Topic: Donetsk, Kharkov, Lugansk - way to Russia. - page 27. (Read 734937 times)

                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.