II

Not so—the chronicler lies, saying Igor returned home
Like as the sunshine—the artful Bayan deceived us.
What are the facts? There, where Don and Donetz fall,
plashing,
In banners' midst, Igor found rest-for ever.

Off his white flesh did they feed—ravens untold.
Of his white excellent deeds—wind, thou hast told.

Blow thou, wind, along those gorges yonder,
Blow thou, wind, along there where the plain lies.
Speed thee onward, wild my whirl wind-wanderer,
There above the white Don where the swans' demesne lies!

Sweep up to the town-walls, to the ramparts,
Whence her wailing fills the wide world. Do not hearken,
Though her knees now quake, whom grief has sorely hampered,
Though her sunlike countenance is dulled and darkened...

—Wind, wind! —Princess,
Behold thy fate!
Thy Prince lies lifeless—
For honor's sake!