Hristo Botev
Hristo Botev Poems
In sorrow youth passes, in sorrows and pains,
Angrily boils the blood in the veins;
Lowering brows - the mind cannot see,
...
A cloud of darkness has appeared
from the mountains and the forest:
does it mean a gentle drizzle
or a terrifying tempest?
...
He lives, still he lives! In the mountain fast,
soaked in blood, he lies and groans,
a rebel, wounded in the chest,
...
O you, my Mother, my Native Land,
Why is your cry so sad and heart-rending!
And you, O Raven, accursed bird,
...
Put aside that song of love,
do not fill my heart with pain -
I'm young but I don't know of youth
and if I did I wouldn't claim
...
O my God, my righteous God.
Not you, in heaven apart,
but you, who are within me, God -
...
'Rejoice, o people! Old and young
Praise God today, and praise the king!
'Tis Saint George's Day,' the sheep gave tongue
...
Was it you, mother, with your tearful song,
was it you who cursed me three years' long
to be a luckless, drifting waif
...
Hurry, stranger, quickly come
to your father's home at last,
do a dance before his home,
...
In the glade a pipe is played,
By the forest green and still,
Where Stoyana, fair, sweet maid,
Runs for water to the rill.
...
It's difficult to live, my brother,
among such thick-skulled blunderheads;
the fires of my youth are smothered,
...
Our feelings have made of us brothers
and our hidden thoughts have a same set,
I do not believe there's one thing
...
Hristo Botev Biography
Hristo Botev (Bulgarian: Христо Ботев, also transliterated as Hristo Botyov) , born Hristo Botyov Petkov , was a Bulgarian poet and national revolutionary. Botev is widely considered by Bulgarians to be a symbolic historical figure and national hero.)
The Best Poem Of Hristo Botev
The Struggle
In sorrow youth passes, in sorrows and pains,
Angrily boils the blood in the veins;
Lowering brows - the mind cannot see,
Is it good or evil that is to be.
Memories weigh on the soul like lead,
Its rancorous broodings will not stop.
In the breast no love - of faith not a drop,
Nor a hope that from the sleep of the dead
A decent man can yet be waken -
With us to be decent is madness' token;
The fool is honoured everywhere,
'He's rich' they say, and do not care
How many men he has burnt alive,
How many orphans he's robbed to thrive,
How often he's tricked his God at the altar
With prayers and oaths and lies that ne'er falter.
And priest and church both faithfully serve
This public hangman, and never swerve;
To him the rabid teacher bows,
And with the journalist sagely avows
That fear of the Lord is only one root
Of every wisdom - 'twas first said by a brute,
By a pack of wolves in skins of sheep,
To lay the foundation stone firm and deep.
Or holy lies, and the human mind
Forever in heavy chains to bind.
Solomon once, that tyrant of vice,
Long since packed off to Paradise
Along with his proverbs, where the saints caw,
A fool among fools, spoke this saw,
Which after him the peoples sing:
'Fear the Lord and honour of king.'
Sanctified nonsense! Age in, age out
Reason and conscience have tried to fight it,
Rebels have died in pain and doubt.
But tell me, how could they hope to fight it?
The world is used to dragging its burden,
To evil and tyranny as its sole guerdon.
It kisses the iron hand of the thief,
From lying lips takes its belief;
Be quiet and pray when you are beaten,
Let you flesh by beasts be eaten,
Let the snakes suck up your blood,
Trust, and firmly trust, in God.
'God, have mercy on me, a sinner!'
Go on, repeat it, then this truth waits;
'God never punishes whom he hates.'
That's how the world runs, lies and slavery
On this cursed earth are they only bravery,
And as a pledge from father to son,
Day and night, are handed on.
But in this realm of blood and sin,
This realm of knavery, vice and disgrace,
This realm where sorrow and evil win,
The struggle's afoot, and with quick pace
Approaches its appointed end…
Our cry is 'Bread or a bullet send!'
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3/12/2026 9:46:30 PM # 1.0.0
