Wales.

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

"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?"

Has it rich pasture, rivers, woods,
Arable land besides?
All well watered with their blood
That 'gainst me dared to rise?

"Show me the yield of every field,
The grain, the grass, the wood!
Is all the land now moist and rich
With red rebellious blood?

Is the grass rich for sheep and ox,
Are the soil and rivers good?
And are my provinces watered well
By rebel patriots’ blood?

What rivers flow, what harvests grow,
What meads for grazing good?
Is it well fed and wateréd
With rebel patriot blood?

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

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

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?

"And are the Welsh, God's gift, the Welsh,
A peaceful, happy folk?
I want them pleased, just like the beast
They harness in the yoke.":

And what of the people, the wretched people
Do they seem a contented folk?
Are they as docile, since I subdued them,
As their oxen in their yoke?’

Churls of this land, given by the hand
Of God into my care,
The folk, how do they love the yoke
They make their cattle bear?

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

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

Zounds, my liege, the finest jewel
In thy crown is Wales.
With plough and pasture, woods and streams,
Abound its hills and vales,

"Sire, this jewel in your crown,
Your Wales, is fair and good:
Rich is the yield of every field
The grassland and the wood.

Your Majesty Wales is the fairest jewel
You have in all your crown,
River and field and valley and hill
Are the best you may come upon.

No diamond fairer, gracious King,
Stands in your crown than Wales:
Land, river, grazing, all are there,
Mountains and fertile vales.

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

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

While the Welsh, that wretched breed,
Not a murmur raise.
Silent are their hovels all
As neglected graves.

"And, Sire, the Welsh, God's gift, the Welsh,
So pleased they all behave!
Dark every hut, fearfully shut
And silent as the grave."

And as for the people, the wretched people,
They live so happily, Sir,
Like so many graves their hamlets stand
And none there even stir.’

The folk indeed enjoy the yoke
God set upon them, Sire!
Their huts are dumb, as is the tomb
Upon the graveyard's mire.

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

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

Edward the king, the English king,
Onward spurred his grey.
Silence reigned where'er he went
And no man said him nay.

King Edward scales the hills of Wales
Upon his stallion.
And where he rides dead silence hides
In his dominion.

Edward the King, the English King,
Rode on a dapple grey charger,
Around him silence which way he want
In his Welsh lands over the border.

And Edward walks his horse so pale
Amid his conquests bare:
All that remains are dumb domains
And silence everywhere.

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

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

Montgomery the castle was,
Montgomery its lord,
Where one fateful evening
The king found bed and board.

He calls at high Montgomery
To banquet and to rest;
It falls on Lord Montgomery
To entertain the guest

Montgomery the castle’s name,
Where he that night remained,
The castle’s lord, Montgomery,
His monarch entertained.

Montgomery's that castle's name
Where the King lodged that night;
Montgomery, the castle's lord
Feasts him with all delight.

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

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

Game and fish and every dish
That eye and tongue delight
Were served him by a hundred men;
It was a wondrous sight.

With fish, the meat, and fruit so sweet,
To tease the tongue, the eyes,
A splendid spread for a king to be fed
A lordly enterprise.

There was fish and flesh and whatever else
To sight and taste seemed good,
A rowdy throng, a hundred strong,
Bore in the heavy load.

Fish, flesh and fowl, and all things well
Fit for the flesh's gust,
A hundred servants, what a rout
To task the eyes' small lust;

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

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

All manner of meat and drink there was
That this fine isle can bear;
Many a wine from overseas
Foamed and sparkled there.

The waiters file with the best this Isle
Can grow in drink and food,
And serve the fine Bordeaux and Rhine
In gracious plentitude.

All kinds were there, that isle could bear
Of meat and drink, with these
was bubbling wine that sparkling shone,
Carried from distant seas.

And all that this fair isle might grow
To feed the belly's glee
And all the wines of foreign vines
Conveyed across the sea.

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

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

My lords and gentles! Will none of you
Raise his cup to me?
My lords and gentles ... Dogs of Wales,
Own you no fealty?

"Now drink my health, you gentle sirs,
And you, my noble host! You Sirs...
Welsh Sirs... you filthy curs,
I want the loyal toast!

Ye Lords! ye lords! will no one here
His wine glass with me clink?
Ye lords! ye lords! ye rude Welsh curs,
Will none the King’s health drink?

Gentles, gentles! is there not one
That clinks his glass to me?
Gentles, gentles!... you dogs of Wales!
May Edward's health not be?

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

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

Meat and fish and every dish
Delightful to the sense
I here perceive, but in yourselves
A devilish pretence.

"The fish, the meat you served to eat
Was fine and ably done.
But deep inside it's hate you hide:
You loathe me, every one!

There is fish and flesh and whatever else
To sight and taste seem best,
- That I can see, but the devil I know
Dwells in each noble’s breast.

Fish, flesh and fowl, all under sky
Pleasing and sweet I see;
But yet methinks the devil slinks
In these lords' courtesy.

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

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

My lords and gentles! Treacherous curs,
Will you not drink to me?
Where is a bard to praise my deeds
And sing my victory?

"Well, then, you sirs, you filthy curs,
Who will now toast your king?
I want a bard to praise my deeds,
A bard of Wales to sing!"

Ye lords! ye lords! ye vile Welsh curs,
Come greet your Edward;
Where is the man to sing my deeds
A Welshman and a bard?’

Gentles, gentles! you wretched dogs!
Who'll sing King Edward's tales?
Where is the guest who'lltoast my geste -
-Bring forth the bard of Wales!

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

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

Pale of cheek the noble Welsh
Looked around; in dread
And in fury met their eyes;
Not a word was said,

They look askance with a furtive glance,
The noblemen of Wales;
Their cheeks turn white in deadly fright,
As crimson anger pales.

Each night upon the other looked
Of the guests assembled there;
Upon their cheeks a furious rage
Paled to a ghastly fear.

Each in his neighbor's face now looks,
The many knights of Wales;
There upon every Welsh guest's face
A fearlike anger pales.

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

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

Conversation ceased forthwith,
Not a breath was heard.
White of head, from near the door
Arose an ancient bard.

Deep silence falls upon the halls,
And lo, before their eyes
They see an old man, white as snow,
An ancient bard to rise:

And strangled breath from lips like death
Was all that could be heard;
When, like a white defenceless dove
Arose an ancient bard.

Words torn within, voice caught within,
Breath breaks and is drawn hard;
But now, above, a lone white dove,
Rises an old grey bard.

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

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

'Here, O King, is one will sing
Thy deeds that so inspire.'
Weapons clashed, the dying gasped,
As he swept the lyre.

"I shall recite your glorious deeds
Just as you bid me, Sire."
And death rattles in grim battles
As he touches the lyre.

Here there is one to tell thy deeds,’
Chanted the ancient seer;
‘The clash of battle, the hoarse death rattle,
The plucked strings made them hear.

Here is, O king, one who will sing
Your deeds, says the old man;
The clash of battle, the death-rattle
Cry from the the harpstring's pain.

"Fegyver csörög, haló hörög,
A nap vértóba száll,
Vérszagra gyűl az éji vad:
Te tetted ezt, király!

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

Weapons clash, the dying gasp,
The sun sinks in lakes of gore.
Before the beasts of night a feast
Hast thou spread, my lord.

"Grim death rattles, the brave battles,
And blood bestains the sun,
Your deeds reek high, up to the sky:
You are the guilty one!

The clash of battle, the hoarse death rattle,
On blood the sun setting;
The stench that drew night - prowling beasts.
You did all this, O King!

"With clash of battle, with death-rattle,
Sun sets in its pool of blood,
The carrion-beast smells out the feast
Where you, King, spread the food!

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

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

Piled like sheaves at harvest-time
Lie thousands put to the sword,
And they that live weep as they glean.
This is thy work, my lord.'

"Our dead are plenty as the corn
When harvest is begun,
And as we reap and glean, we weep:
You did this, guilty one!"

Ten thousand of our people slain,
The rest are gathering
The corpses heaped like harvest stocks –
You did all this, O King!’

"Our heaped-up dead, a cross of red,
The thousands that you slew:
The simplest churl that works the soil
Weeps at the scathe you do!"

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

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

Out! To the stake! The king's command.
That was exceeding hard.
A softer song is what we need.
Arose a youthful bard.

"Off to the stake!" the king commands,
"This was churlishly hard.
Sing us, you there, a softer air,
You, young and courtly bard!"

Off to the stake! this song’s too harsh’.
Ordered King Edward.
‘Come, let us have a gentler tune’
Forth stepped a young Welsh bard.

The stake! Away! and no delay -
Edward commands the guard -
Ha! Here, a softer song, we'll hear,
Up steps now a young bard.

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

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

'O, softly blows the evening breeze
O'er Milford, off the sea.
In it moan the grief of widows,
Maidens' misery.

"A breeze so soft, does sweetly waft
Where Milford Haven lies,
With wailing woes of doomed widows
And mournful maidens' cries.

Soft breezes sigh in the evening sky,
O’er Milford Haven blown;
Maids’ sobbing tears and widows’ prayers
Within those breezes moan.’

"Ah! softly plays the evening breeze
That blows on Milford Haven;
The maiden's keen, the widow's pain
Sigh in that wind of heaven.

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

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

Bear ye no children to be slaves,
Ye mothers, do not nurse ...'
Him to the stake the king dismissed
As brusquely as the first..

"Maiden, don't bear a slave! Mother,
Your babe must not be nursed!" ...
A royal nod. He reached the stake
Together with the first.

Don’t bear a race of slaves ye maids!
Mothers give such no more!’
The King spoke and the boy caught up
The old man sent before.

Virgin, do not give birth to slaves!
Mother, do not give suck!
The King waves him away. He joins
The other at the stake.

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

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

But recklessly, unbidden too,
A third rose in his stead.
The theme itself sang from the harp
And this is what it said:

But boldly and without a call
A third one takes the floor;
Without salute he strikes the lute,
His song begins to soar:

But though unasked, yet recklessly
Advanced, unmoved, a third
His lyre’s fierce song, like the Welsh bard strong,
And his word must be heard.

A third, unbid and unafraid
Yet comes before the King;
His harp speaks then as men speak men,
This Spell begins to sing:

"Elhullt csatában a derék -
No halld meg Eduárd:
Neved ki diccsel ejtené,
Nem él oly velszi bárd.

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

'Brave men have perished in the fight-
Mark thou my words, O King -
No bard of Wales will praise thy name,
None stoop to such a thing

"Our brave were killed, just as you willed,
Or languish in our gaols:
To hail your name or sing your fame
You find no bard in Wales!

Our bravest fell on the battle field,
Listen O Edward -
To sing the praises of your name
There is not one Welsh bard!’

"The good men all in battle fell -
Hear, Edward, what this tells:
Seek one who'd blaze your name with praise:
Lives not such bard of Wales.

Emléke sír a lanton még -
No halld meg Eduárd:
Átok fejedre minden dal,
Melyet zeng velszi bárd."

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

The harp preserves their memory -
Mark thou my words, O King -
A curse on thy head is every song
The bards of Wales shall sing.'

"He may gone,' but his songs live on -
The toast is `King beware!'
You bear the curse - and even worse -
Of Welsh bards everywhere."

One memory sobs within my lyre,
Listen O Edward -
A curse on your brow every song you hear
From a Welshman and a bard!’

His memory wrings the harpstrings still -
-Hear, Edward, what this tells:
Curse on your head is every song
Sung by a bard of Wales."

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

"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!"

We shall see! The king commands,
And dreadful is his word,
That any bard who will not sing
His praise shall not be spared.

"I'll see to that!" thunders the King,
"You spiteful Welsh peasants!
The stake will toast your every bard
Who spurns my ordinance!"

Enough of this! I orders give’
Answered the furious King,
‘To send to the stake all the bards of Wales
Who thus against me sing!’

This let us see! The king commands
A deed at which hell pales:
Burn at the stake all those who take
The proud name, bard of Wales!

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

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

His henchmen left to course the land
At the king's behest.
And so in high Montgomery
Took place the famous feast.

His men went forth to search the North,
The West, the South, the East,
And so befell, the truth to tell,
In Wales the famous feast. -

His servants till their task was done
Their searching never ceased;
Thus grimly in Montgomery,
Ended that famous feast.

His servants ride out far and wide,
Gallop with his decree:
Thus was proclaimed that day the famed
Feast of Montgomery -

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

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

Edward the king, the English king,
Homeward spurred his grey.
All round the pyres lit up the sky
Of those that said him nay.

King Edward fled, headlong he sped
Upon his stallion,
And in his wake a blazing stake:
The Welsh dominion.

Edward the King, the English King,
Spurred his dapple grey charger.
On the skies around, stakes burning stand
In the Welsh lands over the border.

And Edward, King, rides a pale horse,
Gallops through hills and dales,
About him burns the earth's externes,
The fair domain of Wales.

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

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.

'Tis said five hundred went to die,
Went singing to their doom;
None could bring themselves to sing
To English Edward's tune.

Five hundred went singing to die,
Five hundred in the blaze,
But none would sing to cheer the king
The loyal toast to raise.

Five hundred went to a flaming grave,
And singing every bard.
Not one of them was found to cry
‘Long live King Edward!’

Five hundred, truly, singing went
Into the grave of flame:
But no Welsh bard would sing this word:
Long live King Edward's name!

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

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

What is that sound? In London's streets
Who is it sings so late?
The Lord Mayor's life is forfeit if
The king is kept awake.

"My chamberlain, what is the din
In London's streets so late?
The Lord Mayor answers with his head
If it does not abate!"

What murmur is this in the London streets?
What night song can this be?
‘I will have London’s Lord Mayor hanged
If any noise troubles me’.

Holla! what clamor? ... what night song
In London's streets then rang?
If any voice disturb my rest,
The Lord Mayor shall hang!

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

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."

Now silence deep: not one fly's wing
Within or without is stirred.
The king lies waking - risks his head
Who utters but a word!

Gone is the din; without, within
They all silently creep:
"Who breaks the spell, goes straight to hell!
The King can't fall asleep."

Within, a fly’s wing must not move,
Outside all silence keep.
‘The man who speaks will lose his head
The monarch cannot sleep.’

Silence stands dumb; no whisper heard,
Not even a fly's wing;
"He risks his head whose word be said
That irks the sleepless King!

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

"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…"

'Let there be music! Fife and drum,
And let the trumpet bray!
The curses of that feast in Wales
Ring in my ears this day.'

"Let drum and fife now come to life
And let the trumpets roar,
To rise above that fatal curse
That haunts me evermore!"

No! Bring me the music of pipe and drum,
And the trumpet’s brazen roar,
For the curses I heard at the Welshman’s feast
Ascend to my ears once more!’

Holla! bring music, pipe and drum,
Let trumpets blast their scales!
The curses sear within my ear
Of that damned feast of Wales ..."

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

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

But o'er the sound of fife and drum
And brazen trumpet's clang
Five hundred voices raise the song
That the martyrs sang.

But over drums and piercing fifes,
Beyond the soldiers' hails,
They swell the song, five hundred strong,
Those martyred bards of Wales.

But above the music of pipe and drum
And the bugles’ strong refrain,
Loud cry those witnesses of blood,
Five hundred Welsh bards slain. (*)

But rising over scream of pipe,
The blare of bugle, drum,
Five hundred strong sing out their song
Of blood and martyrdom. (*)

(*)Although doubted by scholars, it is strongly held in the oral tradition that King Edward I of England had five hundred bards executed after his conquest of Wales in 1277, lest they incite the Welsh youth to rebellion by reminding them in their songs of their nation's glorious past. Janos Arany. 

Arany wrote this poem  when the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph first visited Hungary after he defeated it in its 1848-49 War of Independence. Originally he was asked to write a poem to praise the Emperor.

The Bards of Wales (Hungarian: A walesi bárdok) is a ballad by Hungarian poet János Arany, written in 1857. Alongside the Toldi trilogy it is one of his most important works.

Arany was asked to write a poem of praise for the visit of Franz Joseph I of Austria, as were other Hungarian poets. Arany instead wrote a poem about the tale of the 500 Welsh bards sent to the stake by Edward I of England for failing to sing his praises at a banquet in Montgomery Castle in 1277, as a metaphor to criticise the tyrannic Habsburg rule over Hungary after the Hungarian Revolution of 1848. It was a method of encoded resistance to the repressive politics of Alexander von Bach in Hungary, and the planned visit of Franz Joseph.[1][2]

The poem was written "for the desk drawer" and was first published 6 years later in 1863, disguised as a translation of an Old English ballad, so as to conceal the real meaning from the Austrian censor.

The poem is considered to be a manifesto of the passive resistance which led to the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867. Arany wrote his own preface to the poem: "The historians doubt it, but it strongly stands in the legend that Edward I of England sent 500 Welsh bards to the stake after his victory over the Welsh (1277) to prevent them from arousing the country and destroying English rule by telling of the glorious past of their nation."[2]

In the 6th grade of elementary school, every Hungarian student is required to learn The Bards of Wales as it has an important role in both Hungarian history and literature.[2]

The best-known English translation was made by famous Canadian scholar Watson Kirkconnell in 1933.[2]

In September 2007 an English copy of this poem, translated by Peter Zollman, was donated to the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth.[2]

Szerkesztette: Gyöngyösi József / Edited by: József Gyöngyösi