The Volunteers At Valley Poem by Ang I Iv

Let's wear more shame on our foreheads,
blue from the bull, traces of weight;
let the memory be angry from days of shame
to hang like a cloud in our horizon;
let history deny us, the age,
let our name be tragic; let
Belasitsa old and new Batak
in our past they cast their darkness;
let them point insulting scorn at us
break shackles and look for shame
on our necks from the yoke of old;
let this freedom be a gift to us!
Let. But we know that recently
something new is shining, there is something glorious,
which proudly beats our breasts
and in us he feels strong, great fruits;
because there somewhere on the mountain,
that the blue sky supports with the shoulders,
a wild, sensual peak rises,
covered with white bones and bloody moss
of an immortal feat a huge monument;
because there is a memory in the Balkans,
there is one name that lives forever
and in our story the legend of the gray legend,
a name new, great ancient,
like Thermopylae glorious, boundless,
what answer gives and washes away shame,
and slander breaks the tooth.

Oh, Shipka!

Three days the young companies
as the passage is scolded. Forest valleys
they roar in awe.
Terrible attacks! Twelfth time
dense hordes crawl on the abyss wild
and the bodies are covered with it, and blood is shed over it.
Storm after storm! Swarm after swarm!
Suleiman the Mad points to the top again
and shouts, 'Run! There are the heavens! '
And the hordes mourn,
and 'Allah! ' the air thundered.
The top responds with other shouts: hurray!
And with new rain bullets, stones and wood;
our companies, sprinkled with blood,
shoot and repel, no signal, no order,
everyone is just looking to be ahead
and breasts heroically to death to expose,
and one enemy more dead to lay.
The rifles rang out. The Turks roar,
embankments fall and fall, and die; -
They come like tigers, they flee like sheep
and they growl again; Bulgarians, Eagles
as lions run on a terrible redoubt,
they remember neither heat, nor thirst, nor labor.
The assault is desperate, the resistance is fierce.
They have been fighting for three days, but no help is coming,
out of nowhere the eye did not see hope
and the fraternal eagles do not snort at them.
Nothing. They will fall, but honestly, without fear -
a handful of Spartans under Xerxes.
The waves are coming; everyone is on the alert!
The last push has already come.
Then Stoletov, our general,
roared loudly: 'Young volunteers,
marry Bulgaria with laurel wreaths!
the king trusted in your strength
the passage, the war and even myself! '
In these words, the strong companies are proud
heroic enemy hordes await
furious and noisy! Oh, heroic hour!
The waves find rocks then,
the cartridges are missing, but the wills last,
the bayonet breaks - the chest remains
and the sweet joy of dying to death
before the whole universe, on this glorious mouth,
with one heroic death and one victory.
'Bulgaria is watching now,
this peak is high: it will see us,
if they would run: let's die better! '
No more weapons! There's a hecatomb!
Every tree is a sword, every stone is a bomb,
every thing a blow, every soul a flame.
Stones and trees disappeared there.
'Grab the bodies! ' someone shouted
and corpses of the dead snorted
kat demons black over black swarm,
overthrow, pile up as alive again!
And the Turks tremble, they never saw again
to fight together the living and the dead,
and the air is split with a demonic cry.
The fight turns to death and the bayonet,
our heroes are like rocks
iron meet with iron breasts
and they throw songs into the fierce slaughter,
when they see that they are dying...
But waves newer than hordes of savages
swallow, immerse the heroic hero...
One more moment - the cherished hill will fall.
Suddenly Radetzky arrived with a bang.
...........................
Even today the Balkans, as soon as the storm catches,
remembers that stormy day, makes noise and forwards
his fame is wonderful as an ec
from precipice to precipice and from century to century!