Then, in the days of Olég Gorislávich,[53] feuds were sown and grew, and Dazhbóg’s[54] grandchildren perished, and the years of men were shortened by the discord of the princes. In those days the warriors rarely walked behind the plough in the Russian land, but the ravens croaked as they divided the dead bodies, and crows chattered, flying to the banquet. Such were the wars and expeditions then, but the like of this war was never known.
VII
From early morning until evening, from evening until daylight fly tempered arrows, thunder the swords against the helmets, resound the steel spears in a strange field, within the country of the Pólovtses. The black earth beneath the hoofs was sown with bones, and watered with blood, and a harvest of sorrow went up in the Russian land.
What noise is that, what din, so early in the morning before dawn? Ígor leads his army; he is sorry for his beloved brother Vsévolod. They fought a day, they fought another[55]; upon the third at noon fell the standards of Ígor. The brothers separated on the bank of the swift Kayála. Here there was not enough of bloody wine; here the brave Russians ended the feast: they gave their host their fill to drink, and themselves fell for the Russian land. The grass withered from sorrow, and the trees in anguish bent down to the earth.[56]
VIII
There befell a hapless hour, O brothers! Already had the wilderness covered Russia’s hosts, when Mischief arose in the hosts of Dazhbóg’s grandchildren: she walked as a maiden in Troyán’s land,[57] splashed her swan pinions in the blue sea,[58] and splashing them in the Don, recalled heavy times.
Through the feuds of the princes ruin came from the pagans, for brother spoke to brother: “This is mine and that is mine also,” and the princes said of trifling matters, “They are important,” and created discord among themselves; and the pagans came from all sides victorious into the Russian land.
Oh, far has the falcon[59] flown, driving the birds by the sea, but Ígor’s brave army will rise no more! Konchák called, and Gza raced over the Russian land, hurling fire from a flaming horn.[60] Russian women wept, saying: “No longer will our thoughts reach our dear ones, nor shall we ever see them with our eyes, nor be adorned with tinkling gold and silver!”
And Kíev groaned under its sorrow, and Chernígov on account of its misfortunes. Sadness spread over the Russian land, and a heavy gloom. The princes fostered discord among themselves, and the pagans victoriously overran the country, receiving tribute, a squirrel[61] from each house.
It is Ígor and Vsévolod, Svyatosláv’s brave sons, who through their discord had wakened dishonour which their father, Svyatosláv[62] of Kíev, the great, the mighty, had put to sleep: he had invaded the Pólovts land and had carried terror to them, with his mighty armies and tempered swords; had levelled their hills and ravines, ruffled their rivers and lakes, dried up their streams and swamps; and, like a whirlwind, had snatched pagan Kobyák[63] away from his mighty, steel-clad Pólovts army by the Ázov Sea, until Kobyák fell in Kíev city, in the council-room of Svyatosláv. Germans, Venetians, Greeks and Moravians sing the glory of Svyatosláv, but blame Prince Ígor who had merged his wealth in the Kayála, the Pólovts river, and had filled it with Russian gold. Here Ígor was unseated from his golden saddle and placed upon the saddle of a slave.