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They are as many as the Russians.

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The Battle of Inkermann

'Twas in the year of 1854, and on the 5th November,
Which Britain will no doubt long remember,
When the Russians plotted to drive the British army into the sea,
But at the bayonet charge the British soon made them flee.

With fourteen hundred British, fifteen thousand Russians were driven back,
At half-past seven o'clock in the morning they made the attack,
But the Grenadiers and Scottish Fusilier Guards, seven hundred strong,
Moved rapidly and fearlessly all along.

And their rifles were levelled ready for a volley,
But the damp had silenced their fire which made the men feel melancholy,
But the Russians were hurled down the ravine in a disordered mass
At the charge of the bayonet-- an inspiring sight!-- nothing could it surpass.

General Cathcart thought he could strike a blow at an unbroken Russian line;
Oh! the scene was really very sublime,
Because hand to hand they fought with a free will,
And with one magnificent charge they hurled the Russians down the hill.

But while General Cathcart without any dread
Was collecting his scattered forces, he fell dead,
Pierced to the heart with a Russian ball,
And his men lamented sorely his downfall.

While the Duke of Cambridge with the colours of two Regiments of Guards
Presses forward, and no obstacle his courage retards,
And with him about one hundred men,
And to keep up their courage he was singing a hymn to them.

Then hand to hand they fought the Russians heroically,
Which was a most inspiring sight to see;
Captain Burnaby with thirteen Guardsmen fighting manfully,
And they drove the Russians down the hillside right speedily.

The French and Zouaves aided the British in the fight,
And they shot down and killed the Russians left and right,
And the Chasseurs also joined in the fight,
And the Russians fell back in great afright.

Then the Russians tried again and again
To drive the British from the slopes of Inkermann, but all in vain,
For the French and British beat them back without dismay,
Until at last the Russians had to give way.

And the French and British fought side by side
Until the Russians no longer the bayonet charge could abide,
And the Russians were literally scorched by the musketry fire,
And in a short time the Russians were forced to retire.

[...] Read more

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William Makepeace Thackeray

The Legend Of St. Sophia Of Kioff

I.

[The Poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, Kioff, or Kiova.]

A thousand years ago, or more,
A city filled with burghers stout,
And girt with ramparts round about,
Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore.
In armor bright, by day and night,
The sentries they paced to and fro.
Well guarded and walled was this town, and called
By different names, I'd have you to know;
For if you looks in the g'ography books,
In those dictionaries the name it varies,
And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow.


II.

[Its buildings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil.]

Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt,
Kiova within was a place of renown,
With more advantages than in those dark ages
Were commonly known to belong to a town.
There were places and squares, and each year four fairs,
And regular aldermen and regular lord-mayors;
And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace;
And a church with clocks for the orthodox—
With clocks and with spires, as religion desires;
And beadles to whip the bad little boys
Over their poor little corduroys,
In service-time, when they DIDN'T make a noise;
And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral-green
With ancient trees, underneath whose shades
Wandered nice young nursery-maids.

[The poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly
clergyman, and one that preached rare good sermons.]

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding,
The bells they made a merry merry ring,
From the tall tall steeple; and all the people
(Except the Jews) came and filled the pews—
Poles, Russians and Germans,
To hear the sermons
Which HYACINTH preached godly to those Germans and Poles,
For the safety of their souls.

[...] Read more

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The Battle of Alma

'Twas on the heights of Alma the battle began.
But the Russians turned and fled every man;
Because Sir Colin Campbell's Highland Brigade put them to flight,
At the charge of the bayonet, which soon ended the fight.

Sir Colin Campbell he did loudly cry,
Let the Highlanders go forward, they will win or die,
We'll hae nane but Hieland bonnets here,
So forward, my lads, and give one ringing cheer.

Then boldly and quickly they crossed the river,
But not one amongst them with fear did shiver,
And ascended the height, forming quietly on the crest,
While each man seemed anxious to do his best.

The battle was fought by twenty against one,
But the gallant British troops resolved to die to a man,
While the shot was mowing them down and making ugly gaps,
And shells shrieking and whistling and making fearful cracks.

On the heights of Alma it was a critical time,
And to see the Highland Brigade it was really sublime,
To hear the officers shouting to their men,
On lads, I'll show you the way to fight them.

Close up! Close up! Stand firm, my boys,
Now be steady, men, steady and think of our joys;
If we only conquer the Russians this day,
Our fame will be handed down to posterity for ever and aye.

Still forward! Forward! My lads was the cry,
And from the redoubt make them fly;
And at length the Russians had to give way,
And fled from the redoubt in wild dismay.

Still the fate of the battle hung in the balance,
But Sir Colin knew he had still a chance,
But one weak officer in fear loudly shouted,
Let the Guards fall back, or they'll be totally routed.

Then Sir Colin Campbell did make reply,
'Tis better, Sir, that every man of the Guards should die,
And to be found dead on this bloody field,
Than to have it said they fled and were forced to yield.

Then the Coldstreams on the highlanders' right
Now advanced to engage the enemy in the fight,
But then they halted, unable to go forward,
Because the Russians did their progress retard.

[...] Read more

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Russians

In europe and america, theres a growing feeling of hysteria
Conditioned to respond to all the threats
In the rhetorical speeches of the soviets
Mr. krushchev said we will bury you
I dont subscribe to this point of view
It would be such an ignorant thing to do
If the russians love their children too
How can I save my little boy from oppenheimers deadly toy
There is no monopoly in common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the russians love their children too
There is no historical precedent
To put the words in the mouth of the president
Theres no such thing as a winnable war
Its a lie that we dont believe anymore
Mr. reagan says we will protect you
I dont subscribe to this point of view
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the russians love their children too
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
What might save us, me, and you
Is that the russians love their children too

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Byron

Canto the Seventh

I
O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly
Around us ever, rarely to alight?
There's not a meteor in the polar sky
Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight.
Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high
Our eyes in search of either lovely light;
A thousand and a thousand colours they
Assume, then leave us on our freezing way.

II
And such as they are, such my present tale is,
A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme,
A versified Aurora Borealis,
Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime.
When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime
To laugh at all things -- for I wish to know
What, after all, are all things -- but a show?

III
They accuse me -- Me -- the present writer of
The present poem -- of -- I know not what --
A tendency to under-rate and scoff
At human power and virtue, and all that;
And this they say in language rather rough.
Good God! I wonder what they would be at!
I say no more than hath been said in Danté's
Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes;

IV
By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault,
By Fénélon, by Luther, and by Plato;
By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau,
Who knew this life was not worth a potato.
'T is not their fault, nor mine, if this be so --
For my part, I pretend not to be Cato,
Nor even Diogenes. -- We live and die,
But which is best, you know no more than I.

V
Socrates said, our only knowledge was
"To know that nothing could be known;" a pleasant
Science enough, which levels to an ass
Each man of wisdom, future, past, or present.
Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas!
Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent,
That he himself felt only "like a youth
Picking up shells by the great ocean -- Truth."

[...] Read more

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Byron

Don Juan: Canto The Seventh

O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly
Around us ever, rarely to alight?
There's not a meteor in the polar sky
Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight.
Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high
Our eyes in search of either lovely light;
A thousand and a thousand colours they
Assume, then leave us on our freezing way.

And such as they are, such my present tale is,
A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme,
A versified Aurora Borealis,
Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime.
When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime
To laugh at all things- for I wish to know
What, after all, are all things- but a show?

They accuse me--Me--the present writer of
The present poem--of--I know not what--
A tendency to under-rate and scoff
At human power and virtue, and all that;
And this they say in language rather rough.
Good God! I wonder what they would be at!
I say no more than hath been said in Dante's
Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes;

By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault,
By Fenelon, by Luther, and by Plato;
By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau,
Who knew this life was not worth a potato.
'Tis not their fault, nor mine, if this be so-
For my part, I pretend not to be Cato,
Nor even Diogenes.--We live and die,
But which is best, you know no more than I.

Socrates said, our only knowledge was
'To know that nothing could be known;' a pleasant
Science enough, which levels to an ass
Each man of wisdom, future, past, or present.
Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas!
Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent,
That he himself felt only 'like a youth
Picking up shells by the great ocean--Truth.'

Ecclesiastes said, 'that all is vanity'--
Most modern preachers say the same, or show it
By their examples of true Christianity:
In short, all know, or very soon may know it;
And in this scene of all-confess'd inanity,

[...] Read more

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George Meredith

Grandfather Bridgeman

I

'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'

II

But soon it was known thro' the house, and the house ran over for joy,
That news, good news, great marvels, had come from the soldier boy;
Young Tom, the luckless scapegrace, offshoot of Methodist John;
His grandfather's evening tale, whom the old man hailed as his son.
And the old man's shout of pride was a shout of his victory, too;
For he called his affection a method: the neighbours' opinions he knew.

III

Meantime, from the morning table removing the stout breakfast cheer,
The drink of the three generations, the milk, the tea, and the beer
(Alone in its generous reading of pints stood the Grandfather's jug),
The women for sight of the missive came pressing to coax and to hug.
He scattered them quick, with a buss and a smack; thereupon he began
Diversions with John's little Sarah: on Sunday, the naughty old man!

IV

Then messengers sped to the maltster, the auctioneer, miller, and all
The seven sons of the farmer who housed in the range of his call.
Likewise the married daughters, three plentiful ladies, prime cooks,
Who bowed to him while they condemned, in meek hope to stand high in his books.
'John's wife is a fool at a pudding,' they said, and the light carts up hill
Went merrily, flouting the Sabbath: for puddings well made mend a will.

V

The day was a van-bird of summer: the robin still piped, but the blue,
As a warm and dreamy palace with voices of larks ringing thro',
Looked down as if wistfully eyeing the blossoms that fell from its lap:
A day to sweeten the juices: a day to quicken the sap.
All round the shadowy orchard sloped meadows in gold, and the dear
Shy violets breathed their hearts out: the maiden breath of the year!

VI

Full time there was before dinner to bring fifteen of his blood,
To sit at the old man's table: they found that the dinner was good.
But who was she by the lilacs and pouring laburnums concealed,

[...] Read more

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All The Time In The World

All God's secrets to unravel,
That was his holy quest...
First the secret of time travel,
Would make folks most impressed.
The scientist spent many years,
Inventing wondrous things
And he got praise from all his peers
And, oh, what joy that brings...

Time travel was a hidden truth
Within God's precious plan...
The scientist misspent his youth,
Such is the plight of Man....
But suddenly the truth was known!
He knew it could be done!
As if by God it had been shown,
Energy from the Sun!

And so the man looked at the sky
To see the Sun above,
Considered all that energy
And knew it was enough!
When NASA heard his plan unfold,
They sent him on his way!
But Russian spies were very bold
And kidnapped him that day!

The Russians interviewed him soon,
Gave everything he'd need...
At first, they flew him to the moon
To help him to succeed...
The spaceship left the moon and went
Towards the Sun that shone,
As if the Russians were Hell-bent,
As they for months were gone...

Then suddenly the past was changed!
New timelines were enforced!
A billion human lives were changed
With energy they sourced...
Success at last, yet at a price!
The scientist was thrilled,
Yet then there was a sacrifice...
The scientist was killed...

The Russians kept the secret hid
Until I found it out!
And when they learnt the things I did,
They chased me all about!
That's why through time I travelled back!

[...] Read more

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The Russians Are Coming

The last time I purchased gasoline,
That was from someone from the Middle East.
Literally.
He owned that gas station.
And said he had three.

The last time I wanted something to eat,
It wasn't a pizza, a burger or a hotdog.
That was Chinese.
Fried rice with pork, an egg roll
And Wanton soup.

My last car was made in Japan.
The jeans I wore had a Korean tag.
And they were baggy.
I liked the way they sagged.

The last time I visited New York City...
I walked into a building that was owned by the Germans.
I purchased a newspaper from someone who spoke French.
Most of the banks where I live are controlled by the South Africans.
And they speak with a Dutch accent!

And now you're trying to tell me, 'The Russians Are Coming!
The Russians Are Coming? '
If millions of Mexicans are living here illegally...
What is all the fuss about?
Let the Russians come!
Aren't they here already?

I'm a Black man...
And all of them roll their eyes at me.
And I can trace my family tree in this country,
Back for centuries.
And the only thing I'm qualified to do,
Is to entertain everyone!
On stages, sports or just sitting on a stoop...
When the tourists come through the neighborhood,
As if we were in a zoo!

The Indians own all of the casinos.
And where the Buffalos roam...
They wont even leave them alone!
United they want to claim we are.
But they aren't in that 'state' of mind!

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The best thing we can do if we want the Russians to let us be Americans is to let the Russians be Russian.

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Crying Vodka Tears

those vodka weeping
Russians
those vodka weeping
Russians
crying vodka tears

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Lawyers In Love

I cant keep up with whats been going on
I think my heart must just be slowing down
Among the human beings in their designer jeans
Am I the only one who hears the screams
And the strangled cries of lawyers in love
God sends his spaceships to america, the beautiful
They land at six oclock and there we are, the dutiful
Eating from tv trays, tuned into to happy days
Waiting for world war iii while jesus slaves
To the mating calls of lawyers in love
Last night I watched the news from washington, the capitol
The russians escaped while we werent watching them, like russians will
Now weve got all this room, weve even got the moon
And I hear the u.s.s.r. will be open soon
As vacation land for lawyers in love

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Russian travel program

Every now and then
there are Russians
travelling to foreign countries
standing in lines
at aeroplanes and vehicles
to on government command
take a return trip without cost:

In 1932 it was right through Siberia
into Mongolia
with excursions through the country side
to look at the wall of China.

In 1939 together with some German friends
they visited Poland
and the old town square in Warsaw,
looked at the armour
of the Teutonic knight Sigsmund II
and the cathedral of St. John.

In 1940 Finland got a turn
and many travellers
were left behind,
frozen solid
in the Finnish woods.

In 1944 right across the steps
with visits to
Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria,
Albania and Yugoslavia
past the rhine into Berlin
to let every German disappear
or maybe to make Russians out of them.

In 1956 Hungary was visited again
with a trip over the big Alföld plain,
excursions at the Danube
and visits to block of flats
after block of flats
in Budapest
until the people were in the streets.

In 1980 reconnaissance trips
through the mountains of Afghanistan
to try and rid the natives
of their ground.

In 1989 some citizens were selected
to scout Angola with Cuban friends
and to win the hearts

[...] Read more

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Let Kites Fly

Russians were always friend
Kept their promises till the end
Whether friendship treaty or otherwise
They have kept words with promises

I witnessed arrivals of jaguars
They were flying from very far
Landed first at near by base
It was nice to witness the chase

Indian air space is to be considered as holy scene
Never to be violated and ever to be seen
Countrymen look towards warriors and brave
Let enemy now watch their move properly behave

Countries near by borders are to be watched
Their intention is to be repeatedly searched
Not even full proof system may grant protection
Our brave soldiers and airmen may prove it with their action

I have observed Russians like best among best
We can trust them and line with them at least
Country owes so much in debt for noble gesture
Country was at peace in past with secured future

Love the way friends react
Judge them by words and their act
If we are safe and secure
Countrymen too can feel very much sure

Let kites* fly in the air
With enough of superiority to look fair
I was with the force as man of air
What a way to feel 'where eagles dare'

I salute to the friends and men behind machines
Their future and country's fate too shines
Let them perform the way when devil approaches
Sky may be the limit when it tries to reach

*Kites are referred to as aircrafts*

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Influenced By Europeans

As An American I can say,
I've been influenced by Europeans.
I grew up with Jews and Italians,
Most of my young life.
My high school had a mixture,
Of Russians, Portuguese, French
And Spaniards.
Who would find me humorous...
When the teacher saw my hand raised,
To sometimes ignore.
Until I made outbursts.
Expecting from her more.

I took two years of French.
And had friends of several races.
Then one day all of that was changed.
When the city I now live in...
Became a place for bigoted racists.

Oh there may be many who will try to deny what I say.
But when I was a child,
Where I live wasn't divided as it is today.
With waves of bused in suburbanites...
Coming to work during the day.
To leave their jobs for an urban flight!
When I was a child,
Not much of that was in sight!

The first time I heard the word 'nigger'
Was from a Black music teacher,
Who wanted to impress.
Reminding us of how she felt.
And made sure to us that was addressed.
Oh yes!

As An American I can say,
I've been influenced by Europeans.
I grew up with Jews and Italians,
Most of my young life.
My high school had a mixture,
Of Russians, Portuguese, French
And Spaniards.
Who would find me humorous...
When the teacher saw my hand raised,
To sometimes ignore.
Until I made outbursts.
Expecting from her more.
And I was not hushed,
Until I got it!

[...] Read more

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Captain Von Esson of the “Sebastopol”

Of his beauty, or stature, or colour of hair I hadn’t the slightest hint,
But he comes to me as a little man, with a scrubby beard and a squint,
With a heart somewhere if it wasn’t there, and an Irish terrier nose,
With a bark or a yelp for his friends and his crew, and a bull-dog grip for his foes.
The Japs had taken a permanent fort at the price of ten thousand sons,
And they shelled the ships in the harbour there with their landed naval guns.
Through sand bags laid on the upper deck, the shells went through with a whelt—
And some (because of ballistic curve) out under the armoured belt.

Till each was sunk that the Russians left—while the buildings reeled with the shock,
Save the last of the Russian ships of war—the Sebastopol—in dock.
And this is the reason—told in a line—why there is a tale to tell:
The Sebastopol had a man for boss, and a crew that knew it well.

He rousted them out from the dens ashore, and they didn’t engage in prayer,
For dear men pray when the fight is done, and there wasn’t a cheap man there.
He rooted the dock-hands out, when crouched, in deadly fear of the Jap,
But they stood in greater immediate fear of Von Esson’s squint and his yap.

She groped her way in the gathering dusk, out under the time-dulled din,
And nothing was heard save a whispered word, and the laugh of a Russian Finn.
He took her out from the harbour trap, where the shells came down like hail,
For a chance to fight for the Wrong or Right round under the “Lizard’s Tail.”

My fathers came from the North, my friends, when there was a world to win;
And something hints of the Northern Wolf in the laugh of a Russian Finn;
A sailor he was, with gorilla arms, and a mighty, hairy chest—
’T was a laugh of love for his captain man, and a laugh of hate for the rest.

There is neither the time nor the space to tell of the deeds that those Russians did;
Three days on the toppling lid of hell, like an ill-made cauldron’s lid.
The breathless pause ere the flashlight fell where the creeping foe was hid,
The blood-streaked decks, and the grunt or yell, when the stricken slipped and slid.

The faces white in a sudden light, and the ghostly dying grin,
The great relief when the silence broke, and they revelled in Hell’s own din.
The blinding flash and the stunning crash—strained ears—strained eyes—dry skin—
The short sharp yelp of that captain man, and—the laugh of the Russian Finn.

’T was not for Cause nor for Liberty, Religion, or Glory, or Land—
He fought for love of a captain man he could crush with his big right hand.
Till five torpedo boats round her lay, in the mud, the slush, and the ooze—
She sent them down for the Old Greek Church, with the whole of their monkey crews.

But the last one gave her a last thrust home, and left by a friendly tide,
She lay like a man on his elbow raised, with a hand on her wounded side.
She was left to be called for later on, with a solid bank beneath—
The Japs were short of torpedo boats, and—they’d had enough of her teeth.

But, safe from the landed naval guns, and the last torpedo boat,

[...] Read more

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Faith In Vodka Tears

'those vodka weeping
Russians
those vodka weeping
Russians
crying vodka tears'

lost loss of faith
loss of faith in communism
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in orthodox religion
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in devastated souls
will Russian soul thaw regenerate?

socialist history of faith
under Lenin Stalin Communism
under suppressed orthodox religion
devastated souls did not regenerate...
vodka soothed Russian soul
crying vodka tears

defensive history of faith
under aggressive invasion bestial Nazism
vodka seemed to fire the Russian soul
crying vodka tears

without faith they cry vodka tears
with faith they cry vodka tears


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Syrian Military Attacking Killing Civilians

Syrian military
tanks aircraft are attacking
are killing civilians
with Russian
political military...
aid civilian Arab
blood flows

blood red black rose withers

those Russians
those Russians
living before frost
ice thaw
say how can you expect...
dictators
to leave

blood red black rose withers

without sowing
killing fields
with thousands
millions of rebels
exterminated
are not model...
civilians
not citizens

blood red black rose withers

plus misfits
did not conform
to official
party policy
insanity insanity...
there can be
only party

blood red black rose withers

Russian tradition slay civilians
put in ice box grave Gulag...
have they not heard
Stalin is dead...
dictatorship is dead...
martyr minds
beyond the wire noose...

blood red black rose withers

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The warning message we sent the Russians was a calculated ambiguity that would be clearly understood.

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Alexis de Tocqueville

There are now two great nations in the world, which starting from different points, seem to be advancing toward the same goal: the Russians and the Anglo-Americans... Each seems called by some secret design of Providence one day to hold in its hands the destinies of half the world.

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