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!

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