On the Field of Kulicovo
The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves,
And washes both banks.
In steppe, above light clay of cliffs
Rinks mourn in ranks.
O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain
We see the lengthy way!
It sent an arrow of ancient Tartar reign -
In breast it lay.
The way through steppes and an incessant plight,
Through your, o Russia, lot!
And alien dark and dark of night
I fear not.
Let be the night. We'll ride and light in gloom
Camp-fires late.
The holy flag will flash in fume,
And Khan's steel blade…
And endless battle! We only dream of peace
Through blood and dust…
The mare of steppes flies on and flees,
And tramples the grass…
There's no end! The miles and cliffs flash past
Stop crazy flood!
The frightened clouds go fast,
Sun sets in blood!
Sun sets in blood! Blood streams from heart away!
O cry, my heart…
There's no peace! Through steppe the bay
Prolongs the flight!
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 1994Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, February, 2001
