Grandpa Mazay and Hares read the full version. Nikolay Nekrasov Grandfather Mazai and the hares (collection)

In August, near Malye Vezha,

With old Mazai I beat great snipe.

It suddenly became especially quiet,

In the sky, the sun played through the cloud.

There was a small cloud on it,

And it burst into a fierce rain!

Straight and light as steel rods,

Rain streams pierced the ground

With impetuous force ... Me and Mazai,

Wet, they disappeared into some shed.

Children, I will tell you about Mazaya.

Coming home every summer

I visit him for a week.

I like his village:

Taking it away beautifully in the summer,

From time immemorial, the hop in it will be born wonderfully,

She is all drowning in green gardens;

Houses in it on high pillars

(Water understands this whole area,

So the village pops up in the spring,

Like Venice). Old Mazai

He loves his low-lying land to passion.

He is widows, childless, has only a grandson,

To walk a tough road for him is boredom!

Forty miles straight to Kostroma

He doesn't care to run off the forests:

“The forest is not a road: by the bird, by the beast

You can fire it off. " - And the goblin? - "I do not believe!

Once in a swagger I called them, waited

The whole night - I didn't see anyone!

For a day of mushrooms you pick up a basket,

Eat lingonberries, raspberries in passing;

In the evening the chiffchaff sings tenderly

Like an empty hoopoe in a barrel

Eats; the owl flies by night,

The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.

At night ... well, at night I myself was shy:

It's very quiet in the forest at night.

Quiet as in church when they served

The service and the door were closed tightly,

Is it a pine tree that creaks

As if an old woman grumbles in a dream ... "

Mazai does not spend his day without hunting.

He would live gloriously, would not know care,

If only they didn't change their eyes:

Mazai often began to poodle.

However, he does not come to despair:

Grandpa will blur out - the hare leaves,

Grandfather threatens with an oblique finger:

"You lie - you will fall!" - shouts good-naturedly.

He knows many funny stories

About glorious village hunters:

Kuzya broke the trigger at the gun,

Matchesk carries a box with him,

Sits behind a bush - lure a grouse,

Attach a match to the seed - and it will break out!

Another hunter walks with a gun,

Carries a pot of coals with him.

"Why are you dragging a pot of coals?"

- It hurts, darling, I'm chilly with my hands;

If now I will look after the hare,

Before I sit down, put my gun down

I will warm my hands over the embers,

Yes, then I will shoot at the villain! -

"That's a hunter!" - Mazai added.

I confess I laughed heartily.

However, more mile peasant jokes

(How are they worse, however, noble ones?)

I have heard stories from Mazai.

Children, I wrote it down for you alone ...

II

With tary Mazai looted in the barn:

»In our swampy, low-lying land

Five times more game would be fought,

If they didn't catch her with nets,

If only they hadn't crushed her with a snare;

Hares, too - sorry for them to tears!

Only spring waters will overwhelm

And without that they are hundreds of ginut, -

Not! still a little! men are running

They catch, and drown, and beat them with hooks.

Where is their conscience? .. I’m just for the wood

I went in a boat - there are many of them from the river

It catches up to us in spring floods -

I'm going to catch them. The water is coming.

I see one small island -

Hares gathered on it in a crowd.

With every minute the water was getting closer

To the poor animals; already under them

Less than an yard in width,

Less fathoms in length.

Then I drove up: they were buzzing with their ears,

Themselves from a place; I took one,

He commanded the others: jump yourself!

My hares jumped - nothing!

Only the team sat down,

The whole island disappeared under water:

... That's it! - I said, - don't argue with me!

Obey, bunnies, grandfather Mazai! "

That way, we sail in silence.

A column is not a column, a hare on a stump,

Legs crossed, stands, poor wretch,

I took it too - the burden is not great!

I just started to paddle

Look, a hare is swarming by the bush -

Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!

I covered her, fool, with a zipun -

Trembled violently ... It was not too early.

A gnarled log swam past,

Sitting and standing and lying in a layer,

Zaitsev escaped with a dozen of them.

... I would have taken you - but sink the boat! "

It is a pity for them, however, but a pity for the find -

I got hooked on a twig

And dragged the log behind him ...

It was fun for women, children,

How I gave the village a ride with bunnies:

Look at what old Mazai is doing! "

Okay! admire, but don't bother us!

We found ourselves in the river beyond the village.

Here my bunnies have gone crazy:

They look, stand on their hind legs,

The boat is shaken, they are not allowed to row:

The coast was seen by the slanting rogues,

Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes! ..

I drove a log tightly to the shore,

The boat moored - and "God bless you!" said ...

And in full spirit

Let's go bunnies.

And I told them:, Wow!

Live, animals!

Look, oblique,

Now save yourself

And mind you in winter

Don't get caught!

Take aim - boo!

And you will lie down ... Oooh! .. "

In an instant my team scattered,

Only two couples left on the boat -

Strongly wet, weak; in the bag

I bowed them down - and brought them home.

During the night my sick warmed up,

Dried up, slept well, ate well;

I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag

Shook it out, hooted - and gave a stretch!

I followed them with the same advice:

Don't get caught in winter! "

I don't hit them either in spring or summer,

The skin is bad, - it sheds with an oblique ... "

II. Bees

Well, honey! eat with a loaf,
Listen to the parable about the bees!
Today the water has spilled too much,
Thought there was just a flood
It is only dry that our village
In the gardens where we have hives.
The bee remained surrounded by water,
He sees both the forest and the meadows in the distance,
Well - and flies - nothing light,
And how loaded will fly back,
The dear is not strong enough. Trouble!
The water was full of bees,
Workers are drowning, hearts are drowning!
We doted on help, sinners,
We would never have guessed by ourselves!
Yes, it hurt a good man
Under the Annunciation, do you remember the passer-by?
He advised, Christ's man!
Listen, son, how we saved the bees;
I grieved and grieved in front of a passer-by;
"You would set milestones for them to land",
He said that word!
Believe it: slightly the first milestone is green
They took it out into the water, began to stick it in,
The bees understood the tricky skill:
So they bring down and bring down to rest!
Like pilgrims at the church on a bench,
They sat down - they sit.
There is no grass on the hillock,
Well, in the forest and in the fields there is grace:
Bees are not afraid to fly there,
Everything from a single good word!
Eat for health, we will be with the honey.
God bless the passer-by!
The peasant finished, made a cross;
The boy finished the honey with the loaf,
I listened to the tatty parable that hour,
And for the passer-by, I bow low
He also weighed to the Lord God.

III. General Toptygin

It's in the evening, in winter,
And the frost is notable.
On the pillar road
A young guy is riding
Reverse coach;
Not in a hurry, hesitates slightly;
Horses are not weak
Yes, the road is not smooth -
Potholes, bumps.
The driver is catching up
Leader with a bear:
"Sit us down, boy,
Let's get there more fun! "
- What are you? with a bear? - “Nothing!
He is humble with us,
Extra scale for him
I will bring you, honorable! "
- Well, sit down! - planted
Bearded Bear,
He sat down and jogged
Take it easy Fedya ...
Tryphon sees a marrow,
Fedya invites.
"You wait for us an hour!" -
Talking to the bear.
And let's go. The bear is humble -
Apparently old for years
He only licks his paw
Let it ring with chains ...
The hour passes; no guys
They will drink it famously!
But the familiar ones stand
The horses are quiet.
The candlelight was on. Trembling in horses
The cold is angrier at night;
Turned around in a sleigh
Mikhailo Ivanovich,
The horses pulled; had a problem
Here the trouble is big -
The bear barked! - rushed
Three as crazy!
I heard the bell
Fedyukha ran out,
Yes, in vain - did not catch up!
What a mess!
Fast, furiously rushed
Three - and no wonder:
On a bump every time
The beast growled zealously;
Only a groan stood around:
“Clear the road!
General Toptygin himself
Goes to the den! "
The oncoming peasant will shudder,
It will be creepy for a woman
Like a hairy little hair
Will bark on a bump.
And horses are even more afraid -
Have not rested!
Fifteen versts in full swing
The poor have been blown away!
Flies straight to the station
The three is daring.
The traveler sits
Shaking his head:
It's okay to turn the ring out.
So there was a three;
The keeper himself on the porch
Runs out smartly.
Sees feet in boots
And a bear coat,
Didn't notice in a hurry
What's with the iron lip,
Didn't think: where is the coachman
Walking from horses?
He sees - the master of the mainland,
"General", - dares.
Hastened to take off his cap:
“I wish you good health!
Anything to order
Vodka or tea? .. "
He wants to help the master
Nimble old man;
Here in all bearishness
Our bear roared!
And the caretaker jumped away:
"Lord have mercy!
I have served for forty years
By faith, truth, strength;
I saw a lot on the road
Generals strict,
No rib, no teeth in the mouth
Many are missing
And I have not seen this,
Lord Jesus!
An unprecedented general
Apparently in a new taste! .. "
The coachmen came running
They were surprised too;
They see - it's not a matter of hand,
Something is useless here!
Honest people gathered,
The whole village is in alarm:
"The general in the sleigh roars,
Like a bear in a den! "
The coward runs, and who is braver
Those - for fun,
Huddle around the sleigh;
And the caretaker is behind.
He chickened out, shouts from a distance:
"Would you like to go to the hut?"
The bear will growl again ...
The caretaker has run away!
Frozen and ran away
And with all his retinue ...
I lay in a sleigh for two hours
The general is angry.
Then came running
Coachman and counselor;
Enlightened the honest people
Trifon the bearded
And Toptygin drove away
From the sleigh with a club ...
And the caretaker scolded
The cattle driver ...

... Grandpa Mazai and the hares

I
In August, near Malye Vezha,
With old Mazai I beat great snipe.
It suddenly became especially quiet,
In the sky, the sun played through the cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into a fierce rain!
Straight and light as steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With impetuous force ... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some shed.
Children, I'll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer
I visit him for a week.
I like his village:
Taking it away beautifully in the summer,
From time immemorial, the hop in it will be born wonderfully,
She is all drowning in green gardens;
Houses in it on high pillars
(Water understands this whole area,
So the village pops up in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land to passion.
He is widows, childless, has only a grandson,
To walk a tough road for him is boredom!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn't care to run off the forests:
“The forest is not a road: by the bird, by the beast
You can fire it off. " - And the goblin? - "I do not believe!
Once in a swagger I called them, waited
The whole night - I didn't see anyone!
For a day of mushrooms you pick up a basket,
Eat lingonberries, raspberries in passing;
In the evening the chiffchaff sings tenderly
Like an empty hoopoe in a barrel
Eats; the owl flies by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night ... well, at night I myself was shy:
It's very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church when they served
The service and the door were closed tightly,
Is it a pine tree that creaks
As if an old woman grumbles in a dream ... "
Mazai does not spend his day without hunting.
He would live gloriously, would not know care,
If only they didn't change their eyes:
Mazai often began to poodle.
However, he does not come to despair;
Grandpa will blur out - the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens with an oblique finger:
"You lie - you will fall!" - shouts good-naturedly.
He knows many funny stories
About glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger at the gun,
Matchesk carries a box with him,
Sits behind a bush - lure a grouse,
Attach a match to the seed - and it will break out!
Another hunter walks with a gun,
Carries a pot of coals with him.
"Why are you dragging a pot of coals?"
- It hurts, darling, I'm chilly with my hands;
If now I will look after the hare,
Before I sit down, put my gun down
I will warm my hands over the embers,
Yes, then I will shoot at the villain! -
"That's a hunter!" - Mazai added.
I confess I laughed heartily.
However, more mile peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, noble ones?)
I have heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote it down for you alone ...
II
Old Mazai was loose in the barn:
“In our swampy, low-lying land
Five times more game would be fought,
If they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they hadn't crushed her with a snare;
Hares, too - sorry for them to tears!
Only spring waters will rush
And without that they are hundreds of ginut, -
Not! still a little! men are running
They catch, and drown, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience? .. I’m just for the wood
I went in a boat - there are many of them from the river
It catches up to us in spring floods -
I'm going to catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
Hares gathered on it in a crowd.
With every minute the water was getting closer
To the poor animals; already under them
Less than an yard in width,
Less fathoms in length.
Then I drove up: they were buzzing with their ears,
Themselves from a place; I took one,
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
Only the team sat down,
The whole island disappeared under water:
“That's it! - I said, - don't argue with me!
Obey, bunnies, grandfather Mazai! "
That way, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a hare on a stump,
Legs crossed, stands, poor wretch,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
I just started to paddle
Look, a hare is swarming by the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I covered her, fool, with a zipun -
I was trembling violently ... It was not too early.
A gnarled log swam past,
Sitting and standing and lying in a layer,
Zaitsev escaped with a dozen of them.
"I would have taken you - but sink the boat!"
It is a pity for them, however, but a pity for the find
I got hooked on a twig
And dragged the log behind him ...
It was fun for women, children,
How I gave the village a ride with bunnies:
"Look at what old Mazai is doing!"
Okay! admire, but don't bother us!
We found ourselves in the river beyond the village.
Here my bunnies have gone crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is shaken, they are not allowed to row:
The coast was seen by the slanting rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes! ..
I drove a log tightly to the shore,
The boat moored - and "God bless you!" said ...
And in full spirit
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!
Live, animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
Take aim - boo!
And you will lie down ... Oooh! .. "
In an instant my team scattered,
Only two pairs left on the boat -
Strongly wet, weak; in the bag
I bowed them down - and brought them home.
During the night my sick warmed up,
Dried up, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
Shook it out, hooted - and gave a stretch!
I followed them with the same advice:
"Don't get caught in winter!"
I don't hit them either in spring or summer,
The skin is bad, - it sheds with an oblique ... "

... Nightingales

Shaking the youngest son,
The peasant woman said to her elders:
“Play, kids, bye!
I almost finished the sundress;
Now I will dress the cow,
We'll force the horse to eat grass,
And I'm taking you to that grove -
Let's go listen to the nightingales.
There they are, that in the back of milk mushrooms, -
Don't bother me, you prankster! -
We have no more fun place;
In the spring, children, every holiday
In the evenings they go there
Both old and young. In the meadow
The red girls are singing
Drunken peasants are gurgling.
And in the grove, my dears,
Under the conversation and laughter of the people
The nightingales sing and whistle
More ringing and sweeter than a round dance!
And good and lovely to everyone ...
Yes only (Klim, don't touch Sasha!)
A little nightingale at all
They did not stop loving our grove:
After all, our Kursk nightingale
In the price - here a lot of them were caught,
Well, scared of the networks
Yes, they drove past us!
I came, your grandfather said,
Spring, and the grove is dumb
It's worth it - there are no stray guests!
The peasants were in great anguish.
Already the holiday has come,
And we took a walk in the clearing
Yes, it was not a holiday for them!
The peasants were scratching their beards.
And put between themselves -
God knew how to instruct the mind -
In that glade, in that grove
Networks, snares never set.
And little by little nightingales
Again accustomed to our grove,
And now, my dears,
There is no place for them dear and more beautiful!
There with networks how many years
Nobody comes close
And strictly forbidden
From grandfather to grandson passes.
But in the spring the whole forest thunders!
That day, a new choir will arrive ...
The village sleeps to their songs,
Their song wakes us up in the morning ...
You also need to remember
God forbid putting nets here!
After all, the poor nightingales need
Give somewhere and rest, children ... "
The middle son of the cat teased,
The little one crawled on his mother's neck,
And the elder asked with gravity,
Kubar letting in front of her:
- Is there, mom, for people
Such groves in the world? -
“No, such places ... no taxes
And no recruitment, children.
And if there were for people
Such groves and meadows,
Everything in the arms of their children
The peasant women would have been taken there! "

... On the eve of a bright holiday

I
I drove to Rostov
High hill
Small forest
Stretched on it:
Birch, aspen,
Yes spruce, yes pine;
And on the left is the valley
How smooth the tablecloth is.
Dotted with villages,
Roads dol,
He kept dropping
And went to the lake.
No lake, children
I can’t forget
No church at all
Its shore:
Here is a wonderful picture
I saw then!
I remember her
Always willingly ...
II
I'll start in order:
I was driving in the spring
Good Saturday,
Before the Holy One.
Hurrying home
From hard work
I met in the morning
Working people;
Bored to death
I solved the question:
Who is the carpenter, who is the locksmith,
Painter, water carrier?
It’s not difficult!
Blacksmiths are coming -
Who doesn't recognize them?
They are great
And sing and swear
Yes, it's not a day!
Goes bow-legged
Reveler-tailor:
In one sertuchish,
The cap is like a pancake, -
Harmony, pipe
Iron and arshin!
Look - the dyer!
Do you recognize now?
Nose stained with ocher
And red eyes;
He brushes and paints
Carries over the shoulder
And like a landcard
The apron is on it.
Here are the sawers: saddle
Sullenly chewing
And like soldiers
Everyone is in step
And steel saws
Good guys
Like living fish
Shivers on your shoulders!
I am kind to all of them
I wish you the way
To their native villages
Rather come
Wash off the soot
And labor sweat
And meet the Saint
With a cheerful soul ...
III
It got dark. Chatting
With my coachman,
I rode the same
High hill;
Looked at the valley
That went to the lake
And I see - the valley
Mine came to life:
On every path
Leading to the village
The crowds appeared;
Evening haze
The lights lit up:
Going somewhere
With bundles of burning
Straw people.
Where? I think
I did not have time about that,
Like a bell is loud
The answer boomed!
The lake is bright
Bonfires were burning, -
We were heading there
Smart, colorful,
By the light of burning
Straws - crowds ...
At God's temple
The paths converged, -
Popular mass
She moved, grew.
Wonderful, children,
The picture was! ..

Elegy

BUT NOT<рако>woo

Let the changeable fashion tell us
That the theme is the old "suffering of the people"
And that poetry should forget it,
Do not believe, young men! she is not getting old.
Oh, if only the years could make her old!
The world of God would flourish! .. Alas! bye peoples
Suffer in poverty, submitting to the scourges,
Like skinny herds in mown meadows,
Mourn their fate, the Muse will serve them,
And in the world there is no stronger, more beautiful union! ..
To remind the crowd that the people are in poverty,
While she rejoices and sings,
To arouse the attention of the people of the mighty of the world -
What could the lyre serve better? ..
I dedicated the lyre to my people.
Perhaps I will die unknown to him,
But I served him - and my heart is calm ...
Let not every warrior harm the enemy,
But everyone go into battle! And the battle will be decided by fate ...
I saw a red day: there is no slave in Russia!
And sweet tears I shed in tenderness ...
“Enough to rejoice in a naive enthusiasm, -
Musa whispered to me. - It's time to go ahead:
The people are liberated, but are the people happy? .. "
I listen to the song of the reapers over the golden harvest,
Is the old man walking slowly behind the plow,
Does she run through the meadow, playing and whistling,
Happy child with father's breakfast,
Do the sickles sparkle, do the braids clink together -
I seek answers to secret questions
Seething in my mind: “In recent years
Have you become more bearable, peasant suffering?
And long slavery replaced
Freedom finally made a difference
In people's destinies? to the tunes of rural maidens?
Or is their discordant tune just as woeful? .. "
The evening is already coming. Excited by dreams
In the fields, in the meadows lined with haystacks,
I wander thoughtfully in the cool semi-darkness,
And the song composes itself in the mind,
Living incarnation of recent, secret thoughts:
I call blessing for rural labors,
I will curse the people's enemy,
And I pray to a friend in the heavens of power,
And my song is loud! .. She is echoed by valleys, fields,
And the echo of the distant mountains sends her its responses,
And the forest responded ... Nature listens to me,
But the one about whom I sing in the evening silence,
To whom are the poet's dreams dedicated -
Alas! he does not heed - and does not give an answer ...

This work of Nekrasov in verse undoubtedly deserves attention. This is not just poetry, and this is not only a whole story about a hunter who had to save wild hares from the flood. Hares are only the second half of the work. The first part tells about the village of Mazai's grandfather, about these beautiful and a little eerie places, it is told very beautifully and in detail. And only after carefully reading the first part of the verse, you can feel all its beauty. You can read the poems of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov "Grandfather Mazai and the Hares" and watch picturesque illustrations for this book on our website.

Grandpa Mazai and the hares

In August, near Malye Vezha,
With old Mazai I beat great snipe *.

It suddenly became especially quiet,
In the sky, the sun played through the cloud.

There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into a fierce rain!

Straight and light as steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground

With impetuous force ... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some shed.

Children, I'll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer

I visit him for a week.
I like his village:

Taking it away beautifully in the summer,
From time immemorial * hop in it will be born wonderfully,

She is all drowning in green gardens;
Houses in it on high pillars

(Water understands this whole area,
So the village pops up in the spring,

Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land to passion.

He is widows, childless, has only a grandson,
To walk on a tough * road is boredom!

Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn't care to run off the forests:

“The forest is not a road: by the bird, by the beast
You can fire it off. " - And the goblin? - "I do not believe!

Once in a crowd * I called them, waited
The whole night - I didn't see anyone!

For a day of mushrooms you pick up a basket,
Eat lingonberries, raspberries in passing;

In the evening the chiffchaff sings tenderly
Like an empty hoopoe in a barrel

Eats; the owl flies by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.

At night ... well, at night I myself was shy:
It's very quiet in the forest at night.

Quiet as in church when they served
The service and the door were closed tightly,

Is it a pine tree that creaks
As if an old woman would grumble in a dream ... "

Mazai does not spend his day without hunting.
He would live gloriously, would not know care,

If only they didn't change their eyes:
Mazai often began to poodle *.

However, he does not come to despair:
Grandpa will blur out - the hare leaves,

Grandfather threatens with an oblique finger:
"You lie - you will fall!" - shouts good-naturedly.

He knows many funny stories
About glorious village hunters:

Kuzya broke the trigger at the gun,
Matchesk carries a box with him,

Sits behind a bush - lure a grouse,
Attach a match to the seed - and it will break out!

Another hunter walks with a gun,
Carries a pot of coals with him.

"Why are you dragging a pot of coals?" -
It hurts, darling, my hands are chilly;

If now I will look after the hare,
Before I sit down, put my gun down

I will warm my hands over the embers,
Yes, then I will shoot at the villain! -

"That's a hunter!" - Mazai added.
I confess I laughed heartily.

However, more mile peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, noble ones?)

I have heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote it down for you alone ...

I see one small island -
Hares gathered on it in a crowd.
With every minute the water was getting closer
To the poor animals; already under them
Less than an yard in width,
Less fathoms in length.

Then I drove up: they were buzzing with their ears,
Themselves from a place; I took one,
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
Only the team sat down,
The whole island disappeared under water:

“That's it! - I said, - don't argue with me!
Obey, bunnies, grandfather Mazai! "
That way we go *, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a hare on a stump,
Legs crossed, stands, poor wretch,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
I just started to paddle
Look, a hare is swarming by the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I covered her, fool, with a zipun -
I was trembling violently ... It was not too early.
A gnarled log swam past,
Sitting and standing and lying in a layer,
Zaitsev about a dozen escaped on it
"I would take you - but sink the boat!"
It is a pity for them, however, but a pity for the find
I got hooked on a twig
And dragged the log behind him ...

It was fun for women, children,
How I gave the village a ride with bunnies:
"Look at what old Mazai is doing!"
Okay! admire, but don't bother us!
We found ourselves in the river beyond the village.

Here my bunnies have gone crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is shaken, they are not allowed to row:
The coast was seen by the slanting rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes! ..

I drove a log tightly to the shore,
He moored the boat - and "God bless you!" Said ...
And in full spirit
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!
Live, animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
Take aim - boo!
And you will lie down ... Ooh-ooh-ooh! .. "
In an instant my team scattered,
Only two pairs left on the boat -
Strongly wet, weak; in the bag
I bowed them - and brought them home.
During the night my sick warmed up,
Dried up, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
Shook it out, hooted - and gave a stretch!
I followed them with the same advice:
"Don't get caught in winter!"
I don't hit them either in spring or summer,
The skin is bad, - it sheds with a scythe ... "

Illustrations by Benjamin Kostitsin 1985

* Great snipe is a motley bird living in swamps.

From time immemorial - long ago; from the old days.

Tornoy - well-trodden, on which everyone walks.

Courage - excitement, mood lift.

Poodle - miss shooting.

Gutorya - to gutor means to talk, to talk.

In August, near Malye Vezha,
With old Mazai I beat great snipe.
It suddenly became especially quiet,
In the sky, the sun played through the cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into a fierce rain!
Straight and light as steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With impetuous force ... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some shed.
Children, I'll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer
I visit him for a week.
I like his village:
Taking it away beautifully in the summer,
From time immemorial, the hop in it will be born wonderfully,
She is all drowning in green gardens;
Houses in it on high pillars
(Water understands this whole area,
So the village pops up in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land to passion.
He is widows, childless, has only a grandson,
To walk on a tough road for him is boredom!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn't care to run off the forests:
“The forest is not a road: by the bird, by the beast
You can fire it off. " - And the goblin? - "I do not believe!
Once in a swagger I called them, waited
The whole night - I didn't see anyone!
For a day of mushrooms you pick up a basket,
Eat lingonberries, raspberries in passing;
In the evening the chiffchaff sings tenderly
Like an empty hoopoe in a barrel
Eats; the owl flies by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night ... well, at night I myself was shy:
It's very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church when they served
The service and the door were closed tightly,
Is it a pine tree that creaks
As if an old woman grumbles in a dream ... "
Mazai does not spend his day without hunting.
He would live gloriously, would not know care,
If only they didn't change their eyes:
Mazai often began to poodle.
However, he does not come to despair:
Grandpa will blur out - the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens with an oblique finger:
"You lie - you will fall!" - shouts good-naturedly.
He knows many funny stories
About glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger at the gun,
Matchesk carries a box with him,
Sits behind a bush - lure a grouse,
Attach a match to the seed - and it will break out!
Another hunter walks with a gun,
Carries a pot of coals with him.
"Why are you dragging a pot of coals?" -
It hurts, darling, my hands are chilly;
If now I will look after the hare,
Before I sit down, put my gun down
I will warm my hands over the embers,
Yes, then I will shoot at the villain! -
"That's a hunter!" - Mazai added.
I confess I laughed heartily.
However, more mile peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, noble ones?)
I have heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote it down for you alone ...

Old Mazai was loose in the barn:
“In our swampy, low-lying land
Five times more game would be fought,
If they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they hadn't crushed her with a snare;
Hares, too - sorry for them to tears!
Only spring waters will rush
And without that they are hundreds of ginut, -
Not! still a little! men are running
They catch, and drown, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience? .. I’m just for the wood
I went in a boat - there are many of them from the river
It catches up to us in spring floods -
I'm going to catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
Hares gathered on it in a crowd.
With every minute the water was getting closer
To the poor animals; already under them
Less than an yard in width,
Less fathoms in length.
Then I drove up: they were buzzing with their ears,
Themselves from a place; I took one,
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
Only the team sat down,
The whole island disappeared under water:
“That's it! - I said, - don't argue with me!
Obey, bunnies, grandfather Mazai! "
That way, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a hare on a stump,
Legs crossed, stands, poor wretch,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
I just started to paddle
Look, a hare is swarming by the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I covered her, fool, with a zipun -
I was trembling violently ... It was not too early.
A gnarled log swam past,
Sitting and standing and lying in a layer,
Zaitsev about a dozen escaped on it
"I would take you - but sink the boat!"
It is a pity for them, however, but a pity for the find
I got hooked on a twig
And dragged the log behind him ...
It was fun for women, children,
How I gave the village a ride with bunnies:
"Look-ko: what is old Mazai doing!"
Okay! admire, but don't bother us!
We found ourselves in the river beyond the village.
Here my bunnies have gone crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is shaken, they are not allowed to row:
The coast was seen by the slanting rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes! ..
I drove a log tightly to the shore,
He moored the boat - and "God bless you!" Said ...
And in full spirit
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!
Live, animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
Take aim - boo!
And you will lie down ... Ooh-ooh-ooh! .. "
In an instant my team scattered,
Only two pairs left on the boat -
Strongly wet, weak; in the bag
I bowed them - and brought them home.
During the night my sick warmed up,
Dried up, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
Shook it out, hooted - and gave a stretch!
I followed them with the same advice:
"Don't get caught in winter!"
I don't hit them either in spring or summer,
The skin is bad, - it sheds with an oblique ... "

Analysis of the poem "Grandfather Mazai and the Hares" by Nekrasov

In the work of Nekrasov, works for children occupy a special place. The poet treated the younger generation with great love, his attitude towards peasant children was especially warm. Nekrasov believed that a child loses a lot in a noble family. In his poems, he wanted to show a huge natural world, with whom city children have long lost. A striking example is the work "Grandfather Mazai and the Hares".

The author describes his joint hunt with a villager - grandfather Mazai. He personifies a real hunter who has perfectly studied all the laws of nature and the habits of animals. Mazai is well versed in the forest, he is simply created for such a life. The poet listens with great interest to his stories and admires them. He notes that "peasant anecdotes" are no worse than "noble" ones. Therefore, he wants to convey to the readers one of these stories.

Further, the story goes on behalf of the grandfather Mazay himself. Nekrasov strove to convey all the richness and diversity of the apt folk language. The plot lies in the fact that Mazai saved a lot of hares on a boat during a flood. For a city dweller, such a story looks like complete fantasy. Moreover, the grandfather colorfully describes the behavior of hares, which resemble people in distress. The story takes on features fairy tale... Throughout the story, Mazai talks with hares, expresses his sympathy for them.

For a person who has lived all his life in the forest, this situation looks quite plausible. Nekrasov wanted to show that the village people have not yet lost their connection with nature. Their communication with animals is not based on primitive superstition, but on the recognition of them in many respects equal to man. Grandfather Mazai says that he never saw the goblin (“I don’t believe!”). But this does not prevent him from talking with hares and believing that they understand him perfectly.

Mazai is still a hunter. He helps hares in a difficult situation, but, letting them go free, warns: "Do not get caught in winter!" Nekrasov does not want children to perceive the world as a calm idyll. The poet was a realist and strove to portray reality. Man is the king of nature, but that is why he must maintain justice and order. Mazai's noble deed should teach children goodness and mercy to all beings.

An interesting story about animals. A story about hares. A story about kindness and love for animals

Nikolay Nekrasov. Grandfather Mazai and the hares

In August, near Malye Vezha,

With old Mazai I beat great snipe.

It suddenly became especially quiet,

In the sky, the sun played through the cloud.

There was a small cloud on it,

And it burst into a fierce rain!

Straight and light as steel rods,

Rain streams pierced the ground

With impetuous force ... Me and Mazai,

Wet, they disappeared into some shed.

Children, I'll tell you about Mazai.

Coming home every summer

I visit him for a week.

I like his village:

Taking it away beautifully in the summer,

From time immemorial, the hop in it will be born wonderfully,

She is all drowning in green gardens;

Houses in it on high pillars

(Water understands this whole area,

So the village pops up in the spring,

Like Venice). Old Mazai

He loves his low-lying land to passion.

He is widows, childless, has only a grandson,

To walk a tough road for him is boredom!

Forty miles straight to Kostroma

He doesn't care to run off the forests:

“The forest is not a road: by the bird, by the beast

You can fire it off. " - "And the goblin?" - "I do not believe!

Once in a swagger I called them, waited

The whole night - I didn't see anyone!

For a day of mushrooms you pick up a basket,

Eat lingonberries, raspberries in passing;

In the evening the chiffchaff sings tenderly

Like an empty hoopoe in a barrel

Eats; the owl flies by night,

The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.

At night ... well, at night I myself was shy:

It's very quiet in the forest at night.

Quiet as in church when they served

The service and the door were closed tightly,

Is it a pine tree that creaks

As if an old woman would grumble in a dream ... "

Mazai does not spend his day without hunting.

He would live gloriously, would not know care,

If only they didn't change their eyes:

Mazai often began to poodle.

However, he does not come to despair:

Grandpa will blur out, - the hare leaves,

Grandfather threatens with an oblique finger:

"You lie - you will fall!" - shouts good-naturedly.

He knows many funny stories

About glorious village hunters:

Kuzya broke the trigger at the gun,

Matchesk carries a box with him,

Sits behind a bush - lure a grouse,

Attach a match to the seed - and it will break out!

Another hunter walks with a gun,

Carries a pot of coals with him.

"Why are you dragging a pot of coals?"

- “It hurts, darling, I'm chilly with my hands;

If now I will look after the hare,

Before I sit down, put my gun down

I will warm my hands over the embers,

Yes, then I will shoot at the villain! "

“That's a hunter! “- Mazai added.

I confess I laughed heartily.

However, more mile peasant jokes

(How are they worse, however, noble ones?)

I have heard stories from Mazai.

Children, I wrote it down for you alone ...

Old Mazai was loose in the barn:

“In our swampy, low-lying land

Five times more game would be fought,

If they didn't catch her with nets,

If only they hadn't crushed her with a snare;

Hares, too - sorry for them to tears!

Only spring waters will rush

And without that they are hundreds of ginut, -

Not! still a little! men are running

They catch, and drown, and beat them with hooks.

Where is their conscience? .. I’m just for the wood

I went in a boat - there are many of them from the river

It catches up to us in spring floods, -

I'm going to catch them. The water is coming.

I see one small island -

Hares gathered on it in a crowd.

With every minute the water was getting closer

To the poor animals; already under them

Less than an yard in width,

Less fathoms in length.

Then I drove up: they were buzzing with their ears,

Themselves from a place; I took one,

He commanded the others: jump yourself!

My hares jumped - nothing!

Only the team sat down,

The whole island disappeared under water.

“That's it! - I said, - don't argue with me!

Obey, bunnies, grandfather Mazai! "

That way, we sail in silence.

A column is not a column, a hare on a stump,

Legs crossed, stands, poor wretch,

I took it too - the burden is not great!

I just started to paddle

Look, a hare is swarming by the bush -

Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!

I covered her, fool, with a zipun -

I was trembling violently ... It was not too early.

A gnarled log swam past,

Zaitsev escaped with a dozen of them.

"I would take you - but sink the boat!"

It is a pity for them, however, but a pity for the find -

I got hooked on a twig

And dragged the log behind him ...

It was fun for women, children,

How I gave the village a ride with bunnies:

"Look at what old Mazai is doing!"

Okay! admire, but don't bother us!

We found ourselves in the river beyond the village.

Here my bunnies have gone crazy:

They look, stand on their hind legs,

The boat is shaken, they are not allowed to row:

The coast was seen by the slanting rogues,

Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes! ..

I drove a log tightly to the shore,

The boat moored - and "God bless you!" said ...

And in full spirit

Let's go bunnies.

And I told them: "Wow!"

Live, animals!

Look, oblique,

Now save yourself

And mind you in winter

Don't get caught!

Take aim - boo!

And you will lie down ... Oooh! .. "

In an instant my team scattered,

Only two pairs left on the boat -

Strongly wet, weak; in the bag

I bowed them - and brought them home,

During the night my sick warmed up,

Dried up, slept well, ate well;

I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag

Shook it out, hooted - and gave a stretch!

I followed them with the same advice:

"Don't get caught in winter!"

I don't hit them either in spring or summer,

The skin is bad - it sheds with a scythe ... "