Biography of N Language

I like to look at the blue of the sea at that hour, the thunderstorm rushes and roars from the edge to the edge in a wave expanse, and the winner of the waves, thunder and bad weather, and dare and proud of his glory, the ship in distant waters leaves majestically! Sverbeyev give me I will write a fairy tale! Today, the fashion for this kind of poetry with us.

And is it a sin to take a half -forgotten small story from your people? It is impossible to search a little and make it deft, sweet; Somehow cut, change, retrace and solemnly put on Parnassus? Sin is not great, but not great work! But after all, the poet must be a person inexplicable, so as not to retract with the age of age: he is just like others sing! It will not be rightly punished: like Sphinx, the century will gnaw him; Why, they say, the prideless wonless, he did not solve my spirit!

Rather, I agree not to drink wine in which inspiration, and not fall in love. What fairy tale? I will choose humbly not from those where the formidable enmity of the kings and kingdoms, and thunder, and a military cry, and the thrones collapse, cities; I’ll take it easier, where I could carefully indulge my fantasies, and it would be calm and free to us, like a nightingale in the shadow of dense branches.

Well, dear! Once we sang delightly lovers, friendship, youth; For a long time those days have passed; But there is no sadness in this, and this should not disturb us! Where is life, there is poetry! Isn't it? This is the law of nature. We will find what to sing to us: our strength did not run out, and, right, we hardly fall, no matter what the road we choose; You don’t have to shit - the main thing is to know yourself - and vigorously a little forward, forward!

Once upon a time there was a king; Tradition forgot about the name and his nickname; He had a daughter. The possession was a wooded to the king of that. The king was peaceful, and lived for a long time in his wilderness of the forest and fun, and quietly, and happily, and was pleased with a sort of fate; But the trouble is: the wild boar suddenly appeared where it suddenly manifested itself, and began to naughty in the forests, and did a lot of a lot; He devoured the roads and passers -by, the trading roads were deserted, everything was running back; Against him, the king took strict measures at the same time, but there was nothing good in them: the cue in the forests of the Zyk Rog was heard, and the dog was barking, and the gun was thumping; The ferocious beast seemed to dare to the court dex, continued his own, and finally he was terribly alarmed by the whole kingdom; Even in cities, in squares, on the streets it is dangerous; Weeping, despondency and fear everywhere.

Here, in order to end the Veprev’s leprosy and in order to squeeze people on him, the king sent district decrees to all places of his ownership and announced that who would destroy the Boar, he will give the lucky daughter to his marriage - the queen Elijah, whoever he was, and his son -in -law himself will love him as a son. The Korolevna was, as the poets say, a marvelous world: blood with milk, blush and white, her eyes have two light sapphires, a smile is sweeter than honey and wine, a brow like joy, young and full chest, and the beautiful curls are smart.

The young men fell in love with it mentally; She was called someone with his star, some of the ideal, an unearthly maid, everything is generally a beautiful queen. Her father cherished and kept her and the groom waited for her to such a prince, a young handsome man, so that he was quite worthy of her. But the kingdom was threatened with a terrible boar, and we had already read a decree, which, in his great sadness, the king decided to fate to the daughter.

His decree was diligently accepted: from all sides of the arrow and dogs, he settled on a wild boar: whether it is clear, whether the dawn darkens, and Fuseuma clappers and at night, dogs bark and horns roars; The catchers scream, and whistles, and brake, twist their mustache, ate, scold, and boast, and they drink Erofeich; But there is no happiness to them. Vepr did not let up.

But here is fate: the shepherd walked through the forest, and by chance met with that beast; At first he was very scared and ran from the beast to his whole spirit; “But my run is not that the running is animal! A boorus grew - and the tree, well, undermine with fangs, and a strong trunk trembled. The shepherd was embarrassed: “If he names the tree, what should I do then?

Wait. The shepherd managed, and began to tear the branches, and to throw them from a tree to the beast, and waited for what would happen? What? The ferocious beast was seduced - he began to eat grapes, and he had so much to eat grapes that he fell down, drunk to the fall, and fell asleep. And on the same day, he appeared in the palace and dragged the killed Boar with him.

The king was surprised and the shepherd caressed, thanks to the feat. He had a truthful one with him, did not unheard of his word, and he gave his daughter for him, and the young healed happily.

The old man was gentle to his son -in -law and the kingdom refused him. The fairy tale is ready! I am cheerful, calm. Go into the light, my dear! I feel that I am now worthy of his praise and that I am immortal. I did a serious business, as long as and enough. I can have a rest and boldly be too lazy, and on Parnassus for a long time not a gu-gu! Today, the fashion for this kind of poetry with us - in the stamps of the fairy tales of Pushkin and Zhukovsky were written and appeared in the press.

To ... Mila’s eyes are clear and the souls are full of fire, you are divinely beautiful, you are smartly enlightened; You understand the comprehensive Goethe, and not at the time you bloom in this poor side. Neither to the sighs of the things of the chest, nor to the words of reasonable lips are insensitive here - the person is rude and empty: there is a lot of longing and boredom.

Give God to live for a long time - the world clears up: our grandchildren will idolize you.Between and the poet, when inspiration has been akin to you, and your chest trembles greatly, and you see your purpose, and you know your blessed path; When everything is ready for the feat, what is the gift of heavenly, the mighty thought of the light and heat and the fire -breathing word on earth, - go into the world - may he hear the prophet, but in the world be majestic and holy: do not kiss the sugar lips of vice and do not ask and do not take rewards.

Does the crimson shine with a greeting? Is the crowned arbitrariness terrible? Be innocent, like a blueberry, bold and courageous, like an eagle! Both slender and sweet sounds will rise from the rattles of your strings; In those sounds, the slave will forget torment, and King Saul will hear them; And you will permeate life solemn -high - and your century will be a brightness of your open brow and vigilantly fiery eye!

But if you are praise and pleasures are enjoyed by the earthly desire, do not collect rich bringing to the altar before your Lord: he will look mercilessly at you, will not accept the victims of the evil ones; Smoke and thunder will mark them - and the priest will recover, trembling with fear and shame! You first called me the poet: how much my chest understood this voice, your voice is creative: the young forces stood up.

I was transformed, and the eyes flashed! .. But the young summer - a lovely, marvelous dream, my quick dream - passed. Before the new sky I transferred the rights of student leisure; I can, squeezing the hand of a comrade and friend, delight to revive the careless brow - and at once bright hope is on his head! I can resume my night fever ... They will come, the daring guels will be shed, the wine will sparkle in a glass of circle, the conversation will flood, funny wine ...

But that of the past years, the divine share, that joy and sadness, that liberty and captivity, which the heart boils and hazels again and again, rejoices, rejoices - love will not give me the former thoughts and pure pleasures. I bless you, the most amusing shadows, you are peaceful, the coast of the Podgorian stream, where, under the star of love, my poetry in solitude developed, breathed freshness, bloomed and flaunted; You, by whom this grateful voice is full: you are kind, mine - bless you!

Spring blows to my face and chest, the midnight moon kisses me quietly. Do you, the shelter of delights delicate, the joy of my youth, an angel with a serene gaze, an angel of the charm of eyes, Perseus with a brilliance of snow -white, soft gold curls! Do you drive me with dreams of peace for peace? Do you bring the light of the moon with fresh lips, hidden by light shadows of seductive spring?

A fertile vision, a quiet angel! Blue -hungry, young, my black -brown angel of Paradise! You, sung by me for a long time, back in those days as I sang joy and life, festive sweetness, sparkling wine, - my greetings from a distance, from the Muscovores to where you were afraid of poems with ringing a ringing; Where the youth played it strangely, where a sleepless work came in my lonely shelter, then I ran a night with a rattles!

Patro, I lived wrong! There, everything that the god of good and light blesses that land for many summer, everything: the vigor of feelings and strength, teaching, friendship, liberty, gulba, noise, idleness, laziness - I leaked into one solemn bowl, and drank and sang ... I drank for a long time! You, my star, will find the poet Vestnik, a quick, my lively iambic quatrast, my talkative soon: he will tell you good news.

Yes, I finally left feasts, nomadic carelessness, I, their vocaling singer! Lira asks for holy enthusiasm - she is alien to those violent years, and again from the charms he will not create an idol for herself! I'm here! Here are my relatives! Here our mother-Russia is the seven hundred-year-old! Long live Moscow! What thoughts are decorated with this hill of long -standing walls and towers, loopholes, cathedrals and chambers!

Here our troubles and our glory are stored a story! These chapters are burning with a holy radiance! For poems in Moscow, look for Russian words, medium of inspiration! How much fate gave me! The Dennitsa of the bright Purpurova as clear, quietly the life of the new East, has removed me! The flight of my desires is not drunk; Freedom of the heart is cheerful; And the poetic hubs to the strings - and the lyre came to life!

My black -brown angel of Paradise! Mol of fate, but all the same does not take away from me: neither the loneliness of the daytime, nor the loneliness of the night, nor the thoughts of an active day, nor quiet dreams of a lazy night! And the modest pestle of love, I will sing azure eyes, your fresh lanis, the lips of sugar, the chest are full, and the whiteness of your breasts, and the black virgin curls on it shining waves!

Your prayer is always true; And my vow - it will happen! The dream will spread love, and it will result in sounds! And those will be beautiful sounds, and their sweetness will be tender, like a captivating and clear dream, raising you from a bed of sleep. Bold, brothers! I directed the full sail with the wind: a fast -winged boat will fly on slides! The clouds run over the sea, the wind is strongly grinding, the whitish is black, there will be a storm: we will argue and freeze with it.

The cloud will break through, the world of water will boil, the angry shaft will stand above, the abyss will fall deeper! There, behind the distant weather, there is a blessed country: the vaults do not get dark, silence does not pass. But the waves are carried out there only with a strong soul! .. Feel free, brothers, the storm is full and my sail of my sail. It happened, you remember, Baron, arrogantly and boldly visited our Helicon: my rumor praised my poems, I believed uneasily, and poetic power with a powerful fire beat from my soul!

And now? My Kamena is the son of a disobedience, I am alien to the exalted works, I am scared of them - and I look indifferently at the field of poems.