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On the Field of Kulicovo

by
 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 .
.
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There's no peace! Through steppe the bay Prolongs the flight!

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