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!