Hristo Botev
Hristo Botev Poems
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
...
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,
...
In sorrow youth passes, in sorrows and pains,
Angrily boils the blood in the veins;
Lowering brows - the mind cannot see,
...
O you, my Mother, my Native Land,
Why is your cry so sad and heart-rending!
And you, O Raven, accursed bird,
...
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
To My First Love
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
the thing I trample underfoot
before you, and begin to hate.
Forget about the time I craved
a gentle glance, a sigh or two:
you had me chained up like a slave -
and for a single smile from you
the world filled me with wild disgust
and I cast my feelings in the dust.
Forget the madness of those times,
there's no lovelight within this breast
and no way you can make it shine,
there, where a heavy sadness rests,
where everything is lacerated
and a hating heart is wrapped in hatred.
You have your youth - your voice enchants -
but do you hear the forest singing?
Do you hear the poor lament? -
That voice is the spirit longing
and there my wounded heart is called,
where blood is spattered over all.
O, don't say bitter things to me.
Hear the woods and foliage moan,
hear the thunder of past centuries
and, word by word, how they intone
tales which long ago took place
and songs of hardships yet to face.
I'd have you sing that song as well,
to sing it, girl, and make it ache,
to sing how brother, brothers sell,
how strength and youth but run to waste
and how a widow mourns her lover
and little homeless children suffer.
Sing - or, silent, go your way.
My heart is trembling - it will fly -
it will fly, beloved - come, awake -
to where malignant, terrifying cries
and a monstrous litany of death
break from the rumbling, shaking earth.
There - the storm tears trees aside
and a sword enfolds them in a wreath;
terrible chasms are gaping wide
and through them leaden bullets shriek;
and there death comes with smiling face
and sweet rest and a chilly grave.
O, those songs, that smiling face.
Whose voice will call and sing of me? -
My toast - a cup of blood - I'll raise
to drink that love pass silently,
and then, alone, I'll make my song
of what I love, for what I long…
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