Inside out have the times
      turned.
      Now in Rim [people] scream
      under Kuman sabers, 495 and Volodimir [screams]
      under wounding blows.
      Woe and anguish to you,
      [Volodimir]
      son of Gleb!

      Great prince Vsevolod!
      Do you not think of flying here
      from 500 afar
      to safeguard the paternal golden
      throne?
      For you can with your oars
      scatter in drops the Volga, 505 and with your helmets
      scoop dry the Don.
      If you were here,
      a female slave would fetch
      one nogata, 510 and a male slave,
      one rezana;
      for you can shoot on land live
      bolts-
      [these are] the bold sons of
      Gleb! 515 You turbulent Rurik, and [you]
      David!
      Were not your men's gilt helmets
      afloat on blood?
      Do not your brave knights roar 520 like
      bulls
      wounded by tempered sabers
      in the field unknown?
      Set your feet, my lords,
      in your stirrups of gold
      to avenge the wrong of our time, 525 the Russian land,
      and the wounds of Igor,
      turbulent son of Svyatoslav.

      Eight-minded Yaroslav of Galich!
      You sit high on your gold-forged
      throne; 530 you have braced the Hungarian
      mountains
      with your iron troops;
      you have barred the [Hungarian]
      king's 535 path;
      you have closed the Danube's
      gates,
      hurling weighty missiles over
      the clouds, 540 spreading your courts to the
      Danube.
      Your thunders range
      over lands;
      you open Kiev's gates;
      from the paternal golden throne
      you shoot at sultans 545 beyond the lands.
      Shoot [your arrows], lord,
      at Konchak, the pagan slave,
      to avenge the Russian land,
      and the wounds of Igor, 550 turbulent son of Svyatoslav!

      And you, turbulent Roman, and
      Mstislav!
      A brave thought 555 carries your minds to deeds.
      On high you soar to deeds
      in your turbulence,
      like the falcon
      that rides the winds
      as he strives in turbulence 560 to overcome the bird.
      For you have iron breastplates
      under Latin helmets;
      these have made the earth
      rumble,
      and many nations- 565 Hins, Lithuanians, Yatvangians,
      Dermners, and Kumans-
      have dropped their spears
      and bowed their heads
      beneath those steel swords.
570 But already, [O] Prince Igor,
      the sunlight has dimmed,
      and, not goodly, the tree sheds
      its
      foliage. 575 Along the Ros and the Sula
      the towns have been distributed;
      and Igor's brave troops
      cannot be brought back to life!
      The Don, Prince, calls you, 580 and summons the princes to
      victory.
      The brave princes, descendants
      of
      Oleg,
      have hastened to fight. 585 Ingvar and Vsevolod,
      and all three sons of Mstislav,
      six-winged [hawks?] of no mean
      brood!
      Not by victorious sorts
      did you grasp your patrimonies. 590 Where, then, are your golden
      helmets,
      and Polish spears, and shields?
      Bar the gates of the prairie
      with your sharp arrows
      to avenge the Russian land
      and the wounds of Igor,
      turbulent son of Svyatoslav.

      No longer indeed does the Sula
      flow
      in silvery streams
      for [the defense of] the town of
      Pereyaslavl;
      and the Dvina, too,
      flows marsh-like
      for the erstwhile dreaded
      townsmen of Polotsk
      to the war cries of pagans. 

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