Literary heritage Shevchenko, in which poetry plays a central role, in particular the collection "Kobzar", is considered the basis of modern Ukrainian literature and in many respects the literary Ukrainian language. Relax . com . ua offers the best poems to read online.
Learn the story of the legendary poet's life on this exciting excursion
 |
Do you want to go back two centuries, to the era of the great Kobzar? You will visit Pereyaslav-Khmelnitsky, the Museum “I will remember”. This is the same house-museum, within the walls of which in 1845 Shevchenko bequeathed his will to the people. Then at the Museum of the Kobzar. The incomparable Vitachov with his famous church, which was reconstructed according to the drawings of the poet, is also waiting for you. And finally, the picturesque town of Kanev. In this place, one more page of history will turn over, the last in the life of a Ukrainian genius. Interesting? Rest assured, very interesting! Waiting for you! |
Passing days, passing nights
Passing days, passing nights,
Minak lito, rustle
Pozhovkle leaves, go out eyes,
Doom fell asleep, my heart to sleep,
I fell asleep, I don’t know
Chi I live, Chi I live
I am so dragging along the light,
I don’t cry anymore and I don’t laugh ...
Dole, de ti! Share, children?
Nema niyakoi,
If it's a good pity, God,
Then give evil, evil!
Don't let the walker sleep
Freeze your heart
І rotten deck
Roll around in the light.
Give me life, my heart
I love people,
And if ni ... then curse
First light it up!
It's scary to fall in the kaidani,
Die in captivity
And more girshe - spati, spati
I sleep at will,
І sleep navik-wiki,
I do not leave next
Niyakogo, however,
Chi is alive, chi is gone!
Share, children, share, children?
Nema niyakoi!
If it's a good pity, God,
Give me evil! evil!
21 breast1845, B’ units
Remember
Yak will die, then commend
On my grave
In the middle of a wide step,
On Ukraine mile,
Shcheb doe broadpoly,
І Dnipro, і steep
Bulo is visible, bulo is a bit,
Yak is a roar of resonances.
Yak carried from Ukraine
At the blue sea
I keep saints ... go away
І doe, і burn -
I'll leave everything and Pauline
All the way to god
Pray ... before that
I don’t know god.
Hook that get up,
Kaydani tear
І with the enemy's evil blood
Sprinkle your will.
I am less in the seven greats,
In the family, free, new,
Don't forget to remember
We are indulgent in a quiet word.
25 breast 1845, in Pereyaslav
I'm thirteen minutes old
Meni thirteen minutes. 1
I grazed the lambs outside the village.
It was so sonechko,
Chi so me what bulo?
Me so love, it became love,
Nothing to God ... ...
Already they called to the pair,
And I’m at the bur'yani
I pray to God ... I don't know
Why little me
Toydi prayed so kindly,
What's so fun boo?
The Lord's sky, and the village,
Lamb, to be built, had fun1!
The first sun was warm, not hot!
That bad sun was warming
Nedovgo prayed ...
Baked, pochervonіlo
The first paradise was kindled.
Mov thrown over, I marvel:
Pochornilo village,
God the sky is blue
І those pomarnіlo.
I glanced at the lambs!
Not my lambs!
I turned to the hati -
Dumb in me hati!
God did not give me anything! ..
I slouched down,
Heavy slozy! .. And dvchina
At the most expensive
Not far away
Flat vibrated,
That and I felt that I was crying.
She came, grabbed,
I wiped my sleep
I kissed ... ..
The sun has not begun to shine
It’s not the same all in the world
Moє ... doe, gai, sadi! ..
І mi, zhartyuchi, drove
Alien lambs to the water.
Bridnya! .. and dosi, yak guess,
That crying heart that hurt
What the Lord did not allow to live
Small Vіku near this paradise.
Bi died, raging on the fields,
I didn't know anything in the world.
Not buv bi in the holy fools,
People and God are not cursed!
Not a dream in a foreign country
Not a dream in a foreign country,
And at home it was already scorching.
Me sadly bulo
Th in our glorious Ukraine.
Nichto loving me, vitav,
I am sick of no one,
Blukav sobi, praying to God
Cursing that fierce army.
І zgaduv lita dashing,
Disgusting, old years,
Those who raised Christ,
Th now is not vіk bi sin Marії!
Nowhere is it fun for me,
That, mabut, you won't have fun
І in Ukraine, kind people;
Otzhe same to a stranger.
I would like b ... that th then in order
Muscovites were not robbed
Troon from a strange tree,
Abo I want to scream the earth
Because of the Holy Dnipro
Holy see brought,
That is the big one. So and so, people,
I would like to ... That scho and guess ...
What a god of turbo,
If it won't be our way.
Friend half 1847, Orska krіpost
I viris I'm in a foreign country
I virally in a foreign country,
I sivia in a foreign land:
That lonely me
To be built - dumb
Nichogo in God, yak Dnipro
That glorious land of ours ...
Already bachu, there is only good,
We are dumb. In the hardest time
Yakos recently had a chance
I'll go to Ukraine,
They have the nicest village ...
Have those de mati twisted
Less than a little at night
On a candle to God, I got sick;
Bow down to the heavy buggers,
She set me down, prayed,
Schhob share a good love
Її child ... Good, mom,
I fell asleep beforehand,
And then I would curse God
For my talan.
Already the fear is rotten
Have a good village.
Chornish black earth
People are bloody
Garden green, rotted
Bilenki hati, rolled around,
Set the overgrowth with bury.
The village has burned out at night,
Not at all people have gone astray
Nimi go to the panache
Lead your children! ..
I, crying, back
Having known a stranger.
І not in the same room,
And skryz to glorious Ukraine
The people at the yoke were harnessed
Pani disingenuous ... Go! Go!
At the yokes of the faces of the blue,
And the teachers of the lady
To the Jews, to their good brothers,
The rest are selling pants ...
It is rotten, the fear is rotten!
To disappear in the wasteland.
And even more poganshe in Ukraine
Wonder, cry - and move!
And the yak is not bachish of that dashing,
Then it is pleasant to build, quietly,
І good in Ukraine.
Between the mountains of old Dnipro,
Nothing in the young child,
Flaunt, admire
All over Ukraine.
And over it green
Wide villages,
And in the villages near the merry
I have fun for people.
Maybe it’s like this,
Yakby is not left
I follow the pansky in Ukraine.
Another half 1848, Kosaral
I love the woman and smell
They also loved me before,
Above me my geniy kotivs,
And in my soul I am a child quilting ...
I present a new book of the Kiev writing Lyubov Gontaruk, assigned to Shevchenko and Yogo kokhanim women, as she kicked the light in the first days of 2014. The zhaguchi poetic lines of Taras Grigorovich, dedicated to the unbearable women and pushed Lyubov Romanivna to the end of the book. The book is absolutely amused by the pathos, there is no reason to try to post the writer as a neighbor and a zeal for the lucky people of the XXI century.
Uvaga, the great creative decline of the poet has been brought back, but not so richly, it has been assigned to his special life. In her monograph “Taras Shevchenko”, the former literary scholar Mariutta Shanynyan stverdzhu: “… the past of great people, creators - is majestic, more important, like a lot of money. The one who і yak kokhaє is great with that usyaka ludin - will open up the suspension, the history of the whole generation ... It is especially valuable in terms of the relationship to Taras Grigorovich Shevchenko. " Zagalnovidomo, Shevchenko is not a friend of any kind and not a mother of children. I want it like this, and without breaking the lull of the homeland, about like the whole hour of the world, Shevchenko did not become a recluse, but he did not become a recluse. The poet's share of the poet was rather tragic: the dignity and youth, carried out by the children of the Cyril-Methodist partnership, and as a result of the problem and being sent without the right to write, and the soldiers. , wines died in 47 years, in a happy young man, from the point of view of the bitchy people, if the deyaky lucky choloviks, having reached their kar'єr success, turn up their family.
The book “I am loving. Kokhani women of T. G. Shevchenko " it will be stored in ten razdіlіv, leathery assignments of zhіntsі, in the way Taras Grigorovich in the singing period of his life. The author started the leather dressing with a quote from Taras Grigorovich, and then I continued the monologue of the zakokhany poet with powerful poeziyami, on which the shevchenko's rows were pounded.
Lyubov Romanovna, who was the last time she had thought of writing a whole book, picked up material about Shevchenko’s romance and romantic histories of that boy, knew portraits of women like Taras Grigorovich himself. As many as 200 rockets, and I know more about the ancient wins and traditions, the name of the spilkuvannas among the people and women of the first half of the 19th century.
First love "yu Taras Bula Oksana Kovalenko. Їy assigned singing "Mar" yana-chernitsya " ... And tell me about the beauty Oksana sings vilyv at virshi “Mi together, the colis grew ».
Mi, together, the colis grew,
We liked little dogs.
And mothers marveled at us
They said that you should inject
Friendly їх. Not guessed.
The old ones died beforehand,
And mi malimi rose
The same did not converge nikoli.
Me by will and bondage
Worn everywhere. Brought
For old age and home.
Have fun!
Feel now me, old,
It was dark and nimim,
So, how am I now, old man.
I bounce, in the poor villages,
I'm so bumpy, nothing
It did not rot and did not rot,
Take sob, yak i bulo.
І yar, і field, і poplar,
І above the Krynitsa willow.
Bent over, yak that zhurba
Far away in self-contained bondage.
Rates, rowers, and strikers
Z for gai maha krilli.
I oak greenery, mov kozak
From gayu viyshov ta y gulyє
Popid the mountain. Along the mountains
The little garden is dark, but into the little garden
Lie in the chill
Move to Paradise, my old.
The rasping oaks have done their best,
The words felt like a board ... / 204 /
I do not reach, I do not speak
Slick Saturn erases ...
Let me sleep with the saints
My old ... - Chi is alive
Ota Oksanochka? - I feed
My brother is quiet. - Yaka?
- Ota is small, curly,
Scho it was injected with us.
Why are you, brother, getting smoked?
- I'm not stinging. Pomandruvala
Ota Oksanochka on a hike
For the Muscovites, that one disappeared.
She returned, however, a year later,
That is why. I returned to the bystry,
Sheared. Bulo, at night
Sit in tinnitus, mov zozulya,
Ta kukє, or to scream,
Abo quietly spіvaє
That nibi kosi is distributed.
And then I know where you go,
I don’t know, it’s gone,
She was grazed, stupid.
And what a boolean for the girl,
So so so stealing! І nevbog,
The Lord did not give that talan ... -
And maybe, giving, that hto stole,
І stupefying the holy God.
"Hannі vrodlivіy" (this is how Taras called the squad of Colonel Platon Zakrevsky, the owner of the village of Berezova Rudka, which is in Poltava region) sings poem "Blind
"And also travel "G. 3. " that "Yakbi have done my knowledge ...".
Yakby, we know,
Chi ti was angry b, chi ni?
Yakeє quiet word
Would Toyid have promoted me?
Niyakogo. I did not know b.
And maybe, then I guess,
Saying: "The fool is dreaming."
And I am zradiv bi, my miracle!
My share of the black-shave!
Yakbi hitting, guessing
Cheerful and younger
Kolishnє is too dashing.
I'm bored, bored!
І having prayed, we are not truthful,
And in sleep we cunning rose,
Mud-water poured
Kolishn is a holy miracle!
[A friend half of 1848,
Kosaral]
The author of the zgaduє, with the postage before the fixation, the main topic was the history of the kohannya Shevchenko before Gunny Zakrevskoi. Disrespectful to those who Zakrevska Bula means young from Shevchenko and those who at that very hour have Shevchenko Bula Zakokhan princess Varvara Repnina, I’m a guest at that hour, Taras Grigorovich has no trouble at the young woman’s wife, the squad of his friend Colonel Platon Zakrevsky, who’s going to give him a wedding “G. Z. "
Nemaє girshe, yak in captivity
About the will to guess. And I
About you, my own free will,
Otse I guess. Nicoli
Ty didn’t work for me
Such a young man
І so good
So, now I'm in a foreign country,
The same in captivity. Share! Share!
My sp_vanaya will!
I want to look at me because of Dnipro,
I want to laugh for ...
I ty, my one,
Rise from across the sea,
Behind the fog, hearing
Horny dawn!
I ty, my one,
Leading behind you
Lita to my youth,
I in front of me
Nibi the sea intercede
Wide villages
With cherry pads
I have fun for people.
І people, і villages,
De prick, move brother,
They have imparted me. Mati!
Old Mother! 1
Chi go dosi
Happy guests
Take a walk by the old
It's easy to walk
Old way, old way,
One to the next?
And vi, my youth
Chorniavії children,
Cheerful little girl,
І dosi in the old
Dance? And ty, share!
And you, my peace!
My holy black-shaved,
I dosi between them
Quiet, is it okay?
І timi ochima,
Already black ones - blue,
І dosi charuєsh
Human souls? Clean and dosi
Marvel in vain
To the hideous camp? Holy mo!
"One" is holy!
Yak to stumble upon you, share,
Dіtochki-dіvchata
Y chirp in your own way
I call you good
Maybe th me inadvertently
Children will guess.
Maybe yak and about me
Say yak dashingly.
Smile, my heart,
Quietly quiet
I didn’t beat it ...
That is more than nothing.
And I, for a long time, in captivity
I will pray to god.
[A friend half of 1848,
Kosaral]
It seems that since Hanny Zakrevskoy had a little girl Sophia, the cholovik did not look at her and went to see the child in the village. Okhni hundred-sounders were not too much of a maybutt, ale stench was infused into Shevchenko. The poet has a bazhannya mother sviy dim, his homeland, squad. I tse bazhannya, tsya unprincipled sincerely the need for suprovodzhuvati sings all life.
By the time Shevchenko was in charge of the old lady, Ale Varvara Repnin did not stop bothering about Shevchenko’s sound, in which case the nipersha got the genia. Taras Grigorovich strongly sympathizing with the vivid and extraordinary life, assigning poem "Tryzna" she presented her self-portrait. Alle, the suspenseful breakthrough between the kolishny krypak and the princess, who was in the heart of the whole hour, had Ganna Zakrevskiy did not give the opportunity to these friendly little girls to grow older.
Princess, look with liquorice!
Oh God, what is it for the day?
I have not pressed your hand,
A spark in my flesh
And I will become so captivated!
The same loving tricycle duzé zatziviv Lyubov Romanivnu and giving an impulse before writing a whole book about women who loved Shevchenko. The book was written on a single podikh, a skin wound populated virsh, which was gone before the book. All the history of the kohannya, the women were filled with real articles, we know about the skin of them more or less, but all the nevigadan and even more loud stories.
It is impossible not to guess the Vilensky kokhannya Taras Grigorovich before Yadvigi Gusikovsky, Yakiy Vin recited Mitskevich and appropriated Virsha Polish language. Perche kokhannya and perche rozcharuvannya - the young sings at that painfully vidchuvay at the height of the young Pole Yadzei and his innocent, krіpatsky camp. In the sheets of the artist's friend Ivan Soshenka, he wondered: “Once, for those who stumbled on a walk with Yadvigo, they didn’t go to school. It wasn't so cool, like a soul. "
To what not happy krіpak
God didn’t give freedom-freedom,
Your good Lord,
Simple joy to your hands,
Family - calm and healthy?
Naybіlshe s tsikh romantic stosunіv the author was impressed by kohannya Shevchenko to Feodosia Kositsi.Feel like Feodosia will be remembered, the dvchina wanted to go for a new change, and ale on the back of the slut became a father - Grigoriy Kositsya, a priest from the village of Kirilivka, who did not give his daughter his blessing. Tse even more opposed the other child, Alevona could not eat against the will of the fathers and not to the extent of being overwhelmed by grief. I mi nemov bi chuєmo in tsikh rimovannyh rows of rozpach sings, as if he had lost hope for happiness.
My little one is not happy
Why don't you love me so much?
Happiness did not give singing,
That, perhaps, will ruin ...
Nineteen Liqueur Polusmak - the last love of Shevchenko, the last hope in the homeland, happiness. Ale to the young girl could not appreciate the appreciation of the great poet, having given the Perevag to the perukary Yakovlev.
Over May and Sivim Dniprom
Navigate into the lull of light
Without the family I am self-sufficient.
Why zoom so less obdіliti?
The book “I love you. Kokhani women of T. G. Shevchenko ”is still a staggering viglyad, she is set in style, addicted to romanticism, if Shevchenko is alive and creating. Let’s sit there, illustrated with detailed color portraits of cich women, who, with a hand of life, nagged the well-known Ukraine, and whose images are often found in his works.
Until the anniversary of Kobzar, thousands of articles will be written, dozens of books have been seen, hundreds of conferences, round tables, performances and concerts have been held. Aleksandr, who is unaffected by the majesty of the great number of funniest visits and the published book of Lyubov Romanivnya Gontaruk, is not at all familiar with her reader.
TRIZNA
DEDICATION
A soul with a perfect purpose
Must love, endure, suffer;
And the gift of the Lord, inspiration,
Should water with tears.
You understand this word! ..
For you I happily folded
Your everyday chains
I acted as a priest again
And poured tears into sounds.
Your kind angel has dawned on
Me with immortal wings
And with quiet words
Awakened dreams of paradise.
Your souls are cleansed in obedience to the truth in spirit, in brotherly love, unhypocritically, love each other diligently from a pure heart: you are not corrupted from seed, but not corrupted, by the word of the living God and abiding forever. Zane all flesh is like grass, and all human glory is like a herb color: out of grass, and its color is decay. But the word of the Lord abides forever. Behold, this is the verb preached in you.
First Epistle of the Council of Saint Peter. 1, 22 - 25.
Twelve instruments on a round table
Twelve tall glasses stand;
And the hour is already passing
Nobody comes
Must be friends
Forgotten ones.
They are not forgotten - at the appointed time,
Fulfilling the vow, friends gathered,
And eternal memory was sung by the cathedral,
They sent a funeral feast - and everyone dispersed.
There were twelve of them; everyone was young
Beautiful and strong; last year
They buried their best friend
And they established a commemoration for a friend that day,
Until they go on a date.
“Happy brotherhood! The unity of love
You venerated sacredly on a sinful earth;
Come together, friends, as you have now,
Come together for a long time and a new song
Sing to freedom in a slave land! "
Blessed is your little path
Poor stranger, unknown!
You are by the miraculous power of the Lord
I could breathe into the hearts of people
Fire of love, fire of heaven.
Blessed! You are God's will
He sanctified with a short life;
In the vale of slavery, the joy of will
Silently you proclaimed.
When a brother's brother is hungry for blood -
You combined love in strangers;
Freedom to people - in their brotherhood
You showed with a great word:
You have proclaimed the world to the world;
And, walking away, blessed
Freedom of thought, spirit of love!
Chosen soul, why
Have you been so little with us?
You are cramped here, it was difficult!
But you loved the captivity here,
You, innocent, looked
Grieving for vain people.
But the angel was missing
The Eternal King of Kings;
And you're in heaven in eternal glory
You stand at the throne of God,
On our world, dark and crafty,
You look with innocent longing. / 241 /
I revere you,
I marvel in silent trepidation;
I pray with a yearning soul
How I pray before an angel!
Get off, send me healing!
Instill, instill on a cold mind
At least a few bright, pure thoughts;
For a single moment
Illuminate the dungeon of the heart
And the darkness of obstinate thoughts
And disperse and pacify.
Truthfully, with quiet speeches,
You tell me all yours
Earthly well-being
And teach me to own hearts
Puffy people and their own,
Already corrupted, already evil ...
Tell me secret teachings
To love proud people
And with a speech of meekness and humility
To soften the people's executioners,
Yes, I proclaim the hymn of the prophets,
And I will bring down the truth,
And fading eyes
Without fear I will erect to the sky.
And in this hour of the final torment
Send me true friends
Fold cold hands
And unselfishness of firs
Spill out of friendly eyes.
I will bless my suffering
I will smile at death
And to eternal life with hope
I will ascend to heaven for you.
Blessed is your little path
Not a glorious alien, wonderful!
In a poor, unknown family
He grew up; and life's work,
As an orphan, he met early;
He met evil reproaches
For our daily bread ... a wound in the heart
The snake gnawed through ... Children's sleep / 242 /
Disappeared like a fearful dove;
Longing like a thief, impatiently
Hiding in a broken heart
I dug my greedy lips
And sucked innocent blood ...
The soul was torn, the soul was crying,
She asked for will ... The mind burned,
Pride gurgled in blood ...
He was trembling ... He was numb ...
The hand, clenching, trembled ...
Oh, if only he could the globe
Grab with an embittered hand
With all the reptiles of the earth;
Grab, crumple and throw to hell! ..
He would be happy, he would be glad.
He laughed like a fierce demon,
And a terrible minute lasted
And the world was ablaze from all sides;
Sobbed, he went numb in frenzy,
The soul was tormented by a terrible dream,
The soul was dead, and all around
Earth, the Lord's creation,
In green robes and flowers
Meeting spring, she rejoiced.
The soul was joyfully awakening
And woke up ... He is in tears
Fell down and kisses the ground,
Like a mother's mother! ..
He is again the pure angel of Paradise
And on earth he is a stranger to everyone.
Looked up to the sky: “Oh, how clear
How delightfully wonderful!
Oh, how free it will be for me! .. "
And eyes in a wonderful half-sleep
On the vault of heaven directs
And in boundless depth
Innocent soul drowns.
By the height of the saint, wide,
With a white handkerchief, lonely
A transparent cloud floats into the distance.
"Oh, cloud, cloud, who carries
Are you so smooth, so high?
What are you? And why / 243 /
So gorgeous, cute dressed up?
Where are you sent and by whom? .. "
And the cloud quietly melted
The sky is bright. Gloomy gaze
He lowered into a dark forest ...
"And where is the end of the world, the end of heaven,
The ends of the earth? .. "And a deep sigh,
A childlike sigh, he let out;
As if in a lonely heart
He buried hope.
In whom there is no faith, there is no hope!
Hope is God and faith is light.
“Do not extinguish, my light!
Disperse the mental fog
Live me by Your strength
And the path is thorny, the path is dull
Illuminate with heavenly light.
Send Thy shrine to mind,
Drink with a holy inspiration,
Yes, I proclaim goodness
What is commanded by You! .. "
He has not buried hope,
The spirit has risen like a high dove,
And the darkness of the heart, the darkness of the vale
He lit up with heavenly light;
He went to look for life, share,
The native field has already passed,
The village was already hiding ...
It suddenly became a pity for something,
A tear of eyelashes pierced
My heart sank and broke.
We are sorry for something in our past,
And there is something in the native land ...
But he, poor man, he is not his own,
And here and there. The planet is ours
Our wonderful world, paradise on earth,
A stranger to him at all ends.
He fell silently to the dear finger
And, like a native, kissed
Sobbing, quietly and sadly
I read a prayer on the way ... / 244 /
And with a firm, free foot
He went ... and hid behind the mountain.
Abroad native land
Wandering a beggar, an orphan,
What tears did not flow!
What a terrible cost
I bought the mind of knowledge,
And he kept the virginity of his heart.
Without a faint-hearted reproach
Go through the ordeals of a hard life
Measure the chasms of passions
To understand in practice the life of people,
Read all the black pages
All lawless deeds ...
And keep the eagle flying
And the heart of a pure dove!
Behold a man! .. To live without shelter
(Orphans and the sun does not warm),
To taste people - and to love!
With a kind heart regretting
About their unworthy deeds
And without blaspheming in the dark,
Like the king of the mind. Poor, beggar,
For a piece of daily food,
A mighty fool
And think, feel and live! ..
Here is a terrible, holy drama! ..
And he passed her, sobbing,
He played it strictly
Without a word; he did not interpret
Your everyday adventures
As a cautionary novel;
Didn't open heart wounds
And the darkness of various dreams
And the Byronic mist
He did not start up; a crowd of insignificant
He did not revile his friends;
I did not execute officials and authorities,
Like N, a careful herald,
And the one who thinks without end
About the thoughts of Kant, Galileo,
The cosmopolitan sage
And people judge without regret / 245 /
Sibling and father;
That false prophet! His judgments -
Half-ideas, half-nonsense! ..
After spending life's purpose,
Great judgment of God,
In self-interested reflection
He raised a tearful gaze
On the beauty of holy nature.
"How everything agrees!" - he whispered
And I remembered my native land;
God has righteousness and freedom
He prayed to everyone living
And I followed with a gentle thought
The deeds of the peoples past,
The affairs of his native country,
And wept bitterly ... "Oh, saint!
My holy home!
How can I help you crying?
And you are shackled, and I.
The great word of God will
Tell tyrants - they won't understand!
And in my own beautiful field
The Prophet will be stoned!
Will erase the high graves
And they will bear them with a word of evil!
You were killed, crushed;
And forbidden to praise
Your great deeds!
Oh my God! Strong and true
Miracles are possible for you.
Fill the heavens with glory
And create a holy miracle:
They led the dead to rise,
Bless with the almighty word
For a new and severe feat,
To redeem the land
The land desecrated, forgotten,
Watered with purest blood,
Once upon a happy land. "
Like clouds, thoughts diverged,
And tears fell like rain! .. / 246 /
Blessed is he who has a small share,
You are free to give the crumbs from the meal
A hungry brother and a wicked will
Though he could tame the harsh power!
Blessed and free! .. But he who is not an eye,
And he looks with his soul at the intrigues of people,
And he can only cry in lonely longing -
Oh truthful God, deprive you of your eyes! ..
Your mountains, your sea
All the beauties of nature
Will not atone for his grief
Will not give freedom.
And he, the sufferer of a short life,
I saw, felt and lived everything,
Having known people, he loved
And missed them furtively.
People also loved him *, [* Like a flower blooming in their swamp.]
And he called them brothers;
Found friends and secret power
He made friends with him;
Between young friends
Sometimes brooding ... sometimes,
Like a sorcerer, a young broadcaster
With resounding, lively speeches
Friends were suddenly amazed;
And the strength of friendship between them,
Blessing, he strengthened.
He said that the common good
Must buy love
And with noble courage
Become for the people and execute evil.
He said that the holiday of life,
Great holiday, God's gift,
Must donate to the homeland
Should be under attack.
He spoke of tender passion,
He spoke quietly, sadly,
And he fell silent! .. In rebellious melancholy
From the table he left
And wept bitterly. To be sad with a secret
Deep longing, not accidental
The sufferer did not share with anyone. / 247 /
Friends loved with all their soul
His, as a blood; but he
Incomprehensible longing
I was constantly depressed
And between them in free speech
He was on fire. But between the guests,
When by a thousand lights
Marble shoulders flashed
He sighed heavily about something
And flew like a gloomy thought
In a native country, in a beautiful country,
Where no one was waiting for him,
Nobody remembered about him,
Not about his fate is unclear.
And he thought: “Why am I here?
And what should I do in between?
They all dance and sing
They are relatives between relatives,
They are all equal to each other,
And me! .. "- And quietly he leaves,
Goes home in thought;
Nobody leaves the house
Meet him; nobody is waiting
Everywhere alone ... Longing, languor! ..
And the bright holiday of Sunday
Bears a hundred-fold longing.
And he withers, withers, like an epic in the field,
Longing languid in the wrong side;
And he withers silently ...
Sunk in his heart?
“Oh woe to me, woe! Why did I leave
Happiness innocence, home country?
Why have I wandered, what have I achieved?
The joys of knowledge? .. I curse them, I curse!
They eaten my mind, worms,
With my quiet happiness, they parted!
Whom will I tell you longing and love?
To whom will I show my wounds in tears?
Here I have no pair, I am a beggar between them,
I am a poor day laborer, a simple worker;
What will I give my friend my dreams?
Love ... Ah, love, love alone!
From her for three centuries, for eternity would be!
I would melt her in my arms! / 248 /
Oh, how tenderly, how tenderly I loved! "
And large tears fell like sparks,
And pale cheeks and weak breasts
They grew and dried. "Oh let me breathe,
Break my skull and tear my chest, -
There are worms, there are snakes - let them loose!
Oh, let me sleep quietly, forever! "
The unfortunate orphan suffered
Far from happy homeland
And he waited impatiently for the end.
His favorite dream is
It is useful to be a native land, -
Like a color, it fades with it!
He suffered. Life is emptiness
The grave opened before him:
Brotherly affection was not enough,
The warmth of friends did not warm -
Heavenly sunbeams
Soaring soul hungry.
The fire of love that God lit
In a bashful heart a dove
An innocent woman wherever I could
The flight is superior, eagle
Stop and merge
Fire of love, innocent love;
Who could he shelter
In the light of the heart and mind,
Like a defenseless dove
Hide from the life of sorrows;
And to the young Persians, languishing,
Head tired to snuggle;
And, numb and sobbing,
In the bosom of life, in the bosom of paradise
Take a minute to rest.
In her eyes, in her languor
Drown both mind and soul,
And melt heart in heart,
And drown in selflessness.
But there was no one to love;
There was no one to combine with;
And my heart cried and ached,
And froze in the void. / 249 /
His yearning dream
Something was revealed in the future,
And at limitless heights
The holy sky was smiling.
Like a burning candle wax,
He melted quietly, silently,
And on pensive eyes
The fog fell. Bashful gaze
On it is a beauty sometimes
Peace, secretly worried
And sympathetic beauty
Furtively admired for a long time.
And maybe many were sad
Maiden hearts about him,
But by a secret will, a higher power
The lonely path to the grave
Drawn on sharp stones.
He was exhausted, his chest ached,
Darkened the eyes, behind the cross
The border of eternity turned black
In a dark and empty space.
Already in the bed of the grave
He lies quiet, and the light goes out.
Friends of yearning advice
His powerless spirit disturbs.
We spent the night alternately
A friend has true friends;
And every evening I was going
His wonderful family.
On the last evening gathered
Around the deathbed
And we sat there until morning.
Already dawn closed my eyelashes
Friends were dull,
And he suddenly revived
Their sad dream with experienced fire
Last fiery speeches;
And comforted each other
That in seven or eight days
He will sing between friends.
"I will not sing you a new song
About the glory of my homeland.
Fold you a severe psalm
About a host of folk executioners; / 250 /
And remember with a free hymn
Forerunner, my friend.
And for his sins ... his sins
Pray earnestly to God ...
And with the saints rest
Sing, friends, over me! "
Friends stood around him,
He walked away, they sobbed,
Like children ... he sighed softly,
He sighed, sighed ... He was gone!
And the world of the prophet lost
And she lost the glory of her son.
Sadly friends have borne
The next morning to the church, the coffin is oak,
Sobbing, betrayed the land
Remains of a friend; and laurel
The wreath is green, young,
Watered with tears of friendship
And they laid it on the grave;
And with the saints rest
They sang softly and dejectedly.
In the tavern at the round, at the brotherly table
By evening the friends were sitting around;
Sadly and quietly twelve sat:
Their heart ached with longing.
A sad funeral feast, sad friends! ..
Ah, I also sent such a feast.
We agreed with the general,
So that the table is laid every year
On the day of the death of a friend; to be forgotten
There could not be a friend of theirs behind the grave.
And every year they converged
To commemorate the day of the death of a friend.
Already many were not seen:
The devices were empty every year
Friends became more orphaned -
And now one, how many years,
To empty cutlery for lunch
The sad old man arrives; / 251 /
The sadness and joy of a young age
One, sadly, remembers.
He sits for a long time, gloomy, quiet,
And waits: is there a brother
Is there one still alive?
And lonely on the way back
He walks in silence ... And now,
Where the round table is set,
The door opened quietly
And the brother, forgotten by time,
He entered bent over! .. He is sad
Has cast a blank look on the table
And he said with a friendly reproach:
"Lazy people! See how the law
Sacred brotherly perform!
They didn't come today,
As if they had gone beyond the sea! -
And silently wipes away tears,
Sitting down at a fraternal round table. -
If only one came to you! "
The old man sits and waits ...
An hour passes, another one passes,
It's time for the old man to go home.
The old man gets up: “Yes, changed!
Listen, drink, brother, wine, -
He said to the servant, - all the same,
I can not; passed what it was -
Yes, remember for the peace;
And I have to go home already! "
And the tears rolled down again.
The servant drank the wine, wondering.
"Give me a hat ... what laziness
Go home! .. "- and quietly left.
And a year later on an appointed day
Twelve instruments on a round table
Twelve tall glasses stand
And the day is already passing
Nobody comes
Forever, forever forgotten onet.
If you go over to the request, take out additional information about the woman of T. Shevchenko.
Causal
The roar and stack of Dnipr wide,
An angry wind,
To the depth of the willow to the wrath of the temples,
I am sick of mountains.
І Blidy Mysyats at that time
Іf hmari de viglyadav,
Chauvin in the blue sea
Now virinav, then drowning.
More than a third of them haven't slept,
Nichto nowhere is no hubbub,
Sichi in the guy echoed,
That is clear once and again.
In taku dobu along the mountain,
For that guy,
Scho black over the water,
Shhos bile blukaє.
Maybe a mermaid came in
Mother shukati,
And maybe I'm waiting for the little goat,
Schob zaloscotati.
Not a mermaid blookє:
That little girl to walk
I do not know myself (bo causal),
So also to rob.
So the trail has spoiled
Schub missed less
Schob, tank, walking about,
Slept and watched
Young Kozachenka,
Having left the torik.
Promising to return,
That, mabut, and zginuv!
Not a Chinese one
Kozatskії eyes,
Bile Lichko
Little girls:
Eagle viynyav kary ochi
On someone else's field,
Bіle tіlo vovki z "їli, -
This is Yogo's share.
Darma shonich divchinonka
Yogo viglyadaє.
Blackshaven will not return
That one is not grafted,
Do not twist your braid,
Khustka is not a head
Not on lіzhko - in domina
Orphaned!
{!LANG-201c9f5e903724145c8de628026d6d29!}
{!LANG-8796944b338657dd68ca6627f5981d85!}
{!LANG-7d0fb2e457c80fe06b193edec34af8c0!}
{!LANG-1c78847890dcfc94cc6446abcac5bc97!}
{!LANG-e6f7ef52a1773ed61a39f2317f1cf89d!}
{!LANG-51bbe33587117a2e07aa5917484557ef!}
{!LANG-bd722dab802d83bd1886fc7fc1712b27!}
{!LANG-f7ff6018d5c4f33f118a045d49e3499e!}
{!LANG-7fd878d52ddabdcc5b5bd57255af2da6!}
{!LANG-c44d249f8dddb9a8293a2983f23e60e5!}
{!LANG-248773a62d3798ffffdd4595c3860284!}
{!LANG-f2d1be537f2ae9ba2fe75bfb85a1395f!}
{!LANG-1bb5ec059e893a7858692be14c65082d!}
{!LANG-ce7b0b8cab255b10b713e0527cc2a09d!}
{!LANG-fcddc82ebb03407544dff8c5a6881b79!}
{!LANG-ef1eda465f37bbe3d79787233116e781!}
{!LANG-00ab4627f7fab3a51f6901d50ba02f41!}
{!LANG-35b0426001be9795ab90bf9f230291ee!}
{!LANG-f14297b655c6c9f1e64e8b8b5e20b99a!}
{!LANG-73510d347b5d0ae67403f80a29219a70!}
{!LANG-8e70ca50090cb16d93b4d0300b3e3b8e!}
{!LANG-86916a7071c9a1db8cdc72f94acbc050!}
{!LANG-eaf9f5dfbed8e228e2c571fd65307398!}
{!LANG-9b71949ff24e25416ca4b8efe047d764!}
{!LANG-85bd64e23a3a6a8816d5d17bef3b32fe!}
{!LANG-8d2a0eb173a6d36c3d377610ed950c6a!}
{!LANG-6f1baad349be84ee8a5ada64518668a9!}
{!LANG-a3b5ffbb950437c3d7737b9881b9d5e5!}
{!LANG-7008163d3fa637a7af8aaae78dead215!}
{!LANG-cf2b5e10d4d8dc6288af371fa27b34ea!}
{!LANG-5ba3be1a7fe61ac379925591cf347ffe!}
{!LANG-a0024dfd4161dc990a54bc37be486735!}
{!LANG-4602ebff9b3fd505c13e0c83ef686c20!}
{!LANG-51cc52838e719bbe365989c4f145410a!}
{!LANG-34556222286c1b0bd7799c67191e417b!}
{!LANG-8b9bd4b97f7fad9b7352b328cfdbeb07!}
{!LANG-d68a18221d7e251fb8d73ee19a2f9f6d!}
{!LANG-f765684e29ac1b10209ed3ae05256b9e!}
{!LANG-18292ae79e11f20cdc5b3eb43e485fcf!}
{!LANG-766c5718fbe7e0e0810bd75980e804ce!}
{!LANG-8284ec05450b7d03dad2321718f144d9!}
{!LANG-45bed9d54a2b80e14a12e4e2cce92f7e!}
{!LANG-58bb8fd86266c7b2f4af07322cb6b97b!}
{!LANG-725c6d92f4d96d8d9055ae7969d67d63!}
{!LANG-06c0c36701a2c362ccdc01839c1d6ad7!}
{!LANG-6325005cc9b5e78109d70210fde62d8e!}
{!LANG-6f5def2a8304f9c6650a6e4b20025b45!}
{!LANG-1275ef406ca661695b9cab9880fdb3a7!}
{!LANG-d3e3a8fe7003bb9ce6f365506ded2416!}
{!LANG-f496729f5b13b7dc42c90bb9d54f9996!}
{!LANG-26b6763b207525237199879348368c00!}
{!LANG-36afa81c6b520bec2a3f83fd1ae28711!}
{!LANG-14c79638952b38b40b9e76d4daea856b!}
{!LANG-bafa8934a158cae1f2b76d83100b5817!}
{!LANG-38de625e199545c1c402400a40556217!}
{!LANG-01047b049d845597c457c90583f73ca4!}
{!LANG-3eb0f6bcdedf98e0da9b0c005d1f4c07!}
{!LANG-470ed040378b306264a68e4c1f261b6d!}
{!LANG-58d881e2e86323297086adbe58524a07!}
{!LANG-87a8ae963192b1e44e0c5400bccca915!}
{!LANG-291310166dc5720073d727b22a413937!}
{!LANG-55b6ffc55aefe0c5e9e3190e957be4c0!}
{!LANG-0de8d3e697d16d40506bc73b6fbf4b34!}
{!LANG-d0108d33be2c60f6aabdd24cdfe2a32c!}
{!LANG-028e1dd6363281004cc03d041255f498!}
{!LANG-2218c240add751e0707f607128b136f8!}