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Now I feel, Thee, Northern Wind,
Shalt brew heady mead for us –
Strong, boiling, heady mead!
Give us a trace of foam on the waves!
The ushkui-birds will spread wings of theirs,
And escape into the water expanse!
I hear eagle screams and wolfish howls
In the roaring of the predacious storm!
I hear eagle screams and wolfish howls
In the roaring of the predacious storm!
So, Thee, Father-Wind, don’t let me down! Don’t go!
Thou art cold and strong, saturated with strength!
Please, pour some might into our sails - overflow!
Power in sails – gulls in the air!
Light-filled maid, Dawn-At-First-Light,
Let Thy flame-coloured plaits down!
Let the flood will sparkle as gold,
Lavishly promising good luck on the road!
The chainless pack rushes in splashes –
With foam of chase at their fangs!
It’s my pleasure to see how the sun shines
On the chain armours and blades!
It’s my pleasure to see how the sun shines
On the chain armours and blades!
So, Thee, Father-Wind, don’t let me down! Don’t go!
Thou art cold and strong, saturated with strength!
Please, pour some might into our sails - overflow!
Windy bowl of wine – I may drink myself!
Wind, Thou art the Wind, the master of Elders,
Thy mead is heady – and it’s after our heart!
It’s brewed by the storm and bad weather,
Cheerful and violent – a match for Thy visitants!
It’ll be our feast in these open spaces,
Taking the Volga by storm of the will of free men!
Steel surface in our steady gazes
With dark blue colour for ever it will remain.
Steel surface in our steady gazes
With dark blue colour for ever it will remain!
So, Thee, Father-Wind, don’t let me down! Don’t go!
Thou art cold and strong, saturated with strength!
Please, pour some might into our sails - overflow!
Thy mead is sweet to me on the steep wave!
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My blood – the Volga’s wind, let’s tear sinews sails!
Foretell and give a restless fate!
By ushkui oars of brigand lot, and by battle-flails
Endow, set free – to right and left!
In oars’ splashes, in stretch glare, in pines’ roar in a storm,
In a violent spring’s high water – at the time of swans–
Pierce my soul and slash my heart with a glowing sword,
Volga-mother, freedom-Volga, Volga-heart of songs!
Thou art billows, Volga’s essence – beat with all Thy strength!
Crash the ice! Throw on the sides! Carry to sea waves!
Give free range to the fast boats of the daring men.
By Thine ardent pure billow sweep our souls again!
Give me wings above the abyss, I’ll rush to the cloud whirl –
As a falcon old true story, as a swish of solar swords!
As delight of Dazhdbog’s grandson standing on his soil!
As a swordsman with two sword blades, as a flashing storm!
So, let’s campaign! Let’s scatter our long oars!
Drum on the cloths of sails with all alarming winds!
We are to plow the virgin soil of vernal floods by boat bows!
So, let’s campaign!
In oars’ splashes, in stretch glare, in pines’ roar in a storm,
In a violent spring’s high water – at the time of swans–
Pierce my soul and slash my heart with a glowing sword,
Volga-mother, freedom-Volga, Volga-heart of songs!
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The Volga whispered to me evoking sweetest dreams,
With splashes archly played – at twilight latest gleam.
The calm reed-pipes with splashes played,
Like in a cradle I was waved.
And to the rowlocks’ scratch, as if I’m in the cradle,
Above the flood bends She lit up the stars like candles.
O’er the broad river course, above the bights’ flood,
You rose high as the New Moon, as story-telling bards.
New Moon, tell me some tales with old forgotten words,
The tales about how the waves are longed-for by oars.
The oars ask to let them loose and yearn to meet the waves,
Await the spring to meet the waves and their daring fates.
Their daring fates, their happiness and their overthrow,
And ride the Volga’s waves – the journey’s long way off.
The Volga whispered again "The journey is so long…",
Playing with splashes at twilight to her reed-pipe song.
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