Part I · XIII. The Third Day's Battle

From early moon until the evening, from the evening until the day-light, tempered arrows fly, the sabres thunder about the helmets, the lances crack in the foreign country, amid the land of the Polovtsy.

The black earth beneath the hooves was sown with bones, and was watered with blood;

on Russian soil these sprang up as grief.

What noise is that, what peal is that, just now early before the dawn? Igor is retiring his regiments; for he has compassion on his dear brother Vsevolod.

They fought one day, they fought another; on the third day, close on noon, the standards of Igor fell.

Those two brothers parted on the bank of the swift Kayala.

There of bloody wine there was not enough. There they finished the feast, the brave Russians; they plied the wedding-guests with wine, but themselves were laid low defending the Russian land.

The grass bows down with woe and the tree bent to earth with sorrow.