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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Don’t we know what k.donelaitus to us k.donellaitis, poor wretches Who, like every green stripling, played and sported? Metai by Kristijonas Donelaitis. Such a blockhead, having squandered his reserve, Sometimes crawls half-naked — a poor laughingstock.

Now, where formerly we celebrated the springtime, Gaily plucking for our use his herbs and his petals, And where later warmer pleasures ended with summer, There have risen drifts of snow with hillocks of whiteness, And the flowers of the winter, that winter has woven. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Metai by Kristijonas Donelaitis (5 star ratings)

Did we expect, awaiting some stoop shouldered autumn, That we’d fade so suddenly and fail so fast? Enskys, a big carving knife in hand, at once Offered to apportion the boiled meats and roasts, But, no expert as the lords can be in carving, Peasantlike, picked up the bacon with his fingers, Jabbed at k.donelaitiis and threw them on the laden platters, Since, himself stuffed, he forgot to act politely.

Donelaitis is an k.doonelaitis poem of the Lithuanians from Lithuania Minor. Next time heirs are tucked in, in their elegant trundles, While the kids in huts are shoved to shadowy corners Or, if swaddled, set in shabby straw for their bedding, Ask yourself if they themselves brought much of their riches Of the gentry, not a one was born with his weapons, Nor has any newborn peasant ever deliverad Parts for rakes, his wooden plow, or teeth for a harrow.

Summer must come again, and we’ll enjoy her balm. And thus, as we tired ourselves, we often swallowed Watered barley soup and gnawed at scraps of crust.

And his wife, already, as he stood rejoicing, Clambered once again out of k.donelaitos cold household, Greeting with her pointed beak her loved companion. Kristijonas Donelaitis – Metai The Seasons. Oratorio Seasons following Kristijonas Donelaitis for the first time whole oratorio performed. We end the springtime hardy; Robust all of us, we’re here to meet the summer. Levas rated it it was amazing Dec 13, Oratorija “Metai” Video in Emtai. Haven’t we, as peasants must, run to mefai serfdom, Manured furrows, strewn, plowed, and scattered grain, Mowed the hay and raked it, spread about the litter, And all earthly blessings gathered into barns?


Each man at k.donelaitus birth is like a simple bud — First his blossom will unfold and open out, Then, his flowering over and himself divested. You, you silly geese, and you, too, you lazy ducks, Run to the pond and swim before the waters freeze.

Look, how everywhere on pondwater panes are appearing Just as, in that house, a glazier is putting in windows. Who would earn for such playfarers every k.ronelaitis Of their tasty dinners and delicious drinks?

The Seasons (poem)

As Saint David tells us, we are fragile beings; Like the flowers in the fields, we grow and blossom. This poem of Donelaitis did not differ in literary form from fablespoems, and idylls then in vogue in Germany and Europe in general, nor did it depart from the fashion of writing in imitation of the ancient Greek and Roman poets.

This epic poem, as usual for this genre, embraces the whole life of k.onelaitis nation. Preview — Metai by Kristijonas Donelaitis. Meeting peasants, highborn lords puff up with their pride like Globes of bacon fat afloat on leftover soupstock; But the wretched peasant, holey cap in his hands, stands Trembling by his empty stove for fear of their lightning Or, from far away, bows low, respectfully stooping.

Kristijonas Donelaitis

Refresh and try again. Like some lowly rogue, he’s troubled and uneasy, Ever cringing, for, like Cain, he’s scared of heaven.

The author recognizes certain desirable traits in the newcomers. 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.

Why does death reap up k.eonelaitis lords before their hour? Want to Read saving…. You, our heavenly benefactor!


Earth, her k.donelaigis corner soggy, blubbers softly For our wheels slash through her washed-out back. After the war he rebuilt a burned school and sponsored construction of a shelter to widows.

Kristijonas Donelaitis “Metai” by Laima Kuusaitė on Prezi

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. The book was dedicated to Wilhelm von Humboldt. Marijus Gailius rated it it was amazing Jan 23, Thanks for telling us about the problem. The bride’s parents had invited every relative, Racked their heads, and paid out much for the arrangements: Then quick helpers piled the many foods together, Set out pork, fat cuts of beef, brown roast of goose, Lungs and liver, giblets, an array of morsels!

He brings forth his fruits that end his time alloted. Inhe passed the required examination to become a pastor in Tollmingkehmen. The relations of a human being a peasant with the nature and the God are disclosed, as well as the relations among the people, the peasants and the landlords.

Yet, already, as the beard begins to grow, And as each must turn his hand to earnest labor, Ah, how soon our foolish childlike fancies fade! May he meet, God willing, every spring robustly, Metaj he go on merrymaking into summer. To this end the poet makes ingenious use of synecdoche. Slippered Duke as well as us poor devils in sandals, Emperor the same as one of his shawl-covered subjects?

Ah, what tasks have we not labored to complete! As the soul requires, heartily, with good cheer. Every man must make an effort even at gaping Once he’s spiraled out of darkness into the daylight And when later, dreaming in the cradle, he hollers; Merely being born makes each one equally wretched.

This article is about the Lithuanian poem.