Translation dedicated to the tragic fate
of the crucified Russia and its people
THE *SLOVO OF IGOR'S FOLK CAMPAIGN 1
(XII century)
1 Wouldn't it
Please us, o brethren,
To begin, in antique words,
The martial reckoning
Of Igor's folk camaign,
The deed of *Igor Svetoslavitch! 2
Anon this poem shall begin
By the *bylines of his time, 3
But not after Boyan's conceiving
10 Wise *Boyan in a wonderous way, 4
When he did ween creating epic paean
He would flow by thought o'er the *Tree, 5
Like a rock-eagle under the clouds.
And he would remember riotous accents
Of the primary times of civil strife,
Then his lucid thoughts flashed
As falcon on a fleet of swans,
Younder swopped souse,
She of the flock first sang:
20 Of the olden *Yaroslov, 6
Of brave *Mstislav 7
Who struck *Rededya down
Before the *Kassog horde, 8
And *Handsome Roman, son of Svetoslav. 9
Boyan, o brethren,
Let not the lucid falcons
Swoop on the fleet of swans,
His wise fingers swept only
O'er the living silver strings,
30 And they themselves rang
Glory to the King.
Let us, o brethren, begin this story
From *Elder Vladimir 10
Unto Igor nowadays.
For the divined sires' wisdom in resolve,
And whetting his heart and soul with courage
He perceived a martial spirit of the *Veda 11
And imaged a march of his brave folks
Into the *Polovtsian wild field, 12
40 For the good of the Russian land.
Then Igor beheld the Lightful Sun,
And he sees:
From the welkin
All his warriors are shrouded in Darkness,
And he heeds his harangue unto the folk:
"O Brethren and *druxhino! 13
We're better to be dead
Than taken prisoners;
Let's, o brethren,
50 Mount our gallant steeds
And behold the blue *Don!" 14
The King's longing o'erwhelmed his mind,
And he pities to o'erstep an evil omen,
He's mighty temped toward the great Don,
"I'm willing, - says he, - to break mine spear
At the end of the Polovtsian field,
With ye, o *Russiches, willing 15
To lose mine hardy head,
And it pleases me to drink
60 A helmet of the Don."
O, Boyan, old Bard,
*Philomel of the native Eld! 16
Lo, thou would'st jug and trill for the folks,
Springing a nightingale o'er th, imagination Tree,
Soaring in mind up to the clouds,
Claiming gloties of the both halves
Of our tempestuous time,
Roaming the *Troyan track 17
O'er dale and down.
70 Thou wert to sing of Igor,
Yon *Oleg's grandson. 18
No storm carries the falcons
O,er the wide wild fields,
Daws' flock-n-flush Hie in flurried
Toward the great Don.
Why were it not to sing of them,
O, Wise Boyan,
*Veles' grandson! 19
Chargers neigh o'er the *Sula, 20
80 Glory rings up in *Kiev, 21
Clarions clang in *Novegrad, 22
Banners are on in *Putivl. 23
Igor attends his dear brother *Vsevolod 24
And *Bui Tur Vsevolod tells him:
"*Odin brother, Odin bright light 25
Art thou, o Igor of mine,
We're both *Svetoslavitches; 26
Saddle, o dear brother,
Thine gallant steeds,
90 And mine are ready,
They are saddled
In advance at *Kursk; 27
And *Kuryane of mine 28
Are brought to the meet,
Schooled under trumpets,
Nursed under helmets,
Fed from a spear-head of the shaft;
And they know well the ways,
They're versed in ravines;
100 Their bows're drawn,
Their quivers made,
Their sabres sharp;
And they ride themselves
As grey wolves in the field,
Seekeng them honour
And glory to the King."
Then *Knyaz Igor stepped 29
Into the golden stirrup
And rode o'er the open country.
110 The sun o'ersteps his way in darkness,
The night groans him in thunderstorm,
Birds bolted before,
Beasts' whistle's stark,
*Div startled stricken, 30
Cries at the top of the Tree,
Makes listen to the land unknown,
*Volga and *Pomorye, and *Posulye 31,32
And *Surozh, and *Korsun, all in all 33,34
And to thee, *Tmutorokan's blockhead; 35
120 And *Polovtsi drove roadless 36
Toward the great Don,
Carts creak in midnight,
The swans let loose say:
"Igor leads his warriors to the Don."
Now birds of prey gloat o'er
His misfotunes in oak-woods,
Wolves growl threatening in ravines,
Eagles screaming call beasts for bones,
Foxes yelp evil at the red shields.
130 O Russian Land!
Whether their be beyomg *Shelomyan 37
For long.
The night grows murk.
Evening glow fell into the light.
Shadows covered the fields.
Nightingales' judding is on.
Daws' chatter swoons strong.
Russiches barred the great fields
With the red ponderous shields,
140 Seeking them honour
And glory to the King.
Early on a Friday morn
They have trampltd down
Vile pagan Polovtsian horde,
And scattered like reeds o'er the field,
Proud of booty, they have rushed away
Beautious Polovtsian maidens
And, with them, gold and satin
And precious refined samite;
150 They have started bridging
They swamps and mires with tents
And mantles, and leather coats,
And any Polovtsian embroidery brocade.
The scarlet banner, the white standard,
The scarlet streamer and the silver shaft
Belong to brave Svetoslavitch.
Oleg's brave nest
Dreams in the field,
Far away it has flown,
160 Should not be given offence
By the falcon, nor by the gerfalcon,
Nor by thou, o ravening raven,
The *vile pagan Polovets. 38
And *Kza runs as a grey wolf
*Konchak trails a track for him 39
Toward the great Don.
Full early on the morrow morn
Bloody dawns herald the light.
Lowering clouds move from the main,
170 Strive to o'ercast the *Dazhd-sun, 40
And blue lightnings streak therein.
A dread thunderbolt shall peal,
A shower of arrows shall rain.
From beyong the great Don.
There shall spears be broke,
There shall sabres strike
The Polovtsian helmets
On the *Kayala river 41
By the great Don.
180 O Russian Land!
Thou art now beyond Shelomyan.
Yon hards winds, *Stri-bog's grandsons, 42
Blow arrows from the billow
Unto Igor's brave folks.
The earth groans,
Rivers run turbid,
Diamond dewdrops cover the fields;
Banners wave wanton in the wind:
Polovtsi are coming from the Don,
190 From the swelling billow,
And from all the climes, -
Russian folks retreated.
*Bas' sons barred, 43
With yells, the fields,
And brave Russiches fenced themselves
Behind the red ponderous shields.
O *Yar Tur Vsevolod, 44
Thou hold'st the foes with arrows,
Clang'st tine *Kharalug swords 45
200 Upon their heavy helmets.
Wherever thou, o Tur, hast galloped,
Resplendent in thine golden crest,
There lie vile pagan Polovtsian heads,
Their *Avar helmets cleft in two, 46
With tempered steel sabres,
By thou, o Yar Tur Vsevolod.
He curses, o dear brethren, his wounds
Forgetting honour and himself in the fight,
And the native *grad of Chernigov, 47
210 His fond father's golden throne,
And his lovely Lady, belle *Glebovna's 48
Sweet pleasing habits and wonts.
There had been the *Troyan Eternity 49
There had passed the *Leta of Yaro-gloria, 50
There were Oleg's matrial camaigns,
The deeds of Oleg, son of light an' glory.
Yon Oleg fought sedition with his sword
And sowed arrows of battles for jusrice;
220 He steps into the golden stirrup
In a kingly grad of Tmutorokan.
The same remote rumour was heard
By *Great Yaroslav, son of Vsevolod; 51
And *Vladimir stopped his ears for fear 52
All morns in Chernigov.
*Knyaz Vseslavitch, to trial 53
And spread the singed green
Like grisly grass weeds
For Oleg's gievous vrong,
230 A brave and young King.
From the same Kayala *Svetopolk 54
Went by his father's will,
Between Hungarian amblers,
To the *Light Sophia's fane in Kiev 55
Then, at the time of *Oleg, son of grief an' glory 56
There disperses, squandered in severe strife,
And perishes the life of Dazhd-bog's grandson,
In sovereign scourge and sedition
Shortening the age of man.
240 Then, in the Russian land,
Yormen cried 'hurry up' on the furrow rarely,
But ravens croaked often and deadly yelled
Dividing corpses among themselves,
And daws chattered crowing,
Wanting to fly for eating.
That was in yon wanton wars
And yon martial campaigns,
But nothing now is heard of a battle like this.
From the early morn till the eventide,
250 From the evening till the light dawn
Tempered steel-tipped arrows fly,
Sabres clang on heavy helmets,
Kharalug spears clash
In the field unknown,
Amid the Polovtsian land.
Black earth is sown with the bones
Under the hooves of proud steeds
And soaked wet with the blood,
It arises in grief and woe o'er the Russian land.
260 What is sounding to me,
What is ringing to me lately,
So earky before the dawns?
Igor tirns his folks about
In pity for his dear brother Vsevolod.
They fought all day long,
And they fought another,
On the thitrd noonday
Igor's banners fell.
Brothers parted then
270 On the bank of the swift Kayala.
There was no bloody wine left,
Brave Russiches ended ripe revel,
Drank the rivals drunk with blood
And fell themselves in the fight
For the good of the Russian land.
In rue and woe the grass wilts,
And the tree droops down
In dolour to eath.
280 Thus, o brethren,
The hard times came on,
Hermits' spirituality hidden,
There rose offence to the powers
Of Dazhd-bog's grandson.
He entered as a *Deva into the Troyan land, 57
Outspread swan-like wings in the serence
Splashing herself in the Don.
The blissful times waned.
The strife of kings brought
290 Peril from the vile pagans,
For brother said to brother:
"This is mine, and that is mine too."
And the kings began to speak
On the small it was the great,
And they forged their own perdition...
Vile pagans coming from all the climes
Did reive in triumph the Russian land.
O, far away would the falcon fly
Driving wild-fowl into the serene,
300 But Igor's brave folk shal not resurrect!
This do *Karna and *Zhalya lament 58,59
Leaping o'er the Russian motherland,
Smelling no odour in the flaming rose.
Russian wives, woebegone, wept and wailed:
"Never again we'll see our darling *Ladoes 60
In thoughts, nor in dreams,
Nor with our own eyes;
And neither silver, nor gold
There is need to entreat again."
310 O brethren, Great Kiev groaned in trouble,
And Chernigov grieved in peril of calamity;
Woe and misery o'erflooded the Russian land,
Flowed like blissful sorrow o'er the native land,
And the kings forged their own perdition...
The pagans themselves, raiding ready,
Did reive in triumph the Russian land
And laid under tribute, -
*Belya per each household, 61
Lo, our both brave Svetoslavitches,
320 Courageous Igor and Vsevolod
Have given the world the lie
Which, say, lulled their "father",
*Formidable *Svetoslav, 62
Great Knyaz of Kiev.
In terror, - says he,
Made he trepidate foes (!)
By the might of his host
And the Kharalug swords;
He invaded the Polovtsian land,
330 Trampled hills and ravines,
Muddied rivers and lakes,
Seared streams and swamps;
He swept vile pagan *Kobyak from coast, 63
Snatched him like a whirlwind
From the strong
Graet Polovtsian gang,
And Kobyak fell prostrate
Before Svetoslav in the grad of Kiev,
In his sovereign splendid hall.
340 There Germans and *Veneds,
There Greeks and *Moravians
Sing the glory og Svetoslav,
And they curse Knyaz Igor,
For the bliss be plunged
Unto the Kayala bottom,
Yon polute Polovtsian river,
Russian gold being scattered therein.
And King Igor dismounted the golden saddle
But for that of a nomad's thrall there.
350 Gloomy were the glory-grounds of grads,
And high spirits sank downward.
And Svetoslav dreams a dim dream:
"On the hills of Great Kiev,
On that might from the vesper
The bodies have charred,
Scorched black, - says he,
On the sombre yew-tree pyre
Mine sirrahs scoop a blue wine
Mingled with woe in moonshine,
360 Strew big pearls on mine bosom
Talking of the grim misfortune,
Out of a narrow snake-like quiver,
And they nestle and fondle me.
No king-ornament's decked already
The boards in mine gold-peaked tower.
All the night long from the vesper
Bas' ravens have croacked cruelly
On a waste wold nera *Plyesyensk 65
Yelling into the wilds of *Kisani, 66
370 And there's no way into the serene."
And *boyards say to the Sovereign: 67
"Alas, o Knyaz, sorrow seized the mind,
Juast the two falcons have flown
From their father's golden throne
To look for the grad of Tmutorokan,
And it pleases them to drink
A helmetful of the Don.
The falcons, in their wing-beat,
380 Trampled vile pagans under the sabres
And ensnared themselves in iron gyves."
Dark it was on the day of *Godin: 68
The two suns grew murk forever,
The both purple pillars expired,
And, with them, two young moons,
*Oleg and *Svetoslav became 69
Shrouded in a sable shade.
On the river, on the Kayala,
The Darkness engulfed the Light
390 And immersed it into the deep:
Polovtsi o'erran the Russian land
Like the pard's black brute brood,
And great violence passed unto the *Huns 70
There bellows blasphemy unto the *Faith 71
There reign the need and misery supreme,
There the Div dashed down to earth.
Fair *Gothic Mays hie nimble 72
To the heaven's blue brink
Jingling the Russian gold,
400 Sing of the *Boos' time,
Cherish *Sharukan's revenge.
And we, druzhina, do glut for glee.
Then the Great Svetoslav
Dropped a golden word
Embalmed in his brine,
And he says:
"O, you're mine kin sons, Igor and Svetoslav!
Early you've begun glaring in glee,
410 Ruining the Polovtsian land by victor swords
And seeking glories for yourselves.
Impiety's come o'er you,
In direful dishonour
You spill vile pagan blood.
Your brave hearts're forged
In the hard Kharalug steel
And hardened in the violence of battles.
What have you done
Unto mine silvery snow?
420 No more do I see mifht
Of mine strong and wealthy,
And many warrior, brother *Yaroslav 75
With Chernigov chieftines and champions
And those the mountains of *Tatra 76
And from the *Shelba and the *Topchaks,
And from the *Revuga and *Elba rivers. 77
Those wanquish the foes shieldless,
But with daggers and war-cries,
Resounding the forefathers' fame.
430 Your boast is poor in the courage of years:
"We ourselves will ravish glory to come
And ourselves will share tha fame of old."
And what wonder, o brethren,
The elder would feel young?
When the falcon be strong:
He will make the wild-fowl hover hogh,
He cannot but stand up for his nest.
This evil, o kings, offers me no aid.
440 All the years have come tto mought.
And some shout: "Hurrah"...
Under Polovtsian sabres,
And *Vladimir, even wounded.
Grief and sorrow o'ercome *Gleb's son. 78
O Great Knyaz *Vsevolod! 79
I think not of thine flying from afar
To guard the father's golden throne.
Thou canst splash the Volga itself
In thine warriors' secure oarage
450 And scoop by helmets the Don.
If thou thyself wert here,
A girl-slave would be a *nogata,
And a nomad prisoner, *tiesani. 80
Thou canst lance and lunger
Thine live ranks o'er land,
The valorous *sons of Gleb. 81
And thou, o raging *Rurik and *David, 82
Don't your golden helmets
Welter in a stream of blood?
460 Don't the wounded by tempered steel sabres,
Bellow like burly wild bulls
In your brave druzhina
In the field unknown?
Step, *O Dan, 83
Into your golden stirrups,
Avenge the wrong of this time,
Stand up for the Russian land
And for Igor's glory wounds,
The hero bold Svetoslavitch!
470 O *Galich Osmomysl Yaroslav! 84
Thou sittest on high
On thine gold-bound throne,
Reinforcest the Hungarian mountine vange
By thine war-hardened strength
Barring the stride of the Kingdom,
Closing the *Danube gate
By the ponderous shields and swords,
Making justice down the Danube o'er the clouds. 85
Thine dread-bolted thunders cross the climes,
480 Thou unlock'st the gates of Great Kiev
And shootest at sultans o'er the lands
From thine father's golden throne.
Shoot, O dan of mine, Konchak,
Shoot the vile pagan nomad,
Stand up for the Russian land
And for Igor's gory wounds,
The hero bold Svetoslavitch!
And thou, o fierce *Roman and *Mstislav! 86
Bold thought ascends your aspiring mind
490 Toward the deed of honour and valour.
You hover high in your dazzling daring.
Soaring as the falcon upon the winds,
O'ercoming in ferocity the wild-fowl.
And the core of your go-getters
Are iron cuirasses
Under Latin helmets.
In consternation are many a country
And many a land, when in wanton war:
*Hunnovite, *Litva, *Yatviagi, 87, 88
500 *Deremela, and Polovtsi
Hurled their *palitsas down 89
And bowed their hot heads
Under yon Kharalug swords.
Whether Knyaz Igor shall suffer
The light of the sun as well,
And trees drop dead leaves all o'er ravines;
The foes divided towns among themselves
On the *Ross and *Sula rivers, 90
But Igor's brave folk shall not resurrect!
510 The Don is calling thee, o Knyaz,
It is calling the kings to victory.
*Olgovitches, the brave kings 91
Have come to the battlefield.
Dare-devil *Ingvar and *Vsevolod
And all three sons of *Mstislav, 92
The six-winged scions of a noble nest,
Ravished them plenty of powers
But not by the cast of lots.
Where are your golden helmets
520 And palitsas Polish and shields?
Bar the gates to the Fiend
By your fleet sharp shafts,
Stand up for the Russian land
And for Igor's glory wounds,
The hero bold Svetoslavitch!
The Sula flows no lomger
In still silvery streams
To the grad of *Pereyaslavl,
530 And the *Dvina flows in a bog, 94
New, horrent and Polovtsian,
Under the yells of vile pagans.
*Izyaslav only, *Vasilko son 95
Clanned his sharp swords
On the Lithuanean helmets
In gory augury of the Glory
Of his seer *Sire Vse-Slav, 96
And himself fell a voctim
To the Lithuanean victor swords
540 On the crimson grass under red shields
And came down unto the pure, saying:
"The wings of birds have graced
Thine druzhina, o Knyaz Divine,
And beasts will lick our blood."
Brother *Bryachislav was not there,
Nor the other *Vsevolod present: 97
And one yilded out
His pearl-pure soul
From the brave body
550 Through a golden gorget.
Woeful were the voices,
And the glee waned.
The trumpets drone tidings to the towns:
*God Yaro-Slav
And all *Vse-Slav's grandsons
Have lowered their standards already,
Sheathe the spellbound inglorious swords:
For ye darted past the forefathers' fame.
Ye, with your civil strife,
560 Began to draw vile pagans
Unto the Russian land,
Unto the Vse-Slav's life.
What violence could there be
From that Polovtsian land!
On the seventh *Troyan millenium 100
It fell to the lot of Vse-Slav:
He should be any Deva.
Who, in wily intrigues,
Would mount proud steelds
570 And ride to the graet grad of Kiev,
And honour with a sure shaft
The Kievan golden throne.
Let thee rush from them
Like a ferocious beast
In midnight from *Byelgorod, 101
Raging in the blue shadows,
Having trouble by the morn to triple:
Open the gates of Novegrad,
Shatter grim glory of *Yaroslav 102
580 Leap like a wolf from *Dudutki to the Nemiga. 103
Heads lie strewn like sheaves on the *Nemiga river, 104
Thrashers wield the Kharalug flails,
And anon lives are laid down
Unto the thrashing-floor, -
The soul's rent from the body.
The Nemiga's bloody banks,
Not the ravines, were sown,
Sown with the bones of Russian sons.
Knyaz *Vseslav 105
590 Judging people,
Allotting towns to kings,
Himself scoured like a wolf in midnight
Looking from Kiev for the *Kur of Tmutorokan 106
And crossing like the wolf
The path of *Hors, great God. 107
The Light Sophia's bells
Tolled the mattins for him
About this early in *Polotsk: 108
And he heard the chimes in Kiev.
600 Though a body has the seer soul
It suffers often from the evils.
The Wise Boyan does sing of this
In his first and clever refrain:
"Neither the cunning, nor the crafty,
Nor craftier than the *Bird 109
Shall escape the God's doom."
Oh, all Russian lamd shall mourn and moan
In remembrance of the primary times
And of the original Kings.
610 Yon Elder Vladimir
Cannot be nailed fast
Unto the Kievan hills:
For the Rurik's banners are there,
And the other, undaunted David's,
And they dance floating, flapping apart.
The stormy spears sing on the *Dunay - 110
*Yaroslavna's voice is heard 111
By an unknown *zegzitsa. 112
620 She's calling in the early morn:
"I'll fly down the Dunay like zegzitsa
And lave mine sulken sleeve in the Kayala river,
And stanch mine Knyaz' gory gashes
On his harbitten body."
Yaroslavna's weeping in the early morn
On the glory-ground of Putivl, wailing:
"O Wind, Winnowing Wind!
Wherefore, O Dan, dost thou blow by force?
Wherefore dost thou fling Hunnovite arrows
630 Against mine Lado'es warriors
On thine wanton wings?
Hast thou few mountains
For to blow under the clouds,
Rocking argosies on the blue brine?
Wherefore, O Dan, hast thou scattered
Mine glee o'er the feather-grass?"
Yaroslavna's weeping in the early morn
On the glory-ground of the grad of Putivl, wailing:
"O *Dnieper Slavutitch (flowing in glory)! 113
640 Thou rived those steep rocky rapids
Through all the Polovtsian land.
On thine waves thou rocked
Svetoslav's shock shallops
Down to grim Kobiak's camp;
Let, O Lord, mine Lado love me,
I wouldn't send him mine brine
Into the serene in the early morn."
Yaroslavna's weeping into the blue
On the glory-ground of Putivl, wailing:
650 "O the Lightful and Lightest Luminary-sun!
Thou art warm and sheen for all living things.
Wherefore, O Dan, hast thou spread free
Thine raging rays unto mine Lado'es warriors?
In the waterless field,
Thirst shall shrivel their bows,
Sorrow shall seal up their quivers."
Terribly rages the midnight main,
Water-spouts move by murky mist,
660 God ordains Knyaz Igor the way
From the Polovtsian field
Into the Russian land
For his father's golden throne.
The sunset glow wanes in the evening,
Igor sleeps, Igor keeps vigil,
Igor measures in thought the fields
From the great Don
To the lesser *Donets. 114
A mount is beside him in midnight.
670 *Ovlur has whistled o'er the river 115
Bidding the King come to reason, -
Knyaz Igor is to be no more.
The earth cries and groans,
The grass has rustled.
Polovtsian tents are tied up for the night...
And Knyaz Igor has raced
As an ermine by the reeds
And floated as a white drake on the water.
680 He's leapt unto the gallant steed
And sprung down like a werewolf
Speeding up to the lea of the Donets.
And he's flown as a falcon in the fog
Shooting sharp at geese and swans
For his morn, noon and evening meal.
If Igor flew like the falcon,
Then Ovlur sped like the wolf
Shaking off cold rainbow dew,
Leaving in fleeing their gallant steeds.
690 The Donets says:
"O Knyaz Igor!
No small is thine majesty,
The unloving for Konchak,
And the glee of the Russian land."
Igor answers: "O Donets!
No small is thine grandeur,
Thou rocked the king on thine wee waves,
Spread him green grass
On thine silvery banks,
700 Clothed him in the warm mists
Under the crow of green trees.
Thou watched o'er him
Like a drake on the water,
Like sea-mews on the streams,
Like black ducks in the breeze.
Just not so's - he says - the *Stugna stream 116
With a weaker wild tide,
When it runs riot and swallows up other rills,
It streams, swollen, boats on its way to the mouth.
710 The Dnieper devoured a youth,
*Knyaz Rostislav in the darkness of banks.
Rostislav's mother shall wail
O'er the young King Rostislav.
The flowers will in rue
And the tree droops down
In dolour to earth.
And no magpies chirp:
Kza and Konchak follow
King Igor's vestige.
720 No crows croak there,
Daws do keep mum,
Magpies don't chirp,
Grass-snakes crawl only.
Woodpecerker's peck-taps
Point straight to the river,
Nightingales, in many a merry matin,
Herold the sunny bright light.
And grim Kza says to Konchak:
"Since the falcon flies to his nest,
730 Let us shoot his handsome eyas
With our fleet gilt arrows."
And Konchak says to Kza:
"Since the falcon flies to his nest,
Let us seduce his handsome eyas
With our beautious maiden."
And Kza says to Konchak:
"If we entice him unto our maiden,
We'll have neither the handsome eyas,
Nor we have the beatious maiden,
740 Then birds will bite us here
In the Polovtsian field."
From an ode by the Wise Boyan
*Praising Svetoslav the Brave 118
The bard's of old strains ring true
Of the times of the Yaro-gloria:
(To those craving for the Wise Oleg's power)
"Hard it is for the head without shoulders,
Woe it is to a body without the head."-
750 Woe is to the Russian land without King Igor.
The sun shines in azure skies -
Knyaz Igor in the Russian land.
Devas sing welcome songs on the Dunay,
Their voices wind *zigzag from the welkin to Kiev. 119
Igor rides out by *Borichev upgrade 120
To the Light Graditsa Pirogovtscha.
Hamlets are glad, grads are in glee:
It pleases those, who praised the olden kings,
To crown with heroic hymns the new rising suns.
760 May we sing the glory of Igor Svetoslavitch,
And we sing the glory of Igor Svetoslavitch,
And *Vladimir, son of Igor. 122
May we hail the Kings and their hosts,
Their way of struggle for *Agni-sons, 123
Their way through *Polovtsian hordes. 124
Glory to the Knyazes and their druzhina!
REFERENCES
1. A.B.Turayev. History of the Ancient Orient. OGIZ,
Leningrad, 1935.
2. Longmans English Larousse. The New Enciclopaedia
Dictionary. Longmans, Green Co Ltd. Harlow & London,
1962.
3. B.A.Nikitinykh. Slovo o Polku Igoryavye. Pages of
Russian History. St.Petersburg, 1995, N1 (6).
4. B.A.Romanov. People and Their Way of Life in the
Ancient Rus. State University Publishers, 1947,
Leningrad (in Russian).
5. Irina Petrova. The Lay of the Warfare Waged by Igor. -
Progress Publishers, 1981, Moscow.
