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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,
and summons the princes to victory.
The brave princes, descendants of
Oleg,
have hastened to fight.
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.
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.
Izyaslav recalled
Alone izyaslav son of Vasilko
made his sharp sword ring
against Lithuanian helments —
[only] to cut down the glory
of his grandsire X^eslav,
and himself he was cut down
by Lithuanian swords
under [his] vermilion shields,
[and fell] on the gory grass
[as if?] with a beloved one upor a bed.
And [Boyan] said:
"Your Guards, Prince,
birds have hooded with their wings
and beasts have licked up their blood.
Neither your brother Bryachislav
nor your other one — Vsevolod —
there;
thus all alone
you let your pearly soul drop
out of your brave body
through your golden gorget. |