CopperKettle

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break In blessings on your head.

"Наливаймо, браття, кришталеві чаші, Щоб шаблі не брали, щоб кулі минали, Голівоньки наші."

The trees along this city street Save for the traffic and the trains, would make a sound as thin and sweet ss trees in country lanes

Here’s to riding safely through the hell of battle; Through the thick and thin, through the cannons’ din, Through the rifles’ rattle. Черновой перевод первой строфы ^_^

Nothing more true than not to trust your senses - and yet what are your other evidences?