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Szondi’s two squires I.
Dalriada
Enshrouded in clouds and stand the ruins of Drégel,
Where sunlight linger, at this day of fierce battle.
Opposite it a green and peaceful mountain ridge,
On top is which a wooden gravelope stands with
flags colorful.
Two lads kneeling at ots foot, the scene reminds
Of a crucifix, with their harps in hand,
While in the valley beneath with song and dance
All and his men celebrate victory.
„Why is it now Szondi’s two singers won’t come, why?
They who’re like heavenly rose trees with sweet
nightingale voices.
I wish they would chant and from words weave a wreath
Fit to shine on a goddess’s neck!”
Shimmering green the mountain ridge, whit its green
barrow on top,
The wooden gravelope erect ont he infidel’s grave:
Here the heavenly two are kneeling,
With hapr in hand while sounding it in tears:
...And up came Márton, the priest from Nagyorosz,
Sent by the grom Ali to pass in his proud word:
Worthy Szondi, surrender!
Or else perish.
„My good Sirs! Wy would you chant the time away
On a bleak barrow, under a gravelope?
Come with me, down there
Mirth and mead await you-”
Tell him, Márton, these my words:
Never will Szondi take mercy from your Master!
His mery lies with Jesus
Where he finds it enytime!”
„Mead and figs, palm, fruits from the Orient,
All that grows int he Great Sultan’s Enpire,
Scented herbs, costly ointments…
Today Ali celebrate his victory!"
Where sunlight linger, at this day of fierce battle.
Opposite it a green and peaceful mountain ridge,
On top is which a wooden gravelope stands with
flags colorful.
Two lads kneeling at ots foot, the scene reminds
Of a crucifix, with their harps in hand,
While in the valley beneath with song and dance
All and his men celebrate victory.
„Why is it now Szondi’s two singers won’t come, why?
They who’re like heavenly rose trees with sweet
nightingale voices.
I wish they would chant and from words weave a wreath
Fit to shine on a goddess’s neck!”
Shimmering green the mountain ridge, whit its green
barrow on top,
The wooden gravelope erect ont he infidel’s grave:
Here the heavenly two are kneeling,
With hapr in hand while sounding it in tears:
...And up came Márton, the priest from Nagyorosz,
Sent by the grom Ali to pass in his proud word:
Worthy Szondi, surrender!
Or else perish.
„My good Sirs! Wy would you chant the time away
On a bleak barrow, under a gravelope?
Come with me, down there
Mirth and mead await you-”
Tell him, Márton, these my words:
Never will Szondi take mercy from your Master!
His mery lies with Jesus
Where he finds it enytime!”
„Mead and figs, palm, fruits from the Orient,
All that grows int he Great Sultan’s Enpire,
Scented herbs, costly ointments…
Today Ali celebrate his victory!"
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