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“Listen, the voice of Yaroslávna! Like a cuckoo she
complains alone early in the morning. ‘I will fly,’
she says, ‘like a cuckoo over the Danube; will plunge
my beaver-skin sleeves in the Kayála’s stream; will dry
the prince’s bloody wounds on his stiffening limbs.’
Yaroslávna weeps early in the morning on the wall at
Putivl, and thus she speaks: ‘O wind, thou mighty
wind, why, oh, Lord! dost thou blow so hard? Why dost
thou bear Chanen’s arrows on thy light wings against my
lover’s men? Was it not enough for thee to blow the
mountain waves out from under the clouds when thou
didst rock the ships on the blue sea? Why does the
breath of thy spirit waft my joy away over the grass of
the plains?’ Yaroslávna weeps early in the morning on
the walls at Putivl, and thus she speaks: ‘O Dnieper,
the famous! thou hast broken through the rocks in the
country of the Polovtsians, hast rocked Sviatolaf’s ships
against Kobyak’s[1] hosts. Lord, bring my lover back to
me, so that I no longer shall send him my tears over
the sea!’ Yaroslávna weeps on the wall at Putivl, and
thus she speaks: ‘Thou clear and thrice clear sun! thou
art warm and beautiful for all. Why dost thou aim thy
burning beams on my lover’s men? Why hast thou in
the arid desert dried their bows together in their hands?
Why hast thou tortured them with thirst, so that the
quiver became heavy on their backs?’
“Towards midnight the sea became disturbed; whirlwinds
raised themselves among the fogs. God shows
Prince Igor a way out of the country of the Polovtsians
to the Russian land, to his father’s golden throne. The
glow of the evening is extinguished. Does Igor sleep?
No, he is awake; he measures in his mind the plains
from the great Don to the little Donyets. Listen! the
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