Zbrodnia to niesłychana,

Pani zabija pana;

Zabiwszy grzebie w gaju,

Na łączce przy ruczaju,

Zabiwszy grzebie w gaju,

Na łączce przy ruczaju,

Grób liliją zasiewa,

Zasiewając tak śpiewa:

"Rośnij kwiecie wysoko,

Jak pan leży głęboko;

Jak pan leży głęboko,

Tak ty rośnij wysoko".

Jadą, jadą w tę stronę,

Tuman na drodze wielki,

Rżą, rżą koniki wrone,

Ostre błyszczą szabelki.

Jadą, jadą panowie,

Nieboszczyka bratowie!

Jak dwaj u paniej gościli,

Tak ją dwaj polubili.

Obu nadzieja łechce,

Obadwaj zjęci trwogą,

Żyć bez niej żaden nie chce,

Żyć z nią obaj nie mogą.

Lecz zbliża się niedziela.

Zbliża się czas wesela.

Zaledwie słońce wschodzi,

Wybiegają dwaj młodzi.

Zaledwie słońce wschodzi,

Wybiegają dwaj młodzi.

Pani bierze pierwszy wianek,

Obnosi go dokoła;

"Czyjeż w wieńcu lilije,

Kto mój mąż, kto kochanek?"

"Czyjeż w wieńcu lilije,

Kto mój mąż, kto kochanek?"

Wiatr zawiał, świece zgasły,

Wchodzi osoba w bieli.

Znany chód, znana zbroja,

Staje, wszyscy zadrżeli,

Staje, patrzy ukosem,

Podziemnym woła głosem:

"Mój wieniec i ty moja!

Kwiat na mym rwany grobie,

Wy moi, wieniec mój,

To ja, twój mąż, wasz brat,

Zawieście krwawy bój.

Dalej na tamten świat!"

Wy moi, wieniec mój,

Dalej na tamten świat!".

Water was running

From beneath the Latyr stone,

Voi la, voi la from beneath

The stone water was running.

There the sweetheart was bleaching

linen

Wringing it out tightly,

Voi la, voi la bleaching linen,

Wringing it out tightly.

She was wringing it out tightly,

Waiting for her darling,

Voi la, voi la wringing out

And waiting for her darling.

My darling is riding on a grey steed,

Voi la, voi la riding on a grey steed.

O steed, carry my darling back home

Across fields,

Up hill and down dale.

Ominous forebodings overfill the night,

Wolves howl and spirits‘ groaning

Are coming from all sides.

This night brave sons of Ros

Are wending their way to the Field.

Only cold moon is watching the

warriors,

Whose destiny is to defend their

Motherland.

Chernorod‘s wicked wish

And evil dances of green grass

Will summon a storm,

the Mara’s witchcraft,

To cover the Field.

Got free from winter fetters,

Ros river is watering the ground

But it has opened the gate to the Field

Into the cherished woods.

Oh, clear dawns,

Golden-winged fair maidens!

You sink in a blue sea,

Please, drain people’s sorrow,

Turn Kruchina’s bitter tears

Into sweet dreams

And wash the sky

With joyful, wonderful light.

Across fields onto hills lope like

a grey wolf,

Rise like a smoky falcon up to

the clouds.

You, Prince Red Sun, set out against

the enemy

And break your lance in the Wild field.

Forgotten gods look at the

Steely streams, running among the hills

And gnawing with poisonous teeth

Strong sides of vermilion shields.

Irrigate the ground with blood,

Strengthen soul with faithful oath,

You, Prince Red Sun, lead

your brave troop.

A hard battle is waiting for you

in the Wild field.

Oh, ice cold sea, you are like

a frozen field

With endless white spaces.

The wind wafts on your waves

Black clouds of gloomy warriors,

mighty Vikings.

Fed from waves Normans,

Sea spurts in their veins.

They have violent spirit and fierce flame

Burns in their hearts.

A black raven follows them,

Waiting for a fight.

Only death and slavery, a bloody gift

Brings Varangian guest.

Sniffing, severe god Votan catches

The smell of blood:

There will be a great storm.

Vikings are heading for the Slavic land,

Being blinded with gold of Gardariki.

“Reveal everything to me, tell me all:

The Wise Vedas of former legends,

Remember motives of the songs,

The old runes of times of yore.

Give hope to my heart,

But don’t conceal the heaviness”, -

So said the boy to an old man,

Hiding with a ribbon the mark of God.

You see strength of earth

and beauty of herbs,

Oh, you’re singing praise to Vyales.

“Your soul, child, is crystal clear,

Like white, pure snow from the heaven,

And with the first breath of spring

You’ll become cold water.

You’ll flood a lot of meadows, fields

With lively prattle of the streams.

You bring joy to people everywhere,

However, your lifetime won’t be easy”.

In the forest-wood, on the yellow sand

Spring is coming on the yellow sand,

Leading the sun in a golden bridle,

Spring is coming, leading the sun.

Spring brings in the palms of roofs

Laughter of the storms.

Rejoice, white-winged land:

Spring is coming, spring is coming!

In the field on the cold ground

Spring is riding on the cold ground.

On a white steed, in a green dress

Spring is riding on the white steed.

Sowing with right hand,

blowing with the wind,

Spring is riding, sowing with right hand.

Rejoice, white-winged land:

Spring is coming, spring is coming!

O spring, you’re fair maiden,

What have you brought us?

What have you brought us?

You’ve brought silken grass,

You’ve brought silken grass

On meadows, on steep banks.

Rye was ripening, getting full,

Oh, getting full,

Calling clear sun,

Oh, the red sun.

Golden grain was earing in the field,

Oh, in the wide field.

Dazhboh’s grandsons were tieing

Ears in heavy sheaves.

Belaboh, Charnaboh,

Solid earth, the firmament.

Belaboh, Charnaboh,

The tribe lives in a way of the time of old.

Ros river dressed ice fur,

The banks kissed winter in white lips.

Snowy pall would save from cold winds

A thin stalk of Zhiva – a scarlet flower.

In a wide field, in a dark dale,

Following wolf path, like a forest beast,

Rising in the sky with smoke of sacrifice

I will bow to our mother – to Ros river.

Water gait is slight and soft,

But its great force

Can’t break heavy fetters

of furious north winds.

When Yar would sigh with heat,

Zhiva will break the ice.

And a sprout,

A scarlet flower will last to the sun.

Give, Yaryla, the keys from heaven,

Unlock, Yaryla, the blue heaven.

Drop, Yaryla, dew on the grass,

Set, Yaryla, the green beauty free.

Awaken, Yaryla, the clear sun,

Look, Yaryla, in the each window.

Give, Yaryla, the keys from heaven,

Unlock, Yaryla, the blue heaven.

Touch, Yaryla, the poured clouds,

Breath out, Yaryla, a spring heat.

Light, Yaryla, the hem of the skyline,

Let out sing of bird’s flocks up to

the sun.

Sweep, Yaryla, the winter floor,

Wash, Yaryla, bare feet.

Give, Yaryla, the keys from heaven,

Unlock, Yaryla, the blue heaven.

Across fields onto hills lope like

a grey wolf,

Rise like a smoky falcon up to

the clouds.

You, Prince Red Sun, set out against

the enemy

And break your lance in the Wild field.

Forgotten gods look at the

Steely streams, running among the hills

And gnawing with poisonous teeth

Strong sides of vermilion shields.

Irrigate the ground with blood,

Strengthen soul with faithful oath,

You, Prince Red Sun, lead

your brave troop.

A hard battle is waiting for you

in the Wild field.

Ominous forebodings overfill the night,

Wolves howl and spirits‘ groaning

Are coming from all sides.

This night brave sons of Ros

Are wending their way to the Field.

Only cold moon is watching the

warriors,

Whose destiny is to defend their

Motherland.

Chernorod‘s wicked wish

And evil dances of green grass

Will summon a storm,

the Mara’s witchcraft,

To cover the Field.

Got free from winter fetters,

Ros river is watering the ground

But it has opened the gate to the Field

Into the cherished woods.

Oh, clear dawns,

Golden-winged fair maidens!

You sink in a blue sea,

Please, drain people’s sorrow,

Turn Kruchina’s bitter tears

Into sweet dreams

And wash the sky

With joyful, wonderful light.

Oh, ice cold sea, you are like

a frozen field

With endless white spaces.

The wind wafts on your waves

Black clouds of gloomy warriors,

mighty Vikings.

Fed from waves Normans,

Sea spurts in their veins.

They have violent spirit and fierce flame

Burns in their hearts.

A black raven follows them,

Waiting for a fight.

Only death and slavery, a bloody gift

Brings Varangian guest.

Sniffing, severe god Votan catches

The smell of blood:

There will be a great storm.

Vikings are heading for the Slavic land,

Being blinded with gold of Gardariki.

Ros river dressed ice fur,

The banks kissed winter in white lips.

Snowy pall would save from cold winds

A thin stalk of Zhiva – a scarlet flower.

In a wide field, in a dark dale,

Following wolf path, like a forest beast,

Rising in the sky with smoke of sacrifice

I will bow to our mother – to Ros river.

Water gait is slight and soft,

But its great force

Can’t break heavy fetters

of furious north winds.

When Yar would sigh with heat,

Zhiva will break the ice.

And a sprout,

A scarlet flower will last to the sun.