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Lutavierje (Rússia) - letras

In the Wild Field
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
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 the Varangian guest.

Sniffing, severe god Votan catches the smell of blood:
There is to be great storm.
Vikings are heading for the Slavic land,
Being blinded with gold of Gardariki.




Oath
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, the Ros river is watering the ground,
But it has opened the gate to the Field into the cherished Woods.


O clear dawns, you,

Golden-winged fair maidens!
You sink in the blue sea,
Please, drain people’s sorrow,
Turn Kruchina’s bitter tears
Into sweet dreams
And wash the sky
With joyful, wonderful light.




Ros
The 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 the Ros river.

Water gait is slight and soft, but its great force
Can’t break heavy fetters of furious north winds.
When Yar sighs with heat, Zhiva will break the ice,
And a sprout, a scarlet flower will last to the sun.

Rye Was Ripening…
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. 


Rye was ripening, getting full,

Oh, getting full,
Calling clear sun,
Oh, the red sun.

Vyales
“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”.  



From beneath the Latyr Stone
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.




Spring
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.


Give, Yaryla!
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


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