And rears and shakes his mane. Away

The prince now makes to go, and, springing

Into the saddle, grips the reins.

He's hale and sound. Across the plains

And woods we see him boldly winging.

And what of Kiev, by the foe

Beleaguered?... There, filled with suspense,

High on its walls and battlements,

The townsfolk crowd. The fields below

Surveying fearfully, they wait

God's smiting hand, the hand of fate.

Subdued laments come from the houses;

No sound the fear-hushed byways rouses.

Beside his child in earnest prayer

Vladimir kneels, plunged deep in sorrow.

His knights and noblemen and their

Great warrior-host for war prepare:

The bloodv fray's set for the morrow! '

Dawn broke, and down the hills the foes

Poured, armed with swords and spears and bows;

They surged relentless, never slowing,

Wave upon wave across the plains

And toward the city walls came flowing.

The Kiev trumpets started blowing,

And out its men rushed, with the chains

Of the attackers boldly clashing.

The fray begins! In sudden fear,

As death they scent, steeds neigh and rear;

The riders, forward headlong dashing,

In battle meet, their steel swords flashing.

Sent forth in clouds, the arrows hum;

The fields turn red: with blood they run.

A man who's lost his war-horse faces