Poetry of the January Uprising p.4.
date:22 January 2021 Editor: Editorial
On the occasion of the anniversary of the outbreak of the large independency spur, the 1863 Uprising, we print in respective parts poesy created during the uprising, earlier works, but popular among its participants, and created for the glory of heroes - after the fall of the uprising. Most were performed in song form.
Burning Fires
Kornel Ujejski - Choral
1. With the smoke of fires, with the dust of blood of a sister
To you, Lord, this voice beats
The complaint is terrible, the groan is last
From specified prayers white hair
We don't know singing without a complaint.
The thorn cherry grew into our temple
Forever, like a monument to your anger
A pleasurable hand leans towards you
2. How many times? You didn't beat us.
And we won't wash off fresh wounds
Again we cry out: “He has atone.
For He our Father, for He our Lord!”
And we emergence again in assurance more sincere
And behind Your will the enemy crushes us
And laughs at us like a stone on our chest:
"Where is the Father, and where is God!"
3. And we look at the sky, or from the top of it.
A 100 suns won't fall on the mark?
Quiet and quiet – among the blue
As a free bird utilized to rock
The uncertainty of a terrible dilemma
Before I wake up our religion again
They blaspheme your lips, though your heart cries
Judge us by heart, not by word!
4. Oh, Lord! Sir! The horror of the world!
The terrible past has brought us time
Son killed father, brother killed brother
Many Caines are among us
But, Lord! They're innocent.
Though our future has gone backwards
Other Satans were active there
O punish your hand, not a blind sword!
5. Look, we're always in the misery of one.
In your womb to your stars
We swim in prayer like summertime birds
What are they to remainder among their own nests
Cover, cover, father's hand
Give us a imagination of your future grace
Let the martyr flower put us to sleep with a scent
May martyrdom environment us!
6. And with your archangel at your head
We'll all go to a bloody fight
And on the trembling devil's body
We'll seal your winning flag!
We will open our hearts to stray brothers
Their responsibility will wash distant the freedom of baptism
In this time, a wicked blasphemer will hear
Our answer: “God was and is!”
Insurgent March
Vladimir Wolski
To fathers, brothers, whited bones
In Siberia snows, in the Caucasus rocks,
Sisters, wives and mothers of our tears are hot,
The enemy spits shame in their surviving eyes.
For the tribes wasted years,
They were poisoned with thought and hello,
To an evil yoke, to the world
Yelling and sleeping, they could have endured so far.
Fight, Poles, fight!
Freedom of Spirit — It is God’s sword.
Fight, fight! A villain,
Like a frightened animal, go away.
For the martyrs of our bloody cries,
The deafly reflected prison shop,
The exiles of our suffering wanderers,
They're bitter, due to the fact that bread is taken from the hands of strangers.
To the sly laws of ancestral pride,
When the people and the work dishonored the law of the Tsar,
Like the cattle said to smudge, due to the fact that these crowds
Not yet, according to Czarski penalties.
For the fight, for the Poles, for the holy fight, etc.
To the vile men with the enemy's collusion,
From Targowice to our years,
To the game of hell, to which the village people
In the torturers, he was vain to replace the executioner.
To the desecrated churches of the Gentiles,
For the humiliation of the religion of our servants,
The towns and villages of so many smoke ashes,
When the enemy laughed wildly at their ashes.
For the fight, for the Poles, for the holy fight, etc.
To the slaughter of the helpless, kneeling in the streets,
With prayer yet for his oppressors;
For the noble ones, the gallows,
Like villains, their bodies twitch!
To the heroes who were shot,
When the enemy mocked them, the torturer poisoned them
A sacrifice, like a mother's tear, unblemished,
Half-lived then buried down.
For fighting, Poles, for holy fighting, etc.
For the groans of the wounded, slow struck,
Before them, the soldat of clothing with the flesh,
For the torment of the wounded, the straw wrapped,
Which the man-eater slow baked.
For begging as much as sick and old
They were begging from the bed, and the execution struck them,
To dead virgins, with blood dried on their faces:
Traces of dirty bites hulking hordes.
For battle, Poles! etc.
For these blood cures, I will not wipe them off,
Of them in the nation eternal bloody tears,
To the ground, water, fire and air,
To live the right that everyone has.
To honor the minute erstwhile a brave nation
He woke up, felt like he was dreaming besides long —
And that he should fight immortally
In the eternal enemies of his to wash the blood.
For battle, Poles! etc.
For freedom, for the sole purpose,
You of the cities, of the crafts, which you go before,
Youth Poland, Polish Israel,
To the huts, to the people, wake the country folk!
He will believe you, for you are brotherly in him.
Honor work, simple heart, blood —
And with the people young Polish hero,
You're gonna smoke your enemies like a pile of chaff.
For battle, Poles! etc.
For all the torments of Poland, the torments of Lithuania,
On behalf of all our Rusi torment,
To battle, brothers, to enduring battle!
I will win if I don't lower my hands.
White eagle and pursuit with an angel,
The irradiated must lift his flight;
Hi, you know how to fight the people!
The full Nation will say hello to them.
For battle, Poles! etc.
Photo: Kornel Ujejski's tomb in Pavlov close Radziechow, Lviv region, now - Ukraine.
