Poetry by Georgi Rakovski!

Ancient Bulgarian remembrance of the ruins of an ancient city

Long sunshine stuck in freedom, strong state, ah, gone! Slavery changed the cheerful lands face, the Turkish hand hit everything!

The silence the dead possessed today reigns beyond that limit, a cheerful kind voice is never sung for centuries, the terror of terror has set in Turk!

Glorious recently here is a Bulgarian town, holy magnificent temples. Bulgarian DS all-powerful glorified, secretly today this place us!

Gatherings, celebrations have become bright here, in the flower meadows brave heroes have crowed horses ridden, young played girls.

Shields of silver and sharp long spear Bulgarian horsemen heroes here tried, broke, in this field, a wreath was for the victors!

To the fight when the soldiers were leaving, the songs were escorted by the people, gloriously when the victorious men returned, the girl’s face with the song met them!

Poppy flowers are a kind of fasting, courage everyone appreciates! The king gave the lilacs a great deal, our generation was educated!

Ah, our free sun will shine again, the Turkish crescent to dawn, the clouds of slavery to drive it away, the Bulgarian land to cheer up!

Liberty sweet again between us to rule, righteous people, law of the world,

every one pleased in his fatherhood to live, the Koran to fall already cursed!

Show the world that we have beaten a people! Independent and self-contained! A glorious tribe, a child of the Slavic lineage, who showed up in glory.

We are quite poor in bitterness, we have lived submissive, let the Turkish break the power and let us be our father-in-law! As far as the slave raid !!!

Young teens! You, a generation today, are waiting for Bulgaria

glorious in your snooping, consoling the false prophet!

Flag asian below to fall low, lion to raise a wedding, peace to shout and you high: Live Bulgaria again glorious !!!

An exodus from Bulgaria of a passionate Bulgarian patriot in the summer of 1853






Remains with God, poor country! Farewell, you mother, I am going away from you, my dear, into a stranger, into a great sorrow, I am entering!

I’ve been bored of Turkish slavery for centuries! I can never see violence, murder, iniquity from the Agar tribe, despair, poverty and dishonor!

My fellow men are greatly oppressed! Virgins in black clothed pity, our holy shrines tempered by Turkish pagan beastly infidelity!

I passed by the town of Preslav last night, a folk remembrance of ancient times woke me up, I was kindled, there I found a horse near the horse, I saw the spoiled old ones there.

A deep regret overwhelmed me, bitter tears began to wither. Almighty Creator, you, that you are everywhere, tell me, I pray from the heart hot!

Eda was the throne of Preslav here? Is eating here King Bogor reigned? Famous Bulgarian family worldwide, is he a baptist friend here?

Reverend Simeon, son of Vladimirov, Magyar and Greek pride who humbled, terrified winner was Greek, Bulgaria has expanded a lot!

The Greek Empire was served to him. Of course wise, Leona won, his glory be known to all. The Greek Greeks tell their doom.

He was made skilled and courageous by the Greek commanders in the battles of many, solemnly in the glorious city of the Preslav people, who brought them nothing ‘poor.

Is this place a dwelling place red to the glorious Bulgarian emo-holders? Never mind today, joking, empty, terrible! Eda was the throne of the Great Preslav?

Alas, stuttering is worse than ever! The desolate ugliness has possessed all the place; Agar’s hand completely devastated him!

But I’m listening! Mars tube near the eht, near the Danube, around the old town of Drostol, thunders thunder, the whole earth trembles! Famous place! There was an old throne.

The great and brave prince Svetoslav the cunning Greeks there in the old times conquered, of course, the pride of their strong repair, Bulgaria gloriously freed from slavery.

His descendants, the brave northern heroes, our fellows, the Slavic Orthodox, for fighting faithfully with the Turks, freedom and will give us kindred!

It is a sacred duty and me to call for a stingray hot, with aspiration, for daring to die, and for freedom, tyrannically to reject oppression!

I know, you may remain a comforter, but god pray victory to give us, against the tyrant fight happy, glorious! Against evil deeds to pay them back soon!

The horrible time of the century is approaching to me, far away from you! For a glorious death to my fatherland, my blood flames enthusiastically, play!

When you hear that I am dead, you do not cry, mother, or weep for a glorious deed that I have accomplished as a youth, but you must search my grave.

From a marble stone sign to lift me up, words of gold inscription for eternal commemoration above him, with the following words to write: “For faith,” and for freedom, a glorious one perished!

Printed in Forerunner of the Mountain Traveler, 1856, pp. 11-15




Bulgarian progress


Brethren, dear Bulgarians, the time has come, with us having opened, the North has given us, the Holy Cross is leading us.

Quadruple Turkish yoke of heroes to crush, dear homeland, too expensive to be liberated. Our family to be reborn.

Green gold flags to lift high, in the Martian sex ‘heroes, to make fast, hot. Much ahead to go.

Our people are a beautiful lion, long asleep, to wake up in the woods, to receive praise. With the glory of getting married.

Nature has presented us with natural courage, science has told us to associate it with wisdom. Now is precious time!

She created strong lands in our land, high mountains, to make fortresses inaccessible there. In this place priceless!

Torturers, bloodsuckers to drive away, fierce Turkish barbarians with sharp flaming swords. Freedom to seek great grandfather.

Dense forests to be a strong refuge for us, Turkish heads to fall, corpses their playground. Let’s push the Ottoman forces away!

My innocent blood is righteous to my forefathers, to avenge our decent, to make it dark, to be our joy.

But let us show peace to the eighth nation, to confirm the descendants of a glorious family. To break Turkish rule.

February 1st 1855 in Bucharest



Memoirs of deposits (excerpts)


In a tender, sweet youth I separated from my relatives, with bitter fierce pity I reached old times.

Oh, sweet young years, I lost you in my youth!

Where the clean air rules the forests high, colorful, glowing green greener lush cool mountains!

Oh, sweet young years, I lost you in my youth!

Where wells of water ‘springs’, who are the fast clear streams in Mala Kamchia flow from high fountains!

Oh, sweet young years, I lost you in my youth!

Where young, healthy shepherds with copper kavales play, every flock of merry shepherds, their clear voice echoed!

Oh, sweet young years, I lost you in my youth!

Where valiant boys were guarding the strongholds of the districts, when the outposts were glorious on the throne.

O old glorious strongholds, who will lift you up!

The main guard was the buildings still standing, who the girl Vida built, her glory show.

O old glorious strongholds, who will lift you up!

Bravely as an Amazon fortress there guarded a princely glorious daughter, the Greeks of course broke.

O old glorious times, forsake our tribes!