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Although, indeed, he had
a vatic soul in a doughty body,
he often suffered calamities.
Of him vatic Boyan
once said, with sense, in the tag:
"Neither the guileful nor the skillful,
neither bird [nor bard),
can escape God's judgement."
Alas! The Russian land shall moan
recalling her first years
and first princes!
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.
Euphrosyne's incantation
I will fly, like a cuckoo," she says,
"down the Dunay.
I will dip my beaver sleeve
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:
"Wind, Great Wind!
Why, lord, blow perversely?
Why carry those Hinish dartlets
on your light winglets
against my husband's warriors?
Are you not satisfied
to blow on high, up to the clouds,
rocking the ships upon the blue sea?
Why, lord, have you dispersed
my gladness all over the feather grass?"
Yaroslav's daughter early weeps,
in Putivl on the rampart, repeating:
"О Dnepr, famed one!
You have pierced stone hills
through the Kuman land.
You have lolled upon you
Svyatoslav's galleys
as far as Kobyaka's camp.
Loll up to me, lord, my husband
that 1 may not send my tears
seaward thus eariy."
Yaroslav's daughter early weeps,
in Putivl on the rampart, repeating:
"Bright and thrice-bright Sun!
To all you are warm and comely;
Why spread, lord, your scorching rays
on [my] husband warriors;
[why] in the waterless field
parch their bows
with thirst,
close their quivers
with anguish?" |