Short History of Russia from Perun to Vladimir the Red Sun

Prince Igor Goes to War

Russian Land, Igor, Polovetsian, prince, glory, Svyatoslav, brave, falcons, plains, sea, pagans, sons, Kiev, swords, wild, brothers, sorrow, Vsevolod, wars, helmets, Oleg, troops, armies, Boyan, song, arrows, grandson, river, battle, saddle, land, Yaroslavna, golden-eyes, lord, Maidens, Vseslav, Konchak, Danube, spears, golden throne.

Part 1

Would it not be fitting, brothers, To begin with ancient words The sorrowful tale of the campaign of Igor, Igor Svyatoslavich.

Now let us begin this song In the manner of tale of today, And not according to the notions of Boyan.

Now the wizard Boyan, If he wanted to make a song to someone, His thought would range through the trees; It would range like a gray wolf across the land, Like a blue eagle against the clouds.

His words would recall the Early years of princely wars: Then he would release then falcons Onto a flock of swans; The first swan to be touched, It would be the first to sing: To old Yaroslav, to brave Mstislav, Who cut down Rededya before the Armies of the Kasogians, To the handsome Roman Svyatoslavich.

Now Boyan, brothers, would not Release ten falcons Onto a flock of swans, But his magic fingers would He place on the living strings, And they themselves would Sound forth praises to the princes.

When you trilled the glory of these armies, Darting as a nightingale about the tree of thought, Flying in your mind against the clouds, As you wove a song of glory To days of yore and present days, Loping along the Troyan path, Across the plains and into the mountains.

Then the song to Igor, grandson of Oleg, Would go like this: "It is not a storm that carries the falcons across the broad plains; Flocks of ravens flee to the Great Don."

Or your song, Wise Boyan, grandson of Veles, Might go like this: "Horses neigh beyond the Sula; Glory rings out in Kiev.

Trumpets blare in Novgorod; Banners flutter in Putivl.

And Igor awaits his dear brother Vsevolod."

Their bows are drawn tight, And their quivers are open, Their sabers are sharp, And they ride like gray wolves across the plains, Seeking for themselves honor And for their Prince, glory."

Then Igor looked up at the bright sun, And saw that from it all his troops Were covered with darkness.

"I wish," he said, "to break My spear with you, O men of Rus,' At the far end of the Polovetsian plain.

I shall lay down my head or Drink with my helmet from the Don."

Then Prince Igor set his foot in the golden stirrup And rode out into the open plain.

O Russian Land, you are Already behind the hill!

From early morning of the fifth day, They trampled under foot the army of pagan Polovetsians.

There will be great thunder And rain will fall like arrows from the Great Don.

Lo the winds, grandsons of Stribog, Blow as arrows from the sea Against the brave troops of Igor.

The devils' sons have sealed off the steppe with their shouts, And the brave Russians have barried it with their red shields.

You stand ahead of all, Flinging arrows at the enemy, Striking their helmets with your kharalug swords.

Gone are the wars of Oleg, Oleg Svyatoslavich.

And from these bones There sprang up sorrow Throughout the Russian Land.

But the princes continued to sow discord among themselves, And the pagans roamed the Russian Land in war, Taking as tribute from each cottage A squirrel's skin.

And so the two brave sons of Svyatoslav, Igor and Vsevolod, by their willfulness Awakened the evil that their father Svyatoslav, The awesome Grand Prince of Kiev, Had lulled by his might.

To the depths of the Kayala, the Polovetsian river, Pouring into it the gold of Russia.

Now Prince Igor has given up his golden saddle For the saddle of a slave.

Have you not thought to fly from afar, To guard the Golden Throne of your fathers?

For you can splash the Volga with your oars And lade the Don with your helmets.

Had you been there, then Would a female slave sell at a nogata And a male at a rezana.

Across the dry land You can hurl living spears: the daring sons of Gleb!

Is it not your brave warriors Who, wounded by tempered sabers, Scream like wild oxen on an unknown plain!

For the wounds of Igor, the wild son of Svyatoslav!

High do you sit on your gold-bossed throne.

You propped the Hungarian mountains With your iron armies, Barring the path to the king, Blocking the Danube gates, Hurling supplies across the clouds, Meting justice unto the Danube.

Fear of you might flows throughout the lands.

You force the gates of Kiev, And from the Golden Throne of your fathers You shoot at the sultan in a distant land.

For the wounds of Igor, the wild son of Svyatoslav!

Bold thoughts drive your minds to brave deeds.

High do you soar to these daring exploits, Like a falcon sailing the winds: But you would surpass the falcon In your daring.

Threw down their spears And bowed their heads, Under your kharalug swords.

But, O Prince, For Igor the sun's light has dimmed And the trees, to no good, Have dropped their leaves.

Along the Sula, The towns have been portioned; But Igor's brave army will not be raised.

The Don calls you, O Prince, And summons the princes to war; For the sons of Oleg, Brave princes, Have already done battle.

Ingvar and Vsevolod and all three sons of Mstislav: Six-winged ones of a not bad nest!

O Yaroslav, and all the grandsons of Vseslav!

For you have already fallen from the glory of your grandfathers!

For with your sedition you began to bring The pagans into the Russian Land, the patrimony of Vseslav.

In your discord violence came from the Polovetsian Land!

They scattered heads like sheaves of grain, And threshed them with kharalug flails; On the threshing floor they placed men's lives, And winnowed their souls from their bodies.

Why, O Lord, do you blow so strongly!

Is it not enough for you, Flying on high beneath the clouds, To rock the ships upon the Blue Sea!

Maidens sing on the Danube, And their voices waft across the sea to Kiev.

Part 2

Russian Land, Igor, Polovetsian, prince, glory, Svyatoslav, brave, falcons, plains, sea, pagans, sons, Kiev, swords, wild, brothers, sorrow, Vsevolod, wars, helmets, Oleg, troops, armies, Boyan, song, arrows, grandson, river, battle, saddle, land, Yaroslavna, golden-eyes, lord, Maidens, Vseslav, Konchak, Danube, spears, golden throne.

Trumpets Blare in Novgorod

Would it not be fitting, brothers, To begin with ancient words The sorrowful tale of the campaign of Igor, Igor Svyatoslavich.

Now let us begin this song In the manner of tale of today, And not according to the notions of Boyan.

Now the wizard Boyan, If he wanted to make a song to someone, His thought would range through the trees; It would range like a gray wolf across the land, Like a blue eagle against the clouds.

His words would recall the Early years of princely wars: Then he would release then falcons Onto a flock of swans; The first swan to be touched, It would be the first to sing: To old Yaroslav, to brave Mstislav, Who cut down Rededya before the Armies of the Kasogians, To the handsome Roman Svyatoslavich.

Now Boyan, brothers, would not Release ten falcons Onto a flock of swans, But his magic fingers would He place on the living strings, And they themselves would Sound forth praises to the princes.

When you trilled the glory of these armies, Darting as a nightingale about the tree of thought, Flying in your mind against the clouds, As you wove a song of glory To days of yore and present days, Loping along the Troyan path, Across the plains and into the mountains.

Then the song to Igor, grandson of Oleg, Would go like this: "It is not a storm that carries the falcons across the broad plains; Flocks of ravens flee to the Great Don."

Or your song, Wise Boyan, grandson of Veles, Might go like this: "Horses neigh beyond the Sula; Glory rings out in Kiev.

Trumpets blare in Novgorod; Banners flutter in Putivl.

And Igor awaits his dear brother Vsevolod."

Their bows are drawn tight, And their quivers are open, Their sabers are sharp, And they ride like gray wolves across the plains, Seeking for themselves honor And for their Prince, glory."

Then Igor looked up at the bright sun, And saw that from it all his troops Were covered with darkness.

"I wish," he said, "to break My spear with you, O men of Rus,' At the far end of the Polovetsian plain.

I shall lay down my head or Drink with my helmet from the Don."

Then Prince Igor set his foot in the golden stirrup And rode out into the open plain.

O Russian Land, you are Already behind the hill!

From early morning of the fifth day, They trampled under foot the army of pagan Polovetsians.

There will be great thunder And rain will fall like arrows from the Great Don.

Lo the winds, grandsons of Stribog, Blow as arrows from the sea Against the brave troops of Igor.

The devils' sons have sealed off the steppe with their shouts, And the brave Russians have barried it with their red shields.

You stand ahead of all, Flinging arrows at the enemy, Striking their helmets with your kharalug swords.

Gone are the wars of Oleg, Oleg Svyatoslavich.

And from these bones There sprang up sorrow Throughout the Russian Land.

But the princes continued to sow discord among themselves, And the pagans roamed the Russian Land in war, Taking as tribute from each cottage A squirrel's skin.

And so the two brave sons of Svyatoslav, Igor and Vsevolod, by their willfulness Awakened the evil that their father Svyatoslav, The awesome Grand Prince of Kiev, Had lulled by his might.

To the depths of the Kayala, the Polovetsian river, Pouring into it the gold of Russia.

Now Prince Igor has given up his golden saddle For the saddle of a slave.

Have you not thought to fly from afar, To guard the Golden Throne of your fathers?

For you can splash the Volga with your oars And lade the Don with your helmets.

Had you been there, then Would a female slave sell at a nogata And a male at a rezana.

Across the dry land You can hurl living spears: the daring sons of Gleb!

Is it not your brave warriors Who, wounded by tempered sabers, Scream like wild oxen on an unknown plain!

For the wounds of Igor, the wild son of Svyatoslav!

High do you sit on your gold-bossed throne.

You propped the Hungarian mountains With your iron armies, Barring the path to the king, Blocking the Danube gates, Hurling supplies across the clouds, Meting justice unto the Danube.

Fear of you might flows throughout the lands.

You force the gates of Kiev, And from the Golden Throne of your fathers You shoot at the sultan in a distant land.

For the wounds of Igor, the wild son of Svyatoslav!

Bold thoughts drive your minds to brave deeds.

High do you soar to these daring exploits, Like a falcon sailing the winds: But you would surpass the falcon In your daring.

Threw down their spears And bowed their heads, Under your kharalug swords.

But, O Prince, For Igor the sun's light has dimmed And the trees, to no good, Have dropped their leaves.

Along the Sula, The towns have been portioned; But Igor's brave army will not be raised.

The Don calls you, O Prince, And summons the princes to war; For the sons of Oleg, Brave princes, Have already done battle.

Ingvar and Vsevolod and all three sons of Mstislav: Six-winged ones of a not bad nest!

O Yaroslav, and all the grandsons of Vseslav!

For you have already fallen from the glory of your grandfathers!

For with your sedition you began to bring The pagans into the Russian Land, the patrimony of Vseslav.

In your discord violence came from the Polovetsian Land!

They scattered heads like sheaves of grain, And threshed them with kharalug flails; On the threshing floor they placed men's lives, And winnowed their souls from their bodies.

Why, O Lord, do you blow so strongly!

Is it not enough for you, Flying on high beneath the clouds, To rock the ships upon the Blue Sea!

Maidens sing on the Danube, And their voices waft across the sea to Kiev.

Prince Igor Goes To War

prince, river, Kuman, Sviatoslav, city, prairie, glory, Igor, son, helmets, falcons, Vsevolod, Kiev, lgor, swords, lances, valiant, Russian, land, infidel, sea, regiments, brother, battle, warriors, brave, arrows, grandson, god, swans, Russian land, appeals, Iaroslav, wounds, Khan, wind, Konchak, lord, Vseslav, River Danube.

Part 3

Might it not behove us, brethren, to commence in ancient strains the stern lay of Igor's campaign, Igor, son of Sviatoslav?

Then let this begin according to the events of our time and not according to the cunning of Boyan.

For he, Boyan the Seer, when composing a song to someone, soared in his thoughts over the tree (of wisdom), ran as agrey wolf over the land, flew below the clouds as a blue-grey eagle.

When he recalled the feuds of former times he would let loose ten falcons upon a flock of swans.

And the first swan overtaken was the first to sing a song to old Iaroslav, to brave Mstislav, who slew Rededia before the Kasog regiments, and to handsome Roman, son of Sviatoslav.

Boyan, however, did not let loose ten falcons upon the flock of swans.

But rather he lay his wise fingers upon the living strings and they sounded lauds to the princes.

lgor looked up at the bright sun, and saw that all his warriors became enveloped in darkness.

it is better to be killed in battle, than to become a captive.

Let us mount our swift steeds, brethren!

Let us view the blue river Don."

And the prince's mind was seized by ambition.

And the desire to drink from the great river Don concealed the evil omens from him.

"I want to break a lance at the Kuman frontier.

I want, oh, my Russians, either to drink with you Don (water) from my helmet, or to leave my head there.

If you were to sing the glory of the (Russian) campaign, like a nightingale would you soar over the tree (of wisdom), soaring in your mind up under the clouds and singing the glory of both these ages.

You would race along the trail of Trojan, over the prairies and the mountains.

"It is not a storm that has driven the falcons over the wide prairies.

It is a flock of jackdaws racing toward the great river Don."

Glory resounds in the city of Kiev.

Trumpets blare in the city of Novgorod.

Banners fly over the city of Putivl."

"My only brother, lgor, you are my only bright light.

We are both the sons of Sviatoslav.

Brother, order the saddling of your swift steeds, as my (swift steeds) are ready.

They were already saddled at the city of Kursk.

Then Prince Igor set his foot in the golden stirrup and rode into the open prairie.

THE FIRST DAY OF BATTLE: THE RUSSIANS ARE VICTORIOUS.

Early in the morning of Friday the Russians trampled the infidel Kuman armies, and, spreading like arrows over the prairie, they galloped away with beautiful Kuman maidens.

Black clouds arise from the sea and want to envelop the four suns.

Here, on the river Kaiala, here, on the great river Don, lances will be broken and swords will be dulled on Kuman helmets.

On the river Kaiala Sviatopolk ordered that his father be taken between two ambling Hungarian horses to be buried in the Cathedral of St. Sofiia in Kiev.

The Russians cry out at the city of Rim under the Kuman swords.

Grief and sorrow to you Vladimir, son of Gleb.

O Iaroslav of Galich, the prince of eight senses!

You sit high on your throne wrought of gold.

Your iron regiments defend the Hungarian mountains.

You bar the way to the (Hungarian) king.

You close the gates of the river Danube.

Your law reigns up to the river Danube.

Your thunder resounds above the lands, You keep the gates of Kiev open.

From your father's golden throne you shoot at the sultans beyond the (Russian) lands.

Lord, shoot at Konchak, the infidel slave, for the revenge of the Russian land, for the wounds of Igor, the wounds of the valiant son of Sviatoslav.

And you, daring Roman and Mstislav, your courageous thoughts direct your minds to action.

In your bravery you soar to valiant deeds, like a falcon over the winds, which desires, in its daring, to surpass the bird.

Your iron men are under Latin helmets and they make the earth tremble, and (they make) many nations (tremble): the Nomads, the Lithuanians, the Deremelas, the Iatvags, the Kumans have dropped their lances and have bowed their heads under your Frankish swords.

But Prince Igor, the sunlight has already dimmed for you.

And, by misfortune, the tree lost its foliage.

The enemies have already divided amongst themselves the cities of the rivers Ross and Sula.

The valiant regiments of lgor will not be resurrected.

The river Don appeals to you, Prince, and summons the princes to victory.

With the helmets of your army you can pour out the river Don.

If you were here, then Kuman slave girls would go for a nogata, and Kuman male slaves for only a rezana.

Lords, set your feet in the golden stirrups to avenge the outrage of the present day, of the Russian land, of Igor's wounds, wounds of the daring son of Sviatoslav.

To what avail are your golden helmets, your Polish lances and shields?

Bar the gates of the prairie with your sharp arrows for the Russian lands, for the wounds of lgor, the wounds of the daring son of Sviatoslav.

No more do the silver Streams of the River Sula protect the city of Pereiaslavl.

Only lziaslav, son of Vasilko, rained his sharp arrows upon Lithuanian helmets and tarnished the glory of his grandfather Vseslav.

You do not deserve the glory of your ancestors, since, through your feuding, you brought the infidels into the Russian land, into the domain of Vseslav.

During the seventh age of Trojan Vseslav cast lots for the maiden he desired, and, cunningly leaning on the lance, he leaped to the city of Kiev and touched the golden throne of Kiev with the staff of his lance.

But now Prince Rurik's banners stand in readiness, and so do Prince David's (his brother's).

Thus, they are blown (by the wind) in different directions.

He rushed toward the curve of the river Donets.

Sacred Sign of Perun

Slavic Gods Glossary - Old Slavic Gods Reference

Short History of Russia from Perun to Vladimir the Red Sun
From its darkest roots to the Christian takeover

ADVENTURE TRAVEL to Russia. Flights to Kazan, Samara, Novgorod

Is Ruegen Island same as Buyan Island? Slavic Gods Temple

Prince Vladimir the Red Sun Accepts Jesus as his Saviour

Slavic Gods - Dazhdbog

Slavic Gods - Slavic Domovoi Spirit of Home

The Founding of the City of Kiev

Religion of Russia Before Christianity. Major Concepts of Slavic Religion

Prince Igor Goes to War

Prince Oleg Attacks the Greeks

Prince Yaroslav Wrestles a Bear and Wins Respect of Finn Tribesmen

Viking Rurik Invades Russia. Norman Rule in Russia

Who Were Those Vikings, Anyway?