Текст песни Александр Блок - На поле Куликовом

The Field of Kulikovo
           1

The river stretches . Flows , sad lazy
     And washes the shore.
Over scarce yellow clay cliff
     In the steppe sad stack .

Oh, my Rus ! My wife ! painfully
     We clear a long way !
Our way - ancient Tatar arrow will
     Pierced our breast .

Our way - steppe , our way - in the boundless longing -
     In your grief , O Rus!
And even darkness - night and foreign -
     I'm not afraid .

Let the night . Whisk . Ozar fires
     Steppe distance.
In steppe holy smoke flash banner
     And the Khan's sword steel ...

And the eternal battle ! Rest we can only dream
     Through the blood and dust ...
Flies , flies steppe mare
     And crumples feather ...

And there is no end ! Glimpses of a mile , steep slopes ...
     Stop !
Go go frightened clouds
     Sunset in the blood !

Sunset in the blood ! Blood flows from the heart !
     Cry, heart, cry ...
There is no peace ! steppe mare
     Carried at a gallop !
June 7, 1908

                2

We self - friend over the steppe at midnight are:
Do not come back, do not look back .
For Nepryadva swans shouting
And again, again they shout ...

On the way - a combustible white stone .
Across the river - filthy horde .
Bright banner on our shelves
Not leaped more than ever.

And to the earth bowed his head ,
My friend says : & quot; Ostry his sword ,
That good reason to fight tatarvoyu ,
For the sacred cause to lie dead ! & Quot;

I - not the first soldier, not the last ,
How long will the birthplace sick.
Remember Well for the Early impoverish
Sweet friend , Bright wife !
June 8, 1908

             3

At night, when my mother lay down a horde
    Steppes and bridges,
In the dark field , we were with you, -
    Did you know ?

Before Don dark and sinister ,
    Amid the nocturnal fields
I heard Your voice prophetic heart
    In the cries of swans .

From midnight cloud offered up
    The prince's army ,
And far , far away on the stirrup chipped
    Wailed the mother .

And , drawing circles, night birds
    Fluttered away .
A quiet summer lightning over Russia
    Prince guarded .

Orly klёkot over the Tartar camp
    Threatened disaster,
A Nepryadva tidied mist
    That Princess veil .

And with fog over Nepryadva asleep
    Right at me
Have you lost , in the light flowing dress ,
    Not spugnuv horse.

Silver waves flashed friend
    On the steel sword
Refreshed dusty chainmail
    On my shoulder .

And when , the next morning , a black cloud
    Moved horde
Was in the shield Your face without hands
    Bright forever.
June 14, 1908

         4

Again with the age-old yearning
Crouched to the ground grasses .
Again, for the foggy river
You klichesh me from afar ...

Sped away , missing
Steppe mare herds ,
Isolated from wild passion
Under the yoke of the waning moon.

And I'm longing centuries ,
Like a wolf under the waning moon,
I do not know what to do with him ,
Where can I fly with you!

I hear rumblings fray
And trumpet shouts Tatars
I see far away over Russia
A wide and quiet fire.

Enveloped in a powerful longing ,
I ryschu on a white horse ...
There are voluntary clouds
In the hazy night sky.

Surging bright thoughts
In my heart is torn in pieces ,
And falling bright thoughts ,
Burnt dark fire ...

& quot; Appear, my wondrous miracle !
Teach me to be light ! & Quot;
Heaves horse mane ...
The wind cry swords ...

July 31, 1908