Слайд #5
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FOLK SONG
Behold the spring which gushes from that graveAnd gurgles o'er the steppe in tear-like stream!On its clear surface doth the moonlight gleam,The beaming sun plays on its crystal wave.From out earth's bosom pulse those waters clear.The living movement sleeps not, knows no bound.The quickening waters spread new life aroundTo thousands of Spring's children growing there.That spring with its unceasing magic flowIs like my people's soul—though wrapped in grief,It still sings to the heart of long ago.As that spring's source lies in earth's hidden parts,So from mysterious depths do folk songs riseWith their pure fervour to inflame our hearts.
KOTLYAREVSKY
A mighty eagle on a snowy heightSat gazing all around with his keen eye,When lo, he started upwards towards the skyAnd on his splendid pinions took his flight.His sweeping wing brushed off a clod of snow;It fell and started other clods downhill;They gathered force and strength and size untilAn avalanche went roaring down below.So Kotlyarevsky happily once spoke,Began to sing in our Ukrainian tongue—Though what he sang then seemed to be a joke,Yet in it lay an earnest great and strong.That spark did not die out amongst our folk,But blazed and warmed us all ere long.