of Oleg's feuds
There have been the ages of Troyan;
gone are the years of Yaroslav;
there have been the campaigns of Oleg,
Oleg son of Svyatoslav.
That Oleg forged feuds with the sword,
and sowed the land with arrows.
He sets foot in the golden stirrup
in the town of Tmutorokan:
a similar clinking
had been hearkened
by the great Yaroslav of long ago;
and Vladimir son of Vsevolod
every morn [that he heard it]
stopped his ears in Chernigov.
As to Boris son of Vyacheslav,
vainglory brought him to judgment
and on the Kanin [river]
spread out a green pall,
for the offense against Oleg,
the brave young prince.
And from that Kayala
Svyatopolk had his father conveyed–
cradled between Hungarian pacers
to St. Sophia in Kiev.
Then, under Oleg, child of Malglory,
sown were and sprouted discords;
perished the livelihood
of Dazhbog's grandson
among princely feuds;
human ages dwindled.
Then, across the Russian land,
seldom did plowmen shout [hup-hup
to their horses]
but often did ravens croak
as they divided among themselves the
while jackdaws announced in their
that they were about to fly to the feed.
Thus it was in those combats
and in those campaigns,
but such a battle
had never been heard of.