Текст песни Радомира - Птица Вещая

Oh, you prophetic bird,
Oh, up in the heights,
Tell me of my destiny,
Sing a song to me.

Sing of Rus', our Motherland,
Of the forests and the fields,
Of my mother and my father,
And sing a verse of me.

There, the mist hangs at the dawn;
There, the grass grows thick and deep;
A fair maiden walks the land—
Her braid trails to the earth.

I stand and listen closely
To your wondrous, lilting tune;
I see mighty Rus' before me,
Amidst a round dance of maidens.

Oh, my native Rus',
With the blue of the sky,
And the crimson glow of dawn—
There is none more fair than you.

With fairy tales and epics
Is this land of ours woven;
The people have composed their songs—
And mine is woven there as well.

I see Rus' in her young men—
Each a hero, strong and bold;
And in the wise and ancient sages—
All have gathered here.

Light of the ages, how you shine,
Oh, golden Rus'!
You smile upon me so sweetly,
And in my happiness, I laugh.

Oh, you wise and knowing bird,
Tell me what the future holds;
Play upon the heartstrings of my soul—
Let my spirit sing!

I am weaving a magic tapestry—
Of stars and of the Earth,
Of heavenly wonders bright—
My beloved Motherland.

Oh, my native Rus',
With the blue of the sky,
And the crimson glow of dawn—
There is none more fair than you.

With fairy tales and epics
Is this land of ours woven;
The people have composed their songs—
And mine is woven there as well.