Up comes the Moon on the river,
 Trees and grass quietly quiver.
 Near Szeged a wooded island,
 Od fishing barque, tied to the land.

By the moonlight, on this barque, old,
 Sat a fisherman I am told,
 Played a tune as well as he might,
 Played it well, well into the night.

On the Tisza, velvet darkness,
 Starry sky, the stars numberless,
 Spread a shroud studded with diamonds
 Radiating starry light fronds.

May have been this very spot, hark!
 Right under this rickety barque,
 In the very depths of the deep
 An ancient king's sleeping his sleep.

His coffin is gold and silver,
Of iron is made its cover.
 Up the river is glistening,
 Down the ancient king, listening.

Translation by Frank Veszely in: Hungarian Poetry: One Thousand Years. 2023. Friesen Press: Altona, MB, Canada.