Soldiers’ song - Bálint Balassi

Soldiers, what finer worth

Is there upon this earth

Than the borderlands can show?

Where in the time of spring

The birds so sweetly sing

Setting our hearts aglow -

The fields have a fresh smell

Where the dew from heaven fell,

Delighting us through and through.

Let the foe but appear -

Brave soldiers have no fear;

Their hearts are roused by battle.

High-spirited they rise,

And shouting their war-cries

They quickly prove their mettle.

Some fall, wounded or slain.

But the foe flees again.

Our men have suffered little.

Gory banners and spears

Each of our warriors bears,

Riding in the army’s can.

They gallop like the wind,

Footmen following behind,

For this is our battle-plan.

With pommels of leopard hide,

With gleaming helmets they ride

With a crest on each man.

Their Arab horses fly

At the sound of the trumpet-cry.

Then those who stand sentinel

Dismount, and their swords drawn,

Wait till there comes the dawn.

When night on the battle fell,

The warriors, tired and spent,

Went to sleep in their tent

For a refreshing short spell.

For honour and good name,

For manhood and for fame,

They left everything behind.

They gave up all they have,

These noble men, these brave,

Fine models of humankind –

Like valiant hawks they fly

Across the embattled sky –

They go riding like the wind.

Then they see the enemy

They cry out joyously,

Breaking lances gallantly.

Should the odds prove too great,

Uncommanded they turn and wait,

The blood-drenched, unflinchingly,

Fall on the pursuing foe

And rout them, blow for blow,

Rout them victoriously.

Open field and wooden grove

Are the pleasant walks they love –

And an ambush on the road.

Hard fighting night and day

Is their school and their play.

They love battlefields and blood –

Thirst and hunger is for them a treat,

They thrive in sweltering heat.

This life they find good!

They love the soldiers’ trade,

They wield their sharp, trusty blade,

To roll heards on the ground.

Many men have met their doom,

The bellies of wild beats have become

Their coffins. And gathering round

Now come the birds of prey

Waiting for the wounded to die

Such reward has their bravery found!

Army of the borderland,

Noble and glorious band!

Young warriors of gallant repute!

Through the whole world your name

Has won honour and fame.

Like many trees with fruit.

With good luck, with prosperity

May God bless you continually –

In the field His blessing be your lot!

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Bálint Balassi [Baron Bálint Balassi de Kékkő et Gyarmat] (1554 – 1594) Hungary

Translated by Joseph Leftwich

Source: BabelMatrix Babel Web Anthology