Farewell, free-spirited sea! This is the last time you'll be before my eyes, with your azure waves, and your delicate splendor. Like a friend's melancholy complaint, like his parting call, I am listening for the last time to the clamor of your sorrow, the clamor of your call. Thou art my heart's desire! I have often wandered along your shores, silent and bewildered, still distressed by that secret desire! （How I love thy echoes, thy dreary tones, thy abyssal sounds, the silence of dusk, and the capricious passions! The gentle sails of fishermen, protected by thy capriciousness, fly bravely between the waves; but when thou art raging and cannot be controlled, the great multitude of vessels perish. I would have left thy lonely and motionless shore for ever, and congratulated thee with rapture, and let my poems follow thy billows far and wide, but I have not been able to do so! （Thou waitest, thou callest ...... and I am bound; The struggles of my heart are in vain: I am charmed with a passion so strong, That I am left by thy shore ...... What pity is there? Where now is the carefree path to which I must run? There is one thing in your desert that has shocked my heart. It is a crag, a glorious tomb ...... where, in a cold sleep, are some majestic memories; where Napoleon perished. There, in the midst of his sufferings, he rests. And immediately after him, like the clamor of a storm, another genius, flew from us, another monarch of our thoughts. The singer who sobbed for the god of liberty vanished, and left his laurels in the world. Let the foul weather clamor and stir, O sea, who once sang thee. （Thy image was reflected in him, and he grew in thy spirit: like thee he was majestic, far and deep, like thee nothing could make him yield to surrender, the world is empty, O sea, where wilt thou lead me now? The fate of men is the same everywhere: wherever there is happiness, there has long been a guard: perhaps an enlightened sage, perhaps a tyrannical king. （Oh, farewell, sea! I'll never forget thy solemn light, I'll long, long listen to thy blast at dusk. My whole heart is full of thee, and I'll take thy crags, thy bays, thy glimmers, thy shadows, and the babbling waves, into the forests, and into the silent desert country. (stanza 5)
"To the Sea" Appreciation:
Pushkin's "To the Sea" is a political lyric poem against tyranny, against dictatorship, the pursuit of light, eulogizing freedom. Poet to the sea as a confidant, to freedom as the purpose, to confide in the form of multi-angle multi-faceted portrayal of their own pursuit of freedom of the heart of the process. The poem is heavy, deep and full of changes, and the tone is vigorous and exciting. Roughly speaking, the poetic changes of "To the Sea" show the "three steps" of the love of the sea (one or two stanzas), the thought of the sea (three or four stanzas), and the thought of the sea (the fifth stanza). Pushkin and "If Life Deceives You"
Introduction to the Poem
"If Life Deceives You" was written in the days when Pushkin was exiled by the Tsar. The Russian Revolution was in full swing, but the poet was forced to isolate himself from the world Pushkin's Square
. In such a situation, the poet still did not lose hope and fighting spirit, he loved life, the persistent pursuit of ideals, believe that the light will come, justice will prevail. The poem illustrates such a positive and optimistic attitude towards life: when life deceives you, don't be sad, don't be anxious; be patient in times of distress, everything will pass, the future is happy and beautiful. Life can not be without pain and sorrow, joy will not always be covered by sadness, happy days will eventually come. In the second stanza, the poet expresses the positive attitude of the heart towards the future, and tells people that when they look back at the past after they have gone through difficulties and hardships, everything in the past will become beautiful. This is a summary of the poet's life experience and the true meaning of life. There is no image to speak of in this poem, just eight lines, all of which are in the tone of exhortation - according to common sense this is what poetry should try to avoid, but this poem has achieved great success by reasoning. The reason for this is that the poet writes in an equal tone of voice, intimate and gentle tone, warm and frank, as if the poet is talking to you; the verse is fresh and smooth, warm and deep, with rich human flavor and philosophical meaning, from which one can feel the poet's sincere and generous feelings and strong and optimistic thoughts and emotions. After the poem came out, many people wrote it down in their notebooks and it became a motto to inspire them to move forward. If life deceives you If life deceives you, don't be sad, don't be anxious! A melancholy day needs calm: believe, a happy day will come. The heart is ever yearning for the future, but the present is often melancholy; all is fleeting, all will pass, and that which is past will be dearly missed. The poem was written in the form of a gift in the memorial book of Yevpuraksya Nikolayevna Volyov, the daughter of his neighbor Oshipova. At the same time, the poem was also selected for inclusion in the Humanistic Version of the new standard seventh-grade language book Pushkin
Wedge
There beside the lonesome waves
He stood full of great thoughts
The river ran vastly in a dugout
Swinging on the waves forlorn and alone
On the mossy, damp shore
Dark cottages east
The dark huts, one to the east and one to the west
The poor Finns took up their abode there
The sun hid in a fog
The forests, which never saw the sunlight
Were clamoring all around
And he thought
We will threaten Sweden from here
We will build castles from here
Make the haughty neighbor feel hard done by.
Nature has set a window here
We'll open it to Europe
At the sea's edge we'll take our stand
The sails of the nations will come to gather
To travel on this new voyage
And we'll dance in the sea and air
One hundred years have gone by, and the young city
has become a place of honor.
Became the jewel and wonder of the North
From the dark woods and from the marshes
It raised its splendid proud head
There was only the Finnish fisherman here
Lonely, like nature's stepchild, he approached the low, wet bank
To throw his old, worn nets into the deep, dark water
But now There was only the Finnish fisherman
Lonely, like nature's stepchild, he approached the low, wet shore
To throw his old, worn nets into the deep, deep, dark water
That's why we are here. But nowadays
the shores are full of life
the well-proportioned palaces and pavilions
huddle together in groups
the great ships from every corner of the world
came to anchor in the rich harbor
the Neva River is clothed in marble
high bridges span the waves
the small islands in the heart of the river cover the river.
The islands in the heart of the river hide
Into a garden of rich green
And beside the young capital
Old Moscow grows dimmer
Like a widowed queen in front of a
Freshly crowned queen
I love your city, which Peter built
I love your grave and neat face
I love you, and I love you, and I love you.
How solemn is the flow of the Neva
Marble on its banks
I love the pattern of your iron railings
The moonless nights of your contemplation
The transparent and glittering darkness
Often when I sit in my house alone
I don't have to light a lamp to write or read
I can see clearly the streets and roads
I can see the streets of the city. Roads
In quiet sleep I see
How bright are the spires of the Admiralty
In the golden sky when night
It's too late to draw the curtains
But the dawn is one thread after another
Making the night stay but half an hour
I love your cold winters
Your frosty and frozen air
How many sleighs run along the Neva
The faces of maidens more brilliant than roses
And the laughter and whispers of balls
Bachelor's boozy revels in the dead of night
The glasses bubble and rattle
Pennsylvania flows with a blue flame
I love your warlike playground
I love your warlike playground
I love your young soldiers
The martial maneuvers of the young soldiers
The infantry and cavalry in rows
There is a grandeur in the monotony
How many a tattered flag of victory flutters in the ranks
And the helmets pierced in battle
And the rows are brightened by the light
I love you. Russia's military towns
When the Empress of the North sends glad tidings
A prince is born at court
Or Russia defeats her foes
Once again celebrates her glory
Or the Neva River freezes and breaks up
Blue ice pours down to the sea
For feeling the springtime joys thunder
.Stand tall, Peter's city
Stand still like Russia
Someday even the might of nature
will bow down to you
Let the Finnish waves forget forever
Their ancient submission and enmity
Don't stir up the vain swords again
Disturb Peter's eternal dreams
But there have been times when the blue ice poured down to the sea
When the Neva River was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was frozen, the blue ice was falling to the sea.
And yet there was a terrible hour
which one can still clearly remember
About which, dear reader, I will relate to you
the following account
My tale is a melancholy one
Part I
Under the dark skies of Petersburg
there blew the cold autumn winds of November
And the winds of November blew.
The Neva rose in roaring waves
And pounded against the neat stone walls
The river thrilled and swirled like a sick man
And tossed and turned on her bed
It was late in the day and in the darkness
And the rain beat sharply against the windows, and the wind
Blowed sadly and hissed and roared
Then the guest who had just come to the house
Was a little boy, a little girl.
At this time, just returning home from a visit
there was a young man named Eugen
which we shall call by this name
the hero of the story, for I love
its tone and at one time
it was bound to my pen
what was his last name, we do not wish to delve into
although it may have been in the past
that the name of the man who was the author of this story is not the one who was the author of this story. The family name may have appeared in the past
at one time in a distinguished family
and even the historian Kramkin
may have made the family famous in his writing
but nowadays the high society and the rumors
have long since forgotten it
Our protagonist has a posting somewhere
living in Cologne in a place where no one of any importance knows him
and where he is not a member of the family
and where he is not a member of the family
and where he is not a member of the family
and where he lives.
He neither longed for his dead ancestors
Nor did he sigh for the years that had passed
Well, both returned home to Eugen
Throwing away his coat and taking off his clothes, he went to bed
But sleep he could not
His mind reeled with a number of things
What was he thinking of, it turned out to be a reckoning
How lowly and poor was he
How poor was he
How poor and lowly was he
How lowly and poor was he
How lowly and poor was he?
How low and poor
He must work hard to hope
For a stable life and a little honor
Wish to God he had more
More money and wisdom
He remembered
That there were some rich spendthrifts
Those lazy men who were not so clever
And how well they lived
While he served in the office
And how much he was not so clever
And he was not so clever.
And it was only two years since he had been in office
His thoughts turned to the weather and the storm
which had not yet ceased to rage along the river
and the waves kept rising and almost washing away
and the bridges over the Neva had cut off the traffic
and he thought of what would happen to Barnasha
and how he would be without her for two days, or for three days
Thinking of this, Ogen deplored with all his heart the fact that he would not be able to see her for two days, or for three days. Here Eugene deplored with all his heart
and went on to fantasize like a poet
Can I get married? Why not
Naturally it may be very hard
I am ready to work day and night
There is always a way to make a home
to make it simple and peaceful, not too luxurious
and to put my Banasha there
Maybe after so many days, the bridge will be closed to traffic
and he would think of what would happen to Banasha.
Maybe in a year or two
I'll find an errand to give the house
to Banasha to manage and preside over
And to educate our children
And so we'll live and hold hands
and we'll live and die together
And we'll die and we'll teach our children and grandchildren to bury us together
And all through the night, he'll think about it.
He was melancholy and wished with all his heart
that the autumn winds would not howl so sadly
and that the rain would not beat so mercilessly on the windows
But sleep
at last closed his eyes to see
that the dark stormy night was fading
and let the dismal day reign
and that the sad day would reign
and that the night would not be a night for us.
Miserable day
All night long the Neva
Resisted the storm that poured into the sea
But at last it could not withstand its violence
The strength to fight with it was exhausted
The next morning on both banks of the river
The inhabitants of the river gathered in crowds and lifted up their eyes to see
They watched the splash of the water
Their eyes were closed, and they saw it.
And the raging waves of the sea
But a fierce wind from the gulf
Holds back the current
She tosses and roars with rage
She retreats to submerge the islets at the heart of the river
Then the times are more perilous
The roaring nirvana is constantly on the rise
She boils like a kettle of boiling water
They are the most powerful of all. A kettle of boiling water
Like a wild beast in a violent frenzy
Suddenly she lunged at the city before her
Everything gave way around her
Instantly there was deadness and desolation The floods
Flooded the cellars and crawled over the thresholds
The canals also surged up to their bars
Looking at Petersburg like a fabled mermaid
Her Half submerged in the water
Ho siege steals the wicked wave
Crawls like a thief through doors and windows
A boat with a swing of its stern shatters the glass
The vendor's boards are wrapped in drapery
The wrecked haylofts with their shingled roofs
The tithe of a small business
All the poor man's goods
Shards of bridges destroyed by thunderstorms
And coffins rushed from their graves
Everything floated in the streets
The people, seeing the wrath of God, waited for death
Alas, everything was gone, food, clothing, and room
Where could we find it
It was a sad year
Our tsar was in the prime of life
He appeared, ruling Russia, he was in the prime of his life
That is why I am here. Ruling over Russia he appeared
on the balcony in a melancholy daze
he said the tsar could not govern
the forces of nature he sat down
with sad eyes he looked contemplatively
at the perilous and dangerous region
the squares that used to be lakes and lakes
the rivers that used to be streets
and the palace looked like a dreary, gloomy place
and the palace looked like a dreary, gloomy place.
And the palace is like a gloomy island
In the midst of the water the tsar only spoke
And when he had spoken, behold his generals
They went east and west, north and south, all over the city
Some went to the streets, some through the lanes
And went in and out of the waves
Rescuing the wandering souls stunned by the floods
Who waited for their homes to be flooded
The inhabitants of the city
At that time in the corner of Peter's Square
A new mansion had just been built
A pair of lions
On the high steps
Armed with teeth and claws as if they were alive
At the door, guarded by poor Eugene
Whose arms were crossed in front of his breast
His hatless face was pale as a sheet
.Sitting still on the lion's back
Without moving, yet the poor man
Was not afraid for himself, and let the waves
How greedily they lapped and splashed his heels
He heard not, and paid no attention
Without letting the rain drench his face
When the winds roared and made a show of their might
And blew his hat into the sky
And letting his hat blow into the sky
And let his hat blow into the air
And letting the winds blow and blow And blow his hat to the sky
He only fixes his sad eyes
In a far-off direction
Where the mountainous waves
As if from the raging sea-bottom
Come up to wash it all away
Where the storms roar
Where the fragments of the houses float
And just as the great wave And near the waves, every day
By the side of the bay
A willow and a rude hedge wall
Inside the wall, in a dilapidated hut, lived a family
Mother and daughter lived his Banasha
Is his dream a dream
Is he seeing all this life
But an empty wet dream
Or is God's dream for us?
Firm and silent in the boundless distance
is the statue of a man on a bronze horse
Part 2
But now that the Neva has had enough of her temper
The tyranny and the destruction have made her tired
At last she has turned around and is enjoying the sight of her own violence all the way through
And is tossing her captives everywhere
It is as if she were a thief.
It was as if the leader of the robbers
had burst into the village with a band of men
who had raided and plundered
killed, burned, and plundered, and cried out in anger
slashed, and scuffled, and the plague of heaven
When all was done the robbers retreated
fearing to be pursued, and returning from the village full of money
unable to bear the fatigue of their journey
and left it behind, and the whole journey was a long journey, and the whole journey was a long journey.
Leaving behind their plundered goods
The floodwaters retreated from the stony road
It had presented itself and my Ogden
With thoughts of hope and horror
Ran along as if he had lost his mind
Ran towards the river that had not yet leveled off
There, as if proud of his victory
The roaring waves still roared.
The water was still full of bubbles
as if there were a fire burning below
as if the horses had just returned to their position
The Neva was panting so fast
Eugen NB327 looked and saw a boat
as if it had made an unexpected discovery
He shouted as he pursued it
The ferryman was calling out to the boatman, who was in the middle of his journey
The boatman was calling out to the boatman, who was in the middle of his journey
The boatman was calling out to the boatman.
The ferryman was at his ease
and would have given him only a few coins
to carry him across the waves
and for a long time he fought with them
seeing that the boat was always lost in the swells
and that a succession of waves was about to overturn it
and at last the bold hitchhiker
had come to the other side
and the unfortunate man
had been able to find the boat, and he had been able to see it, and he was able to see it. The unfortunate man
runs through all the familiar streets
to the place he knows
and looks around
but no longer recognizes the horrible sight
before his eyes everything is in a mess
here is a deserted place and there is a pile of rags
houses have changed their shape, some are
completely tumbled down, others have been moved by the floods and have been destroyed by the floods. And
like corpses on a battlefield
he saw the dead around him at a glance
and for a moment of dizziness he thought nothing of it
and though he was weakened by the torment of his suffering
he raced to the place
where an unknowable fate awaited him
like sealed letters waiting for him to open.
He opened it
Look here he ran through the outskirts of the city
It was near the bay, the house he knew so well
How is it?
He stood still
He went round and round and back
Looked around and turned to look more closely
That's where it should have been
Here are the willows, and originally there was a hedge
Apparently the floods were a great one, and it's a great pity. inhabitants were talking about
all the misfortunes of the day
for a long time they couldn't sleep peacefully
the light of the breaking dawn
through the tired and pale clouds
flowed into the quiet metropolis this light
couldn't be found any more of yesterday's disasters
leaving traces of a purplish-red color that covered the image of ugly everything
. All things
are proceeding as methodically as before
in the center of the unobstructed street
people are still wearing indifferent expressions
and face to face with the officials
who have given up last night's seclusion
for the brave peddlers who have gone to official offices
and who have not lost heart in the least to take the crypts
from the Neva River again
and from the Neva River
to the city of the Neva, which is the most important place in the world.
Took over again from the hands of the Neva
And hoped to fill his own great deficits with his neighbor's purse
One by one, the boats
were removed from the yard
And at the end
Baron Vasov's heavenly-favored poet
has also sung immortal poems
Mourning for the Neva's catastrophe
.But my poor, poor Eugen
Alas, his frail and confused nerves
Could not withstand this terrible blow
The howling winds of the Neva
And the roaring waves were still in his ears
Continuing to roar what nightmares
The horrible thoughts that tore at his spirit
Had a firm grip on him.
A week and a month passed in a flash
He never came home to sit down
His secluded cottage, since
The lease had expired and he hadn't paid
A poor poet came to be the tenant
Organ never came back and never took his clothes
He wandered all day long
Soon the world took him away from the world.
And soon the world forgot him
At night he slept on the quay, and from the window
The bread that was thrown out was his food
The clothes he wore were old and worn out
Then they were even more tattered, and some of the naughty children
Threw stones at his back
And more often than not, the coachman's lash
And it came upon him, for it was evident that he had not been a good man, and that he was not a good man, but a good man.
He didn't recognize the path at all
The storm inside him was so senseless
that he couldn't hear the noise of the outside world
And so he dragged a shell
through the miserable years
Not like a man
nor a beast
Nor a living beingNor a ghost of the netherworld
One night
he slept in Neva's bed
And the night he slept in Neva's bed
When I was in the middle of the night
It was a night of the day.
He slept on the dock of the Neva
Summer was turning to autumn
A cold, dark wave of wind
was blowing against the dock and beating against the smooth edge of the steps
The sound of it was like a complaint and a murmur
Like a wronged man begging for a judge
Leaning against his closed and motionless door
Orgen awoke in a state of shock.
It was dark all around
The rain was pouring down and the wind was blowing miserably
In the shadowy distance a sentry
was shouting at him through the night mist
Organ was taken aback and the horrors of the past
revived in front of his eyes. He hastily
got up and went to roam in the street
Suddenly he stood still with his eyes open
Silently scanning the surroundings
He looked around.
Silently he scanned the scene around him
with a look of disorientation on his face
Where he had come to was again
the stone pillars of the great building and a pair of stone lions
with teeth and claws, as if they were alive
guarding the tall steps
and straight up in the darkness of the air
with no movement inside the stone bars
and the stone pillars of the great building, the stone pillars of the great building, the stone pillars of the great building and the stone pillars of the great building
with teeth and claws.
It was the giant on the bronze horse
who waved his hand into the infinite distance
Eugen shuddered, and in his head
some thoughts were terribly distinct
and he knew that it was here that the floods were flooding
and here that the voracious waves
were encircling him, encroaching maliciously
around him in the stone lions and the squares
and the stone lions and the squares
and the stone lions and the squares
and the stone lions and the squares.
And the man who stood firm
Stretching out to the heavens with his head of brass
It was this man who by his will
Built a city on the shore
Look at how dreadful he was in the gloom
What thoughts floated between his forehead
What power he wielded
That horse What flames are burning
Where will you run, proud horse
Where will your hooves fly
How will you be the powerful master of your destiny
Is it not so that, with an iron bridle in one hand
You have strangled Russia above the precipice
And made her hoofs stand on the high hill
This poor maddened Ogden
Was it not so that, with the iron bridle in one hand
you strangled Russia above the cliff
That she stood on the high hill
The poor maddened Ogden
was it all around him?
Doing his best to circle round the feet of the bronze statue
He gazed with terrified eyes at
The monarch who ruled half the world
But suddenly his gaze dimmed
The chest felt suffocated He pressed the corner of his forehead
against the icy rail
The fire raced within him
His blood rolled and suddenly Sombrely
he stood in front of the proud bronze statue
clenched his teeth and clenched his fists
as if suddenly possessed by some demon
his whole body trembled and he cursed in a low voice
Well, builder of wonders you have created
wait for me
and with that he turned his head
and fled as fast as possible, for at that time
he seemed to see the mighty Emperor
suddenly and silently
turn his face toward Eugen
and as he fled across the square
in the open square he heard
as if behind him a thunderclap
as if a fast horse was pursuing him
the sound of hooves resounding on the rocky road
.Behind him in the pale moonlight
Looked the bronze rider on his fast horse
Waving his hand high into the air
And hurrying his poor madman
Wherever he ran this night
He heard the bronze statue of the rider
Catching up to him with the sound of hoofs
And from that time on, as long as Eugene
Had a chance, he had no choice but to run away from him.
by chance he passed through the square
with a look of panic
and confusion on his face he would put his hand
quickly on his chest
as if to touch the wounds there
and take off his tattered bonnet
and with his head bowed down, and a look of embarrassment
slipped away around a side street
and went on his way.
On the seashore
there is a small island where late fishermen
sometimes anchor their boats
and dry their nets and burn
their humble dinners, or
On Sundays some officials in small boats
cruise by and come to rest on the island
It is very barren, not even a blade of grass
It is a small island, and it is very small, and there is not even a single grass.
A flood of water grows there
An old cottage is washed out there like a game
By the water's edge
It stays there like a bush
Last spring a big boat came
To take the broken cottage and put it in there
Nothing but a doorway
And our Madman but found
Natural men for God's sake
Bury this stiff and cold body quickly on the spot
Ode to Freedom - Pushkin
Go, get out of my sight,
Tender Queen of Scylla!
Where are you? To the Imperial Thunder,
Ah, thou proud Free Bottom Singer?
Come, tear away my laurels,
Break the delicate, feeble harp ......
I'll sing freedom to the world,
I'll strike at sin on the throne.
Show me the noble footsteps of that glorious
Gaul,
Thou hast made him sing the hymn of valor,
Facing glorious suffering without fear.
Thrill in battle! The despotic tyrants of the world,
The temporary favor of inconstant fate!
And you, prostrate slaves,
Hear, cheer up and awaken!
Alas, wheresoever I look-
Everywhere the lash, everywhere the iron palm,
Fatal insults to jurisprudence,
Oceans of slaves' feeble tears;
Everywhere unrighteous power
In the thick gloom of prejudice
Embedded - by the genius of slavery,
And a passion for glorious harm.
To see the imperial head
without the misery of the people pressed upon it,
that is only when divine liberty
is united with strong jurisprudence;
only when jurisprudence protects all with a strong shield
and its sword
is clenched in the hand of the faithful citizen,
swung over the Equality's head without mercy.
Only when the hand of justice swings evil
downward from its high place,
O this hand, which refuses to palliate a little for the sake of greed
or fear.
O man in power! It is the law, not the heavens,
which have given you crowns and thrones,
and though you are high above the people,
you are subject to the eternal law.
Ah, misfortune, that is the misfortune of nations,
If jurisprudence be allowed to doze indiscreetly;
If either the people or the emperors
Could play with jurisprudence in the palm of their hand!
About this I would have thee testify,
O oh martyr of illustrious faults,
that in the storms of the not-so-distant past,
thou emperor's head fell for the fathers.
Witnessed by speechless progeny,
Louis rose to his death high,
He draped the head that had deposed the crown
On the bloody torture-bench of the bottom of treachery;
Jurisprudence was silent-people were silent, and
The axe of sin descended ......
So over the yoked Gaul
Covered the villain's purple robe.
I hate thee and thy throne,
The despotic tyrant and fiend!
I watch with cruel delight
Your overthrow, the death of your children and grandchildren.
Everyone will read on thy forehead
The mark of the people's curse,
Thou art the world's reproach to God,
Nature's shame, the earth's plague.
While the stars of the midnight sky
Twinkle on the shadowy Neva,
And the carefree head, weighed down by placid dreams
Sleeps quietly,
The pensive singer yet gazes
A tyrant's deserted relics,
A long-abandoned palace
And in the foggy colors Grimly resting.
He heard, too, behind the terrible palace walls,
Creo's palpitating sentence,
Caligula's dying moment
clear before his eyes.
He saw also: draped in scapulars and medals,
a group of surreptitious planters walking past,
drunk with wine and malice,
filled with pride, and fear in their hearts.
The disloyal guards were silent,
The high drawbridge fell silent,
In the darkness of the night the two palace doors
Opened silently by the bribed mole ......
Oh, shameful! The atrocities of our time!
Like wild beasts, rejoicing Turkish soldiers!......
The dishonorable blow lands ......
The crown-wearing villain dies.
Take this lesson, emperors:
Today, neither punishment, nor praise,
Nor bloody prison, nor altar of God,
Can be your true bulwark;
Let your heads be bowed down first, in the trusty shade of jurisprudence;
Then shall the people's liberty and peace
be
It is then that the eternal guard of the throne