Yarosláv Osmomýsl of Gálich![75] You sit high upon your throne wrought of gold, propping with your iron-clad army the Carpathian mountains, barring the king’s path, closing the gates of the Danube, hurling missiles higher than the clouds, sitting in judgment as far as the Danube. Your thunders pass over the land, and you hold the key to the gates of Kíev; sitting on your paternal throne, you slay the sultans in their lands. Slay, O lord, Konchák, the pagan villain, to avenge the Russian land, the wounds of Ígor, the valiant son of Svyatosláv! And you, valiant Román[76] and Mstisláv! A brave thought carries you into action.[77] You fly high in your onslaught, like a falcon circling in the air, about to swoop down upon the birds. You wear iron hauberks under Latin helmets, and the earth has trembled from you in many a pagan land: the Lithuanians, Yatvyágans, Deremélans and Pólovtses threw down their warclubs and bent their heads under those tempered swords. But now, O Prince, Ígor’s sun is dimmed,--the tree, alas, has shed its leaves. Along the Ros[78] and the Sulá the Pólovtses have sacked the towns, but Ígor’s brave army will rise no more. The Don calls you, O Prince, and the other princes to victory! Olég’s sons have hastened to the war. Íngvar and Vsévolod,[79] and the three sons of Mstisláv,[80] a mighty winged brood! Not by the lot of war have you acquired power. Of what good are your golden helmets, and Polish warclubs and shields? Bar the enemy’s way with your sharp arrows, to avenge the Russian land, the wounds of Ígor, the valiant son of Svyatosláv! XI The Sulá no longer flows with a silvery stream by Pereyáslavl town,[81] and the Dviná flows turbid by mighty Pólotsk, agitated by the pagans. Izyasláv,[82] Vasílko’s son, alone made his sharp swords ring against the Lithuanian helmets, outstripping the glory of his grandfather Vsesláv, but himself was worsted by Lithuanian swords, and fell under crimson shields, upon the bloodstained grass. Lying on his death-bed, he spoke[83]: “O Prince, the birds have covered your druzhína with their wings, and the beasts have lapped their blood.” There was not present the brother Bryachisláv, nor the other, Vsévolod; alone he lost the pearl soul out of his valiant body through the golden necklace. The voices were subdued, merriment died away. The trumpets blare at Goródno. Yarosláv and all grandchildren of Vsesláv![84] Furl your standards, sheath your blunted swords, for you have leaped away from your grandfather’s glory! You have with your discords invited the pagan hosts against the Russian land, against the life of Vsesláv, for through your strife has come the enslavement by the Pólovts land.