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Original of this text is located at the "Cossack page"
 http://home1.gte.net/artiom/slovo/slovo.htm

You can find another translation of "The Song of Igor's Campaign"
at Russian History Home Page
http://www.dur.ac.uk/~dml0www/igorraid.html
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                 Might it not become us,
                 brothers,
                 to begin in the diction of yore
                 the stern tale
5                of the campaign of Igor,
                 Igor son of Svyatoslav?

                 Let us, however,
                 begin this song
                 in keeping with the happenings
10               of these times
                 and not with the contriving of
                 Boyan.
                 For he, vatic Boyan
                 if he wished to make a laud for
15               one,
                 ranged in thought
                 [like the nightingale] over the
                 tree;
                 like the gray wolf
                 across land;
20               like the smoky eagle
                 up to the clouds.

                 For as he recalled, said he,
                 the feuds of initial times,
25               "He set ten falcons
                 upon a flock of swans,
                 and the one first overtaken,
                 sang a song first"
                 to Yaroslav of yore,
30               and to brave Mstislav
                 who slew Rededya
                 before the Kasog troops,
                 and to fair Roman
                 son of Svyatoslav.
35               To be sure, brothers,
                 Boyan did not [really]
                 set ten falcons
                 upon a flock of swans:
                 his own vatic fingers
                 he laid on the live strings,
40               which then twanged out by
                 themselves
                 a paean to princes.

                 So let us begin, brothers,
45               this tale-
                 from Vladimir of yore
                 to nowadays Igor.
                 who girded his mind
                 with fortitude,
50               and sharpened his heart
                 with manliness;
                 [thus] imbued with the spirit of
                 arms,
                 he led his brave troops
                 against the Kuman land
                 in the name of the Russian land.




                 O Boyan, nightingale
                 of the times of old!
                 If you were to trill [your
                 praise of]
                 these troops,
55               while hopping, nightingale,
                 over the tree of thought;
                 [if you were] flying in mind
                 up to the clouds;
                 [if] weaving paeans around these
60               times,
                 [you were] roving the Troyan
                 Trail,
                 across fields onto hills;
                 then the song to be sung of
                 Igor,
                 that grandson of Oleg [, would
                 be]:
65
                 "No storm has swept falcons
                 across
                 wide fields;
                 flocks of daws flee toward the
70               Great
                 Don";
                 or you might intone thus,
                 vatic Boyan, grandson of Veles:
                 "Steeds neigh beyond the Sula;
                 glory rings in Kiev;
                 trumpets blare in
                 Novgorod[-Seversk];
                 banners are raised in Putivl."




                 Igor waits for his dear brother
                 Vsevolod.

                 And Wild Bull Vsevolod [arrives
                 and]
                 says to him:
                 "My one brother, one bright
                 brightness,
75               you Igor!
                 We both are Svyatoslav's sons.
                 Saddle, brother, your swift
                 steeds.
                 As to mine, they are ready,
                 saddled ahead, near Kursk;
80               as to my Kurskers, they are
                 famous
                 knights-
                 swaddled under war-horns,
                 nursed under helmets,
85               fed from the point of the lance;
                 to them the trails are familiar,
                 to them the ravines are known,
                 the bows they have are strung
                 tight,
90               the quivers, unclosed,
                 the sabers, sharpened;
                 themselves, like gray wolves,
                 they lope in the field,
                 seeking for themselves honor,
                 and for their prince glory."




                 Then Igor glanced up at the
                 bright sun
                 and saw that from it with
                 darkness
95               his warriors were covered.
                 And Igor says to his Guards:
                 "Brothers and Guards!
                 It is better indeed to be slain
                 than to be enslaved;
100              so let us mount, brothers,
                 upon our swift steeds,
                 and take a look at the blue
                 Don."

                 A longing consumed the prince's
105              mind,
                 and the omen was screened from
                 him
                 by the urge to taste
                 of the Great Don:
110              "For I wish," he said,
                 "to break a lance
                 on the limit of the Kuman field;
                 with you, sons of Rus, I wish
                 either to lay down my head
                 or drink a helmetful of the
                 Don."




                 Then Igor set foot
                 in the golden stirrup
                 and rode out in the Champaign.
                 The sun blocks his way with
115              darkness.
                 Night, moaning ominously unto
                 him,
                 awakens the birds;
                 the whistling of beasts
120              [arises?];
                 [stirring?] the daeva calls
                 on the top of a tree,
                 bids hearken the land unknown-
                 the Volga,
125              and the [Azov] Seaboard,
                 and the Sula country,
                 and Surozh,
                 and Korsun,
                 and you, idol of Tmutorokan!

                 Meanwhile by untrodden roads
130              the Kumans make for the Great
                 Don;
                 [their] wagons screak in the
                 middle of
                 night;
                 one might say -- dispersed swans.




                 Igor leads Donward his warriors.
                 His misfortunes already
                 are forefelt by the birds in
                 the,
                 oakscrub.
135              The wolves, in the ravines,
                 conjure the storm.
                 The erns with their squalling
                 summon the beasts to the bones.
                 The foxes yelp
140              at the vermilion shields.
                 O Russian land,
                 you are already behind the
                 culmen!

                 Long does the night keep
145              darkling.
                 Dawn sheds its light.
                 Mist has covered the fields.
                 Stilled is the trilling of
                 nightingales;
                 the jargon of jackdaws has
150              woken.
                 With their vermilion shields
                 the sons of Rus have barred the
                 great
                 prairie,
                 seeking for themselves honor,
                 and for their prince glory.




                 Early on Friday
                 they trampled the pagan Kuman
                 troops
                 and fanned out like arrows
155              over the field;
                 they bore off fair Kuman maidens
                 and, with them, gold,
                 and brocades,
                 and precious samites.
160              By means of caparisons,
                 and mantlets,
                 and furred cloaks of leather
                 they started making plankings
                 to plank marshes
165              and miry spots
                 with all kinds of Kuman weaves.

                 A vermilion standard,
                 a white gonfalon,
                 a vermilion penant of [dyed]
170              horsehair
                 and a silver hilt
                 [went] to [Igor] son of
                 Svyatoslav.




                 In the field slumbers
                 Oleg's brave aerie:
                 far has it flown!
                 Not born was it to be wronged
175              either by falcon or hawk,
                 or by you, black raven,
                 pagan Kuman!
                 Gzak runs like a gray wolf;
                 Konchak lays out a track for him
180              to the Great Don.

                 On the next day very early
                 bloody effulgences
                 herald the light.
                 Black clouds come from the sea:
185              They want to cover
                 the four suns,
                 and in them throb blue
                 lightnings.
                 There is to be great thunder,
                 there is to come rain in [the
190              guise of]
                 arrows
                 from the Great Don.




                 Here lances shall break,
                 here sabers shall blunt
                 against Kuman helmets
                 on the river Kayala by the Great
195              Don.
                 O Russian land,
                 you are already behind the
                 culmen!

                 Now the winds, Stribog's
200              grandsons,
                 in [the guise of] arrows waft
                 from the sea
                 against the brave troops of
                 Igor!
205              The earth rumbles,
                 the rivers run sludgily,
                 dust covers the fields.
                 The banners speak:
                 "The Kumans are coming
                 from the Don and from the sea
210              and
                 from all sides!"
                 The Russian troops retreat.
                 The Fiend's children bar the
                 field
                 with their war cries;
                 the brave sons of Rus bar it
                 with their vermilion shields.




                 Fierce Bull Vsevolod!
                 You stand your ground,
                 you spurt arrows at warriors,
                 you clang on helmets
215              with swords of steel.
                 Wherever the Bull bounds,
                 darting light from his golden
                 helmet,
                 there lie pagan Kuman heads:
220              cleft with tempered sabers
                 are [their] Avar helmets-
                 by you, Fierce Bull Vsevolod!

                 What wound, brothers,
                 can matter to one
225              who has forgotten
                 honors and life,
                 and the town of Chernigov --
                 golden throne of his fathers --
                 and of his dear beloved,
230              Gleb's fair daughter,
                 the wonts and ways!




                 There have been the ages of
                 Troyan;
                 gone are the years of Yaroslav;
                 there have been the campaigns of
                 Oleg,
235              Oleg son of Svyatoslav.
                 That Oleg forged feuds with the
                 sword,
                 and sowed the land with arrows.
                 He sets foot in the golden
240              stirrup
                 in the town of Tmutorokan:
                 a similar clinking
                 had been hearkened
                 by the great Yaroslav of long
                 ago;
245              and Vladimir son of Vsevolod
                 every morn [that he heard it]
                 stopped his ears in Chernigov.

                 As to Boris son of Vyacheslav,
250              vainglory brought him to
                 judgment
                 and on the Kanin [river]
                 spread out a green pall,
                 for the offense against Oleg,
                 the brave young prince.
                 And from that Kayala
255              Svyatopolk had his father
                 conveyed--
                 cradled between Hungarian pacers
                 [tandemwise]-
                 to St. Sophia in Kiev.
260
                 Then, under Oleg, child of
                 Malglory,
                 sown were and sprouted discords;

                 perished the livelihood
                 of Dazhbog's grandson
265              among princely feuds;
                 human ages dwindled.
                 Then, across the Russian land,
                 seldom did plowmen shout
                 [hup-hup
                 to their horses]
270              but often did ravens croak
                 as they divided among themselves
                 the
                 cadavers,
                 while jackdaws announced in
                 their
                 own jargon
                 that they were about to fly to
                 the feed.
                 Thus it was in those combats
                 and in those campaigns,
                 but such a battle
                 had never been heard of.




                 From early morn to eve,
                 and from eve to dawn,
                 tempered arrows fly,
                 sabers resound against helmets,
275              steel lances crack.
                 In the field unknown, midst the
                 Kuman land,
                 the black sod under hooves
                 was sown with bones
                 and irrigated with gore.
280              As grief they came up
                 throughout the Russian land.

                 What dins unto me,
                 what rings unto me?
                 Early today, before the
285              effulgences,
                 Igor turns back his troops:
                 he is anxious about his dear
                 brother
                 Vsevolod.
                 They fought one day;
290              they fought another;
                 on the third, toward noon,
                 Igor's banners fell.




                 Here the brothers parted
                 on the bank of the swift Kayala.
                 Here was a want of blood-wine;
                 here the brave sons of Rus
295              finished the feast-
                 got their in-laws drunk,
                 and themselves lay down
                 In defense of the Russian land.

                 The grass droops with
300              condolements
                 and the tree with sorrow
                 bends to the ground.
                 For now, brothers, a cheerless
                 tide has
                 set in;
305              now the wild has covered the
                 strong;
                 Wrong has risen among the forces
                 of Dazhbog's grandson;
                 in the guise of a maiden
                 [Wrong] has stepped into
310              Troyan's
                 land;
                 she clapped her swan wings
                 on the blue sea by the Don,
                 [and] clapping, decreased rich
                 times.
315
                 The strife of the princes
                 against the pagans
                 has come to an end,
                 for brother says to brother:
320              "This is mine,
                 and that is mine too,"
                 and the princes have begun to
                 say
                 of what is small:
                 "This is big,"
                 while against their own selves
325              they forge discord,
                 [and] while from all sides with
                 victories
                 the pagans enter the Russian
                 land.

330              O, far has the falcon gone,
                 slaying
                 birds:
                 to the sea!
                 But Igor's brave troops
335              cannot be brought back to life.
                 In their wake the Keener has
                 wailed,
                 and Lamentation has overrun the
                 Russian land,
                 shaking the embers in the
340              inglehorn.
                 The Russian women
                 have started to weep, repeating
                 "Henceforth our dear husbands
                 cannot be thought of by [our]
345              thinking,
                 nor mused about by [our] musing,
                 nor beheld with [our] eyes;
                 as to gold and silver
                 none at all shall we touch!"
350
                 And, brothers, Kiev groaned in
                 sorrow,
                 and so did Chernigov in
                 adversity;
                 anguish spread flowing
                 over the Russian land;
                 abundant woe made its way
                 midst the Russian land,
                 while the princes forged discord

                 against their own selves,
                 [and] while the pagans, with
                 victories
                 prowling over the Russian land,
                 took tribute of one vair
                 from every homestead.




                 All because the two brave sons
                 of
                 Svyatoslav,
                 Igor and Vsevolod,
                 stirred up the virulence
355              that had been all but curbed
                 by their senior,
                 dread Svyatoslav, the Great
                 [Prince] of
                 Kiev,
                 [who kept the Kumans] in dread.

                 He beat down [the Kumans] With
360              his
                 mighty troops
                 and steel swords;
                 invaded the Kuman land;
                 leveled underfoot
365              hills and ravines;
                 muddied rivers and lakes;
                 drained torrents and marshes;
                 and the pagan Kobyaka,
                 out of the Bight of the Sea,
                 from among the great iron Kuman
                 troops,
370              he plucked like a tornado,
                 and Kobyaka dropped in the town
                 of
                 Kiev,
                 in the guard-room of Svyatoslav!




                 Now the Germans,
                 and the Venetians,
                 now the Greeks,
                 and the Moravians
375              sing glory
                 to Svyatoslavm,
                 but chide
                 Prince Igor,
                 for he let abundance sink
380              to the bottom of the Kayala,
                 [and] filled up Kuman rivers
                 with Russian gold.

                 Now Igor the prince
                 has switched
385              from a saddle of gold
                 to a thrall's saddle.
                 Pined away
                 have the ramparts of towns,
                 and merriment
390              has dropped.




                 And Svyatoslav saw a troubled
                 dream
                 in Kiev upon the hills:
                 "This night, from eventide,
                 they dressed me, "he said, "with
395              a black
                 pall
                 on a bedstead of yew.
                 They ladled out for me
                 blue wine mixed with bane. From
400              the empty quivers
                 of pagan tulks
                 they rolled great pearls
                 onto my breast,
                 and caressed me.
405              Already the traves
                 lacked the master-girder
                 in my gold-crested tower!

                 All night, from eventide,
                 demon ravens croaked.
410              On the outskirts of Plesensk
                 there was a logging sleigh,
                 and it was carried to the blue
                 sea!"




                 And the boyars said to the
                 Prince:
                 "Already, Prince, grief has
                 enthralled
                 the mind;
                 for indeed two falcons
415              have flown off the golden
                 paternal,
                 throne
                 in quest of the town of
                 Tmutorokan --
                 or at least to drink a helmetful
420              of the
                 Don.
                 Already the falcons' winglets
                 have been clipped
                 by the pagans' sabers,
                 and the birds themselves
425              entangled in iron meshes."

                 Indeed, dark it was
                 on the third day [of battle]:
                 two suns were murked,
430              both crimson pillars
                 were extinguished,
                 and with them both young moons,
                 Oleg and Svyatoslav,
                 were veiled with darkness
                 and sank in the sea.
435
                 "On the river Kayala
                 darkness has covered the light.
                 Over the Russian land
                 the Kumans have spread,
                 like a brood of pards,
440              and great turbulence
                 imparted to the Hin.

                 "Already disgrace
                 has come down upon glory.
445              Already thralldom
                 has crashed down upon freedom.
                 Already the daeva
                 has swooped down upon the land.
                 And lo! Gothic fair maids
450              have burst into song
                 on the shore of the blue sea:
                 chinking Russian gold,
                 they sing demon times;
                 they lilt vengeance for
                 Sharokan;
                 and already we, [your] Guards,
                 hanker
                 after mirth."




                 Then the great Svyatoslav
                 let fall a golden word
                 mingled with tears,
                 and he said:
455              "O my juniors, Igor and
                 Vsevolod!
                 Early did you begin
                 to worry with swords the Kuman
                 land,
460              and seek personal glory;
                 but not honorably you triumphed
                 for not honorably you shed
                 pagan blood.
                 Your brave hearts are forged of
                 hard
465              steel
                 and proven in turbulence;
                 [but] what is this you have done
                 to my silver hoarness!

                 "Nor do I see any longer
470              the sway of my strong,
                 and wealthy,
                 and multimilitant
                 brother Yaroslav 
                 with his Chernigov boyars,
475              with his Moguts, and Tatrans,
                 and Shelbirs, and Topchaks,
                 and Revugs, and Olbers;
                 for they without bucklers,
                 with knives in the legs of their
                 boots,
480              vanquish armies with war cries,
                 to the ringing of ancestral
                 glory.

                 "But you said:
                 Let us be heroes on our own,
                 let us by ourselves grasp the
485              anterior
                 glory
                 and by ourselves share the
                 posterior
490              one.
                 Now is it so wonderful,
                 brothers,
                 for an old man to grow young?
                 When a falcon has moulted,
                 he drives birds on high:
                 he does not allow any harm
                 to befall his nest; but here is
                 the trouble:
                 princes are of no help to me."




                 Inside out have the times
                 turned.
                 Now in Rim [people] scream
                 under Kuman sabers,
495              and Volodimir [screams]
                 under wounding blows.
                 Woe and anguish to you,
                 [Volodimir]
                 son of Gleb!

                 Great prince Vsevolod!
                 Do you not think of flying here
                 from
500              afar
                 to safeguard the paternal golden
                 throne?
                 For you can with your oars
                 scatter in drops the Volga,
505              and with your helmets
                 scoop dry the Don.
                 If you were here,
                 a female slave would fetch
                 one nogata,
510              and a male slave,
                 one rezana;
                 for you can shoot on land live
                 bolts-
                 [these are] the bold sons of
                 Gleb!
515              You turbulent Rurik, and [you]
                 David!
                 Were not your men's gilt helmets
                 afloat on blood?
                 Do not your brave knights roar
520              like
                 bulls
                 wounded by tempered sabers
                 in the field unknown?
                 Set your feet, my lords,
                 in your stirrups of gold
                 to avenge the wrong of our time,
525              the Russian land,
                 and the wounds of Igor,
                 turbulent son of Svyatoslav.

                 Eight-minded Yaroslav of Galich!
                 You sit high on your gold-forged
                 throne;
530              you have braced the Hungarian
                 mountains
                 with your iron troops;
                 you have barred the [Hungarian]
                 king's
535              path;
                 you have closed the Danube's
                 gates,
                 hurling weighty missiles over
                 the clouds,
540              spreading your courts to the
                 Danube.
                 Your thunders range
                 over lands;
                 you open Kiev's gates;
                 from the paternal golden throne
                 you shoot at sultans
545              beyond the lands.
                 Shoot [your arrows], lord,
                 at Konchak, the pagan slave,
                 to avenge the Russian land,
                 and the wounds of Igor,
550              turbulent son of Svyatoslav!

                 And you, turbulent Roman, and
                 Mstislav!
                 A brave thought
555              carries your minds to deeds.
                 On high you soar to deeds
                 in your turbulence,
                 like the falcon
                 that rides the winds
                 as he strives in turbulence
560              to overcome the bird.
                 For you have iron breastplates
                 under Latin helmets;
                 these have made the earth
                 rumble,
                 and many nations-
565              Hins, Lithuanians, Yatvangians,
                 Dermners, and Kumans-
                 have dropped their spears
                 and bowed their heads
                 beneath those steel swords.

570              But already, [O] Prince Igor,
                 the sunlight has dimmed,
                 and, not goodly, the tree sheds
                 its
                 foliage.
575              Along the Ros and the Sula
                 the towns have been distributed;
                 and Igor's brave troops
                 cannot be brought back to life!
                 The Don, Prince, calls you,
580              and summons the princes to
                 victory.
                 The brave princes, descendants
                 of
                 Oleg,
                 have hastened to fight.
585              Ingvar and Vsevolod,
                 and all three sons of Mstislav,
                 six-winged [hawks?] of no mean
                 brood!
                 Not by victorious sorts
                 did you grasp your patrimonies.
590              Where, then, are your golden
                 helmets,
                 and Polish spears, and shields?
                 Bar the gates of the prairie
                 with your sharp arrows
                 to avenge the Russian land
                 and the wounds of Igor,
                 turbulent son of Svyatoslav.

                 No longer indeed does the Sula
                 flow
                 in silvery streams
                 for [the defense of] the town of
                 Pereyaslavl;
                 and the Dvina, too,
                 flows marsh-like
                 for the erstwhile dreaded
                 townsmen of Polotsk
                 to the war cries of pagans.




                 Alone Izyaslav son of Vasilko
                 made his sharp swords ring
                 against Lithuanian helmets-
                 [only] to cut down the glory
595              of his grandsire Vseslav,
                 and himself he was cut down
                 by Lithuanian swords
                 under [his] vermilion shields,
                 [and fell] on the gory grass
600              [as if?] with a beloved one upon
                 a bed

                 And [Boyan] said:
                 "Your Guards, Prince,
                 birds have hooded with their
605              wings
                 and beasts have licked up their
                 blood:'
                 Neither your brother Bryachislav
                 nor your other oneVsevolodwas
                 there;
610              thus all alone
                 you let your pearly soul drop
                 out of your brave body
                 through your golden gorget.




                 Despondent
                 are the voices;
                 drooped
                 has merriment;
615              [only?] blare
                 the town trumpets.

                 Yaroslav, and all the
                 descendants of
                 Vseslav!
                 The time has come
620              to lower your banners,
                 to sheathe your dented swords.
                 For you have already departed
                 from the ancestral glory;
                 for with your feuds
625              you started to draw the pagans
                 onto the Russian land,
                 onto the livelihood
                 of Vseslav.
                 Indeed, because of those
630              quarrels
                 violence came
                 from the Kuman land.




                 In the seventh age of Troyan,
                 Vseslav cast lots
                 for the damsel he wooed.
                 By subterfuge,
635              propping himself upon mounted
                 troops,
                 he vaulted toward the town of
                 Kiev
                 and touched with the staff [of
                 his lance]
                 the Kievan golden throne.
640
                 Like a fierce beast
                 he leapt away from them [the
                 troops?],
                 at midnight,
645              out of Belgorod,
                 having enveloped himself
                 in a blue mist.
                 Then at morn,
                 he drove in his battle axes,
650              opened the gates of Novgorod,
                 shattered the glory of Yaroslav,
                 [and] loped like a wolf
                 to the Nemiga from Dudutki.

                 On the Nemiga the spread sheaves
655              are heads,
                 the flails that thresh
                 are of steel,
                 lives are laid out on the
                 threshing floor,
                 souls are winnowed from bodies.
                 Nemiga's gory banks are not
660              sowed
                 goodly-
                 sown with the bones of Russia's
                 sons.

665              Vseslav the prince judged men;
                 as prince, he ruled towns;
                 but at night he prowled
                 in the guise of a wolf.
                 From Kiev, prowling, he reached,
670              before the cocks [crew],
                 Tmutorokan.
                 The path of Great Hors,
                 as a wolf, prowling, he crossed.
                 For him in Polotsk
675              they rang for matins early
                 at St. Sophia the bells;
                 but he heard the ringing in
                 Kiev.
                 Although, indeed, he had
680              a vatic soul in a doughty body,
                 he often suffered calamities.
                 Of him vatic Boyan
                 once said, with sense, in the
                 tag:
685              "Neither the guileful nor the
                 skillful,
                 neither bird [nor bard],
                 can escape God's judgment."
                 Alas! The Russian land shall
                 moan
                 recalling her first years
                 and first princes!
690              Vladimir of yore, he,
                 could not be nailed to the
                 Kievan hills.
                 Now some of his banners
                 have gone to Rurik and others to
                 David,
                 but their plumes wave in
                 counterturn.

                 Lances hum on the Dunay.
                 The voice of Yaroslav's daughter
                 is
                 heard;
                 like a cuckoo, [unto the field?]

                 unknown,
                 early she calls.




                 "I will fly, like a cuckoo," she
                 says,
                 "down the Dunay.
                 I will dip my beaver sleeve
695              in the river Kayala.
                 I will wipe the bleeding wounds
                 on the prince's hardy body."
                 Yaroslav's daughter early weeps,
                 in Putivl on the rampart,
                 repeating:
700
                 "Wind, Great Wind!
                 Why, lord, blow perversely?
                 Why carry those Hinish dartlets
                 on your light winglets
705              against my husband's warriors?
                 Are you not satisfied
                 to blow on high, up to the
                 clouds,
                 rocking the ships upon the blue
710              sea?
                 Why, lord, have you dispersed
                 my gladness all over the feather
                 grass?"
                 Yaroslav's daughter early weeps,
                 in Putivl on the rampart,
715              repeating:

                 "O Dnepr, famed one!
                 You have pierced stone hills
                 through the Kuman land.
720              You have lolled upon you
                 Svyatoslav's galleys
                 as far as Kobyaka's camp.
                 Loll up to me, lord, my husband
                 that I may not send my tears
                 seaward thus early."
725              Yaroslav's daughter early weeps,

                 in Putivl on the rampart,
                 repeating:

730              "Bright and thrice-bright Sun!
                 To all you are warm and comely;
                 Why spread, lord, your scorching
                 rays
                 on [my] husband's warriors;
                 [why] in the waterless field
                 parch their bows
                 with thirst,
                 close their quivers
                 with anguish?"




                 The sea plashed at midnight;
                 waterspouts advance in mists;
                 God [?] points out to Igor
                 the way from the Kuman land
735              to the Russian land,
                 to the paternal golden throne.

                 The evening glow has faded:
                 Igor sleeps;
                 Igor keeps vigil;
740              Igor in thought measures the
                 plains
                 from the Great Don
                 to the Little Donets;
                 [bringing] a horse at midnight,
745              Ovlur whistled beyond the river:
                 he bids Igor heed
                 Igor is not to be [held in
                 bondage].
                 [Ovlur] called,
750              the earth rumbled,
                 the grass swished,
                 the Kuman tents stirred.
                 Meanwhile, like an ermine,
                 Igor has sped to the reeds,
755              and [settled] upon the water
                 like a white duck.
                 He leaped upon the swift steed,
                 and sprang off it,
                 [and ran on,] like a demon wolf,
                 and sped to the meadowland of
760              the
                 Donets,
                 and, like a falcon,
                 flew up to the mists,
                 killing geese
765              and swans,
                 for lunch,
                 and for dinner,
                 and for supper.

                 And even as Igor, like a falcon,
                 flew,
770              Vlur, like a wolf, sped,
                 shaking off by his passage the
                 cold
                 dew;
                 for both had worn out
775              their swift steeds.
                 Says the Donets:
                 "Prince Igor!
                 Not small is your magnification,
                 and Konchak's detestation,
                 and the Russian land's
780              gladness."

                 Igor says:
                 "O Donets!
                 Not small is your magnification:
785              you it was who lolled
                 a prince on [your] waves;
                 who carpeted for him
                 with green grass
                 your silver banks;
790              who clothed him
                 with warm mists
                 under the shelter of the green
                 tree;
                 who had him guarded
795              by the golden-eye on the water,
                 the gulls on the currents,
                 the [crested] black ducks on the
                 winds.
800              Not like that," says [Igor],
                 "is the river Stugna:
                 endowed with a meager stream,
                 having fed [therefore]
                 on alien rills and runners,
                 she rent between bushes
                 a youth, prince Rostislav,
                 imprisoning him.
805              On the Dnepr's dark bank
                 Rostislav's mother weeps the
                 youth.
                 Pined away have the flowers with
                 condolement,
                 and the tree has been bent to
810              the
                 ground with sorrow."

                 No chattering magpies are these:

                 on Igor's trail
                 Gzak and Konchak come riding.
815              Then the ravens did not caw,
                 the grackles were still, the
                 [real] magpies did not chatter;
                 only the woodpeckers, in the
                 osiers
820              climbing,
                 with taps marked [for Igor] the
                 way to
                 the river.
                 The nightingales
825              with gay songs
                 announce the dawn.

                 Says Gzak to Konchak:
                 "Since the falcon to his nest is
830              flying,
                 let us shoot dead the falcon's
                 son
                 with our gilded arrows."
                 Says Konchak to Gza [sic]:
                 "Since the falcon to his nest is
                 flying
                 why, let us entoil the falconet
                 by means of a fair maiden."
                 And says Gzak to Konchak:
                 "if we entoil him
                 by means of a fair maiden,
                 neither the falconet,
                 nor the fair maiden,
                 shall we have,
                 while the birds will start
                 to beat us
                 in the Kuman field."




                 Said Boyan, song-maker
                 of the times of old,
                 [of the campaigns] of the kogans
                 --
835              Svyatoslav, Yaroslav, Oleg:
                 "Hard as it is for the head
                 to be without shoulders
                 bad it is for the body
                 to be without head," --
840              for the Russian land
                 to be without Igor.

                 The sun shines in the sky:
                 Prince Igor is on Russian soil.
                 Maidens sing on the Danube;
845              [their?] voices weave
                 across the sea
                 to Kiev.
                 Igor rides up the Borichev
                 [slope]
850              to the Blessed Virgin of the
                 Tower;
                 countries rejoice,
                 cities are merry.




                 After singing a song
                 to the old princes
                 one must then sing to the young:

                 Glory to Igor son of Svyatoslav;
855              to Wild Bull Vsevolod;
                 to Vladimir son of Igor!
                 Hail, princes and knights
                 fighting for the Christians
                 against the pagan troops!
860              To the princes glory, and to the
                 knights
                 [glory]-Amen.

: 37, Last-modified: Fri, 08 May 1998 04:28:46 GMT