Alexander Pushkin
Song of the Wise Prince Oleg

The wise Prince Oleg has set out to repay
        Foolhardy Khazars with a vengeance;
For pillage, their dwellings and pastures as prey
        To fire and sword the prince pledges;
In Tsargrad’s fine armor, in front of a force
Oleg heads out riding his favorite horse.

Here comes from the woods, lost in thoughts of his own,
        A warlock inspired like all sages,
An old man in service of Perun alone,
        A harbinger of future ages,
In pleadings and witchcraft forever engaged.
The prince then rides over to talk to the sage.

“Now tell me, o wizard, the darling of Gods,
        How long shall I live on in comfort
And what, to the joy of my foes, are the odds
        With earth before long I’ll be covered?
You don’t need to fear me; let truth here be known.
Speak up and you’ll have any horse that I own.”

“No magus has fear of the mightiest lords
        Nor welcomes their gifts when they’re given;
Authentic and free are our vatical words
        And matched to the wisdom of heaven.
In darkness the future is hid anyhow;
But I see the fate on your luminous brow.

Now heed what I tell you and mark every word:
        To warriors glory is sacred;
Your fame has been earned by your glorious sword;
        Your shield decks the gateway to Tsargrad;
The sea and the earth both your orders await,
And foes are but jealous of this wondrous fate.

The ocean’s high waves in a perilous string
        Brought on by the ominous weather,
The arrow, the treacherous blade, and the sling
        Have spared you in every endeavor…
You’ve suffered no wounds in your armor supreme;
Your power is guarded by forces unseen.

The horse of your choosing braves dangers and woes;
        Obeying the sovereign’s bidding,
He stands unperturbed by the arrows of foes,
        Then charges with speed unremitting.
Nor weather nor battle will make him retreat…
But trust me, your death shall ensue from your steed.”

Oleg merely chuckled; however, his eye
        And forehead grew dark in reflection.
Still silent, he gets off his horse with a sigh
        And a look of profound dejection.
In parting he offers his well-earned respect
By stroking and rubbing his friend’s slender neck.

“Farewell, my companion, you’ve served as you should;
        It’s time for our ultimate breakup.
Now rest and remember that never my foot
        Shall enter your gold-plated stirrup.
Forget not your master; take solace henceforth.
My dutiful servants, attend to my horse;

Protect him with cloth and a good fluffy rug
        And walk him to my fairest pasture,
Provide with choice grain and clean up with a scrub,
        And offer spring water hereafter.”
Away goes the steed at the prince’s odd whim;
Another good horse is delivered to him.

A feast of the prince and his soldiers is on
        To boisterous clinking of glasses.
Their locks are as white as the new snow at dawn
        The glorious kurgan amasses…
The troops reminisce on the days of the past
And battles together they fought to the last…

“And where is my mate?”, asks Oleg amidst fun.
        “My favorite horse, once so mighty?
Is he just as healthy, as light on the run,
        As dashing as ever and sprightly?”
He heeds their reply that a cliff high and steep
Has sheltered his stallion’s unbreakable sleep.

Encompassed by sadness, the mighty prince sits
        Reflecting, “The presage is fiction?
Old quack, you’re a liar; you’re out of your wits!
        I wish I had spurned your prediction!
My horse would still bear me,” he gravely bemoans
And wishes to look at his horse’s dead bones.

The mighty Oleg rides along with his band
        As Igor and guests duly follow.
They see on a hill, by the Dnieper’s steep bank,
        The horse’s remains gleaming hollow;
They are covered with dust and showered by rains,
And winds sway the grass o’er the noble remains.

The prince put his foot on the skull of the steed
        And uttered,” Your sleep, friend, is lonely!
Your master of old has survived you indeed:
        At my final feast, which comes promptly,
You won’t be the one, by a battle-ax cut,
To shower my ashes with hot streaming blood!

So that’s what my doom was foretold to portend!
        Some bones that have threatened my passing!”.
He spoke and at once from the horse’s dead head
        A tomb snake slipped out to harass him;
A black ribbon wrapped all the way round his feet —
Caught suddenly off guard, the bitten prince screamed.

The goblets of brotherhood sparkle and foam:
        The feast for Oleg is in mourning;
Prince Igor and Olga sit by on their own
        As others share drink until morning.
The troops reminisce on the days of the past
And battles together they fought to the last.

Translated by Yuri Menis