O Boyan, nightingale
of the time of old!
If you were to trill [your praise of]
while hopping, nightingale,
over the tree of thought;
[if you were] Hying in mind
up to the clouds;
[if] weaving paeans around these 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]:
"No storm has swept falcons across
wide fields; flock of daws flee toward the Great
or you might intone thus,
vatic Boyan, grandson of Veles:
"Steeds neigh beyond the Sula;
glory ring in Kiev;
trumpets blare in Novgorod[-Seversk];
banners are raised in Putivl."
Igor waits for his dear brother
And Wild Bull Vfcevolod [arrives and]
says to him:
"My one brother, one bright brightness,
We both are Svyatoslav's sons.
Saddle, brother, your swift steeds.
As to mine, they are ready,
saddled ahead, near Kursk;
as to me Kurskers, they are famous
swaddled under war-horns,
nursed under helmets,
fed from the point of the lance;
to them the trails are tamiliar,
to them the ravines are known,
The bows they have are sirung tight,
the quivers, unclosed,
the sabers, sharpened;
themselves, like gray wolves,
they lope in the field,
seeking for themselves honor,
and for their prince glory".
The Eclipse and
Then Igor glanced up at the bright sun
and saw thai from it with darkness
his warriors were covered.
And Igor says to his Guards:
"Brothers and Guards!
It is better indeed to be slain
than to be enslaved;
so let us mount, brothers,
upon our swift steeds,
and take a look at the blue Don."