The Song of Igor's Campaign,
Igor son of Svyatoslav and grandson of Oleg.

The grass droops with condolements
and the tree with sorrow
bends to the ground.
For now, brothers, a cheerless tide has
set in;
now the wild has covered the strong;
Wrong has risen among the forces
of Dazhbog's grandson;
in the guise of a maiden
[Wrong] has stepped into Troyan's
land;
she clapped her swan wings
on the blue sea by the Don,
[and] clapping, decreased rich times.

The strife of the princes
against the pagans
has come to an end,
for brother says to brother:
"This is mine,
and that is mine too,"
and the princes have begun to say
of what is small:
"This is big,"
while against their own selves
they forge discord,
[and] while from all sides with victories
the pagans enter the Russian land.

O, far has the falcon gone, slaying
birds:
to the sea!
But Igor's brave troops
cannot be brought back to life.
In their wake the Keener has wailed,
and Lamentation has overrun the
Russian land,
shaking the embers in the inglehorn.
The Russian women
have started to weep, repeating
"Henceforth our dear husbands
cannot be thought of by [our] thinking,
nor mused about by [our] musing,
nor beheld with [our] eyes;
as to gold and silver
none at all shall we touch!"

And, brothers, Kiev groaned in sorrow,
and so did Chernigov in adversity;
anguish spread flowing
over the Russian land;
abundant woe made its way
midst the Russian land,
while the princes forged discord
against their own selves,
[and] while the pagans, with victories
prowling over the Russian land,
took tribute of one vair
from every homestead.