Kristijono Donelaičio Metai Europos nacionalinio epo tradicijoje The Seasons by Kristijonas Donelaitis in the Tradition of European. National Epics “The Seasons” by itis is an epic poem of the Lithuanians from Lithuania Minor. This epic poem, as usual for this genre, embraces the whole life of the.
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Then, creature we cherish, not even you appear; Like us, you lie silent in the shield of darkness, There in dreams, perhaps, capturing foolish flies. You, you silly geese, and you, too, you lazy ducks, Run to the pond and swim before the waters freeze.
You, our heavenly benefactor! Don’t we know how each lord with his family, When in fall he’s short of bread and succulent cakes, Deep in troubles, thrusts a coin upon the peasant, Strokes him kindly, pleads for generosity? The poet, moreover, knows the psychology of peasant and serf.
The Seasons (poem)
Trivial man, thou, learn at last to be contented! His hobbies included building thermometers and barometers, and constructing pianos and clavichords. Does God give his earthly blessings Everywhere for us, each day, so generously That like any swine, we should devour them always? You, in millennia before we could reflect, Knew already how we should be brought to Light, Knew our needs when we should come to meet that day For four years he studied Lutheran theology.
Till the fields bring yield, let us not tire of waiting. Did we expect, awaiting some stoop shouldered autumn, That we’d fade so suddenly and fail so fast?
Later, with the time already here to blossom, One, foppishly skipping like a gentleman, And another, scurrying like a peasant boor, Waste their days of youth away in foolish frolic. Before, how smoothly two old horses dragged our load; Now, with four good horses struggling, we bog down, Wheel on axle, groaning, gags and, grinding, turns.
The natural virtues idealized by the Pietist movement, diligence, piety, honesty, and submission to authority, flourish. Come now, let us part — an end to prattle!
Summer must come again, and we’ll enjoy metaii balm. His parents were free peasants who owned the land that they cultivated. No; not to weep, but to rejoice they all came here.
All that had perished in foul autumn, tearful, In the lake clung to life the winter through, Or in some burrow slept beneath a bush, Crept forth in crowd and throng to welcome summer. Look, how everywhere on pondwater panes are appearing Just as, in that house, a glazier is putting in k.donelaitsi.
May he meet, God willing, every spring robustly, May he go on merrymaking into summer. Often in muggy heat we gulped at thin flat beer Or scooped up from puddles draughts of clouded water.
Calls of cuckoo, warblings of the nightingale, What the skylarks, paired in flight, played and invented, All are ending, or have now completely ended. Wikimedia Commons has media related to Kristijonas Donelaitis.
The nation is represented by peasants in the poem.
Metai by Kristijonas Donelaitis (5 star ratings)
You roosters and you hens, leave your dirt-pile a while; Run once again and play before the snowdrifts come; And do not think that we keep you and we feed you Because your clucks are sweet, your crowing sounds so grand. Inhe worked to restore the rectoryand built a new brick church in Jurate Vilunaite rated it it was amazing Jan 24, Views Read Edit View history. And thus, as we tired ourselves, we often swallowed Watered barley soup and gnawed at scraps of crust.
Then, while everyone lamented, a glow started spreading; Soon, across the sky, the fluttering winds of the winter Chased the stormy weather to the south, where the stork sleeps.
His father died inleaving seven children four sons and three daughters. Some, parading crests as awe-inspiring princes, Others, slogging through the muck as diggers of cowdung. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. Often Lithuanians also number bounders Who can hop about and speak in Lithuanian, Yet bring their disgrace on us like real Germans! Ah, at least let’s hasten to warm up our cottages, In good husbandry ready the sheds for cattle, And make sure that not a newborn piglet freezes.
After the war k.ronelaitis rebuilt a burned school and sponsored construction of a shelter to widows. Many of us, bloated to the full, stupidly, Find a taste for singing German songs and curses, And like Germans, run to taverns every day. Lithuanian literature Lithuanian poems Epic poems poems Lithuania Minor.