Steppe grass bunch is dry,
He and dry smells! And at once steppe over me All the charm resurrects.
When in the steppes, beyond the camp,
Horde wandered nomadic,
There was Khan the Child and Khan Syrchan,
Two brothers, batyrs (1) dashing.
And since they had a feast, the mountain Velik was full was taken from Rus! The singer sang to them glory, the river was kumys (2) in the whole ulus (3).
Suddenly there is a noise and a shout, and a clatter of swords,
And blood and death, and there is no mercy! All apart, he fled, that the swans feasted flocked herd.
Then with the Russian power of Monomah, the Vesedrusting One appeared;
The Syrchans in the Don lingered, the young man
in the Caucasus mountains disappeared.
But here – Monomakh died,
And in Russia – tug (4) and grief.
The Syrian calls him to his brother and sends him with a decree:
“He is rich there, he is the king of those countries,
Lord over all the Caucasus, Tell him to give up everything,
That the enemy has died, that the chains have slept,
To go to their inheritance,
For fragrant steppe! To him you sing our songs, When he does not respond to the song,
Tie it in a bundle of cantaloupe and give it to him – and he will return. ”
young man is sitting in a golden tent, Around a swarm of beautiful Abkhazians;
On gold and silver princes he honors the subject.
The singer is entered. He says,
That in the steppe there was a boy without fear,
That the way to Russia around is open,
That there is no more Monomakh! The boy is silent, he responds to the brother-in-law with a smile, And the feast is on, and the chorus of the slaves that the sun is calling.
The singer gets up, and the songs he Sings about the lives of the Polovtsian people,
About the glory of his grandfather’s days. Their youthful raids, The gloomy youth took a look. He saw the singer without looking,
To draw him away, orders His obedient kunaks (5).
And took a bunch of grass steppe Then the singer, and gave the khan And the khan looks and – himself not his,
As though feeling the wound in the heart,
He grabbed his chest. Everyone looks:
He is a formidable Khan, what does this mean? He, before whom all tremble, A bunch of grass kissing, crying! And suddenly, waving his fist:
“I’m not the king anymore from now on!” He exclaimed : “Death in the land of the native Miles, than glory in a foreign land!”
In the morning, the fog was a bit numbed. And the mountains of the summit were
filled with flames. There was a caravan in the mountains. A boy with a little squad.
Passing the mountain behind the mountain,
Everything waits for him – soon the native steppe steppe,
And looks out into the distance, the steppe grass leaves without letting go.
(1) The batyr is a hero.
(2) Koumiss is a drink from sour mare’s milk.
(3) Ulus is a temporary settlement from the yurts of the nomads.
(4) Tuga – grief, sorrow, longing.
(5) Kunak is a friend, buddy.
This story is taken from the Volyn chronicle. Emshan is the name of the fragrant grass growing in our steppes, probably sagebrush.