|
THE OPALCHENIANS1
ON SHIPKA Ivan Vazov Let us still be
carrying shame on our faces! The whip of thralldom has left its
blue traces. Let bitter remembrance of days of
disgrace This joy overshadow, Like clouds shadow rays! Let History make us all be then
denied! Belasitsa's2 earlier
tragical pride, Supplemented later by Batak3,
so fast Drew a tint of darkness on our
past. Let strangers, while mocking right
in our faces, Point to the chains broken and the
shameful traces Of the age-old thralldom, on the necks of us! All right! Let this freedom be a
gift to us4! Let it be! But we know that in our
past There was something glorious!
Forever 't will last! Due to it – forever our hearts will beat With the strongest feelings that a
thing can breed! Because somewhere, on the mountain
blue That supports the Heaven, with its
shoulders two, Stands a certain wild and majestic
peak – With white bones covered, soaked
by bloody creek! Monument enormous to immortal
feat! 'Cause the Balkan gorges a
remembrance keep. There is a name there, which
forever lives And, to our history, a blessed
sunlight gives! It's a new name. Great. Sounding
'kind antique – Just like “Thermopylae”5
– glorious, unique. It does give the answer and washes
out the shame! Calumny is helpless in front of
its fame! O, Shipka! For three days the young troopers
did defend the pass! And the mountain gorges ardently
did cast On the battle's roar! For the twelfth time hordes
crawled Up the wild slope! It was body-covered, and with
blood was soaked! Storms the storms replaced then! Swarms came after swarms! Syuleyman turned crazy, stretched
ahead his arm And then shouted: “Forward! There
stand the slaves!” The hordes darted forward in
bloodthirsty haste And: “Allah,” so loudly they
roared again! Another cry came down from the
peak: “Hurrah!” With new hail of bullets, wood pieces, and stones, The blood-sprinkled troopers fired
on and on, Jabbed on, cut on, fighting
a-doing their best. Everyone was striving to expose
his chest To heroic peril, to advance ahead, And one more foe to sprawl down
dead! The cannon were pounding. The
Turks were all crying. Attacking the trenches they fell
bleeding, dying. They attacked like tigers, but
then fled like sheep And again they went back to the
slope so steep! The Bulgarian lions ran along the
ridge, Feeling neither sun heat, nor
thirst, nor fatigue! Desperate the Turks were. They had
to retreat. The troopers fought for three
days, But no help did come. They watched all the ways, But saw no one And the brother eagles did not fly
to them. All right! They would perish, but
bravely, with fame, Like the group of Spartans against
Xerxes's mob5! The rollers were advancing. They
had to be stopped! So, the foe had started decisive
attack. General Sto'letov drew his sword
and then Shouted: “Young troopers! Make
Bulgaria laurelled! In your hands she is! Only with your power Our tsar did leave Shipka Pass, This war, and himself at last!” With these words that made them as proud as lords, Our troopers waited for the tyrant
hordes Furious and noisy! O, heroic time! The waves were stopped then by the rocks of lime! Cartridges were lacking – but the will sustained! Bayonets were breaking – yet the chests remained, And the sweetest joy – to perish they all In front of the Universe, for
their holy goal, With the death of heroes and with
victory! “Bulgaria now all of us can see! Yet this peak is high, at us she
will gaze! We had better die! To flee is
disgrace!” There were no more weapons. There was a hecatomb! Every log – a sword was! Every stone – a bomb! Everything was hitting! Each soul was ardent! All the stones and wood
disappeared downward! “Come on! Take the bodies,”
someone did cry And the bleeding corpses suddenly
did fly Like death-bearing demons. Above
the swarms they came, Thus pushing and smashing like
living again! And the Turks did shudder – for the first time seeing Dead men fight a battle together with living! Their devilish screams cleft the
air in two. The battle turned deadly, and
hand-to-hand, too! Our rock-hard heroes met the
Turkish steel With their chests of iron and with
iron will! And with songs they darted in the
deadly fight, Obviously seeing that they all
would die! But new waves of hordes, one after
the other, Melted the brave heroes, and
swallowed, and covered, Span by span, the peak! 'T was
going to be seized! Then – Radetzky's6 raid
made the Turks amazed! .... Thenceforth, in the Balkan, when a storm begins, This day is remembered and its
glory gleams Carried by the winds, on a golden
page, From valley to valley and from age
to age. Translated into English by Konstantin
Pchelinski |