The Canadian-American Review of Hungarian Studies - Vol. 4 ... - EPA
The Canadian-American Review of Hungarian Studies - Vol. 4 ... - EPA The Canadian-American Review of Hungarian Studies - Vol. 4 ... - EPA
Ah, it is not the whirlwind that he sees,Spanning the long, dun road with mummeries:For there, beyond the grey dust, with its drumsAnd glittering arms, a brilliant army comes.And as it penetrates the fog of dust,A sigh from the lads mouth breaks in a gust.With eager stoop, he sees the troops draw nighAs if his soul were focuss'd in his eye."O gallant Magyar soldiers, fine and true,How fain, how longingly 1 gaze at you!Where go you, and how far? Perchance to fight?And pluck in war fame's flowers pearly-bright?March you against the Tartars or the TurksTo bid Good-night to them and all their works?Would I were one of you, and march'd along.You gallant Magyars, your brave troops among!"Such was the course of Nicholas Toldi's thought,And carking furrows through his soul were wrought.As thus he brooded in his youthful brain,His heart became convulsed in yearning pain;His sire had fought; his brother George he kenn'dHad grown up with the King's son as his friend.And at the court, while Nicholas draws in hay,That rascal proudly whiles his time away.Meanwhile the troops drew near with martial tread.Great Endre Laczfi riding at their head;On his bay steed he sat, a man of note.With gold embroidery thick upon his coat.Behind him rode smart, feather-capp'd battalionsWith gaudy saddles on their prancing stallions.As Nicholas gazes at that gallant corps,His eyes, with too much gazing, become sore."Hey, peasant! Which road leads to Buda-town?"Asks Laczfi, looking arrogantly down.Straight to the heart of Toldi goes that word.It forthwith gives a thump that can be heard."A peasant, am I?" Nicholas mused in hate.
"Who should be squire of this whole estate?Perhaps my brother George, that fox unstable,Busy to change the plates at Louis' table?""A peasant, am 1?" And his rising gorgeWas full of horrid curses against George.Then whirling his vast pole, without a strain,By one huge end he seized it, like a cane,And held it horizontal with one handTo point them Buda-ward across the land.Bands of wrought steel his arm's stout thews resemble,The out-stretch'd tree-trunk does not even tremble.The Palatine and all his army bentTheir gaze on him in sheer astonishment.Says Laczfi: "That's a man, whoe'er he be!Come, lads, who'll wrestle now with such as he?Or who among you all can hold straight outThat shabby sign-pole of the lusty lout?"They murmur, discontented: 'twould annoyA knight to wrestle with a peasant boy.But who would fight a duel with the thunderWhen wind and sultry murk are rent asunder?Who'd dream of fighting with God's anger warmAnd His long, hissing arrow of the storm?For only such a one such odds would give.If he loves God's fair world and wants to live.For woe to him, in Nicholas' hands bestead!He'd cry out for his mother, were she dead.The troops, in thronging pageant, pass him by,And all pay tribute to his potency;All speak frank words of kindliness and grace;All beam upon him with a friendly face.And one says: "Comrade, won't you come to war?That's what a lad like you is valued for!"Another says: "My good lad, what a shame.Sired by a peasant, you will be the same!"
- Page 15: fifteen minutes, and spent the rest
- Page 18 and 19: from the "Canadian poetry" of Icela
- Page 20 and 21: garian community of Western Canada,
- Page 22 and 23: lowed translations from other, more
- Page 24 and 25: which took place in the pages of th
- Page 27 and 28: from teaching in 1968, Kirkconnell
- Page 29 and 30: Magyar poets and writers to the rea
- Page 31 and 32: tive of his helpful attitude and un
- Page 33: 33. Kirkconnell, A Slice of Canada,
- Page 36 and 37: The groaning of the slaves on Egypt
- Page 38 and 39: ecause most such lines are imbedded
- Page 40 and 41: ;Two spheres contend with one anoth
- Page 42 and 43: matched it to this feeble hurdy-gur
- Page 44 and 45: NOTES1. The only full-length study
- Page 46 and 47: terest in Hungarian literature, has
- Page 48 and 49: limitations of Bowring and others:
- Page 50 and 51: Jones' Five Hungarian WritersJ 4 Su
- Page 53 and 54: REVIEW ARTICLEHungarian Poetry in E
- Page 55 and 56: ooks written in English. A table of
- Page 57 and 58: passive, or into noun phrases in En
- Page 59 and 60: REVIEW ARTICLEHungarian Religious P
- Page 61 and 62: magas és a mély magánhangzójú
- Page 63 and 64: SPECIAL SECTIONToldiAn Epic Poem (1
- Page 65: CANTO ONE"He lifted, with one hand,
- Page 69 and 70: What meant this hubbub in a widow's
- Page 71 and 72: "Lad, here's your share! Don't say
- Page 73 and 74: The heavy stone flies on: where wil
- Page 75 and 76: The homes of moorhen, plover, gull
- Page 77 and 78: Perhaps I'll shed my blood, some no
- Page 79 and 80: CANTO FIVENicholas went wandering a
- Page 81 and 82: Her tongue was like a coulter in th
- Page 83 and 84: Rosemary pots mourned on its window
- Page 85 and 86: Such were her words. No more would
- Page 87 and 88: As if a nest of hornets rose to sti
- Page 89 and 90: Upon an isle, by a Czech's hand the
- Page 95 and 96: REVIEW ARTICLEQuo Vadis Transylvani
- Page 97 and 98: Hungarians in Rumania in terms of t
- Page 99 and 100: down by serious shortcomings in bot
- Page 101 and 102: alanced presentation of the Vienna
- Page 104 and 105: talent enables Wass to depict the s
- Page 106 and 107: Carpathian Federation, and printed
- Page 108 and 109: Now and then, however, this rule de
- Page 110 and 111: temper such an indictment by recogn
- Page 112 and 113: OUR CONTRIBUTORS (continued from pa
- Page 115: TO THOSE WISHING TO SUBMIT MANUSCRI
Ah, it is not the whirlwind that he sees,Spanning the long, dun road with mummeries:For there, beyond the grey dust, with its drumsAnd glittering arms, a brilliant army comes.And as it penetrates the fog <strong>of</strong> dust,A sigh from the lads mouth breaks in a gust.With eager stoop, he sees the troops draw nighAs if his soul were focuss'd in his eye."O gallant Magyar soldiers, fine and true,How fain, how longingly 1 gaze at you!Where go you, and how far? Perchance to fight?And pluck in war fame's flowers pearly-bright?March you against the Tartars or the TurksTo bid Good-night to them and all their works?Would I were one <strong>of</strong> you, and march'd along.You gallant Magyars, your brave troops among!"Such was the course <strong>of</strong> Nicholas Toldi's thought,And carking furrows through his soul were wrought.As thus he brooded in his youthful brain,His heart became convulsed in yearning pain;His sire had fought; his brother George he kenn'dHad grown up with the King's son as his friend.And at the court, while Nicholas draws in hay,That rascal proudly whiles his time away.Meanwhile the troops drew near with martial tread.Great Endre Laczfi riding at their head;On his bay steed he sat, a man <strong>of</strong> note.With gold embroidery thick upon his coat.Behind him rode smart, feather-capp'd battalionsWith gaudy saddles on their prancing stallions.As Nicholas gazes at that gallant corps,His eyes, with too much gazing, become sore."Hey, peasant! Which road leads to Buda-town?"Asks Laczfi, looking arrogantly down.Straight to the heart <strong>of</strong> Toldi goes that word.It forthwith gives a thump that can be heard."A peasant, am I?" Nicholas mused in hate.
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