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MikoÅ‚aj Hussowski (c. 1480–1533)
A POEM ON BISON
(selections)
Miko³aj Hussowski, born in a poor family in Hussów, was the author of panegyrical works and of
A Poem on Bison
(1523). This poem is a detailed descriptions of the bison, its life and habits. Written in Latin for Pope Leo X, an avid hunter, it stems from Hussowski's experience in hunting and observing bison, and contains no literary comparisons with ancient legendary creatures.
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If you want to learn our people's customs,
Then know we usually follow these ways:
It's not allowed to shoot him from afar,
Nor to take him down by skilful deceit;
Hunters always act with open courage,
Also, it's said, there is a superstition:
Reportedly the animal leaves his woods,
When man doesn't fight in an open manner.
Maybe it's fiction, so men wouldn't be idle,
And maybe it truly came to pass this way...
But leaving this aside, I will tell briefly,
What I saw and what my own deeds confirmed.
Should I think what to say about Diana,
The huntress, and some of her companions?
It is not the time to admire Jove's curved bows
And arrows so cruel to the wounded herds.
I venerate Christ, not Jove or Juno,
Let my song appeal to the Mother of God.
Is it proper to mix the truth with fables?
Allow me to say this with pure openness
To those who, immersed in obsolete studies,
Promote ancient errors in poetry.
Erazm, Archprelate of P³ock, condemns all things
That may be neglectful of Almighty God,
He does not read books unworthy of the priest,
Adding one more to his well-known virtues.
So I choose my words according to his tastes,
If they are religious, then they come from him.
While you, looking for sweet and pleasant things,
Will not find flowers in my hard clods of earth.
Both snow and ice are covering my fields,
My work is suited to the winter time.
In summer we constantly conduct wars,
We had time for hunting only in winter,
The fury of Mars takes away even that
And we have to fight on in the winter cold.
It's not right to stand mute, I must tell the truth -
Yet pain is carrying my tears and words:
With our own soldiers we fight to save the world,
To give security to the Christian faith!
We are attacked and ruined by a foe,
That would like to erase Christian faith outright!
He does not wage war to seize upon states
And treasures or bring glory to himself, no!
He just wants to feast his lust for human blood,
He wants to slaughter those of different faith,
And in this carnage keep his arms at work,
Preparing a blood feast for ravens and dogs!
When such foe prevails, death is the highest good,
For life brings in more suffering for us!
He who wants to order all things in one rite,
Won't ever be mindful that great God exists!
We are in the front line, the foe blunts his bolts
On us, his march is slowed down by our blood:
He cannot advance, penetrate deeper,
To put to the sword all that's in his way,
And now he bares his fangs. If we only could
In better conditions carry on our fight!
If only those allied with us by baptism
Would not provoke us and invade our lands!15
Those whose sweet peace we defend ardently
Attack us and want to destroy our kin,
Not with us but with our foe they join in arms,
Sparing no support, promise or advice.
Time, moving at its own pace, they hasten,
So that with our house their house might collapse.
Will they soothe a fierce sickness only then,
When delayed medicine is of no use at all?
He whose eyes are opened to various signs,
To the flow of things, can see the coming day.
Voracious beast, gnaw only at your own flesh,
Taint snow with your blood that will enrich the earth!
Bring iron to the anvil and forge chains
That will burden your children's or your own neck!
God raised his hand and with a threatening gesture
Calls on vengeance for your impious deed.
He hasn't cast thunderbolts, will he hold back?
Death is coming, swift, savage, bitter death,
Time to render accounts, to the smallest coin.
You will see what profit your fury brought you -
What good did it bring to yield to pagans,
Letting them drag behind thousands of captives,
With yokes on their necks so that no future years
Will remove them: this pain will stay with their sons.
Will posterity, which should live in Christ's faith,
Descend to the depths of hell because of you?
But why ask in the woods these useless questions?
Speak again, Hussovian,16 of the wild beasts
We, people of the north, when hunting them
Keep, as rules prescribe, the following customs:
From felled trees we form a big abatis,
So that the bison cannot escape from there.
Its perimeter is over twelve miles,
If we adhere to Ausonian measures,17
We post watchmen around this backwoods block,
So that the animal could not escape.
But this task is not always new, there are
Old intrenchments, opened in many places,
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