BULLIES
ILYA MUROMETS AND SVYATOGOR.
How not so far away in the pure polis,
There, the smoke was rising,
And there the dust rose like a pillar, -
The good man turned out to be in the fields,
Russian mighty Svyatogor the hero.
Svyatogora horse like a fierce beast,
And a bogatyr sat in a scythe,
He rides in the field, and he's fighting,
He throws a mace of mace
Above the forest standing,
Below the cloud that walks,
The mace flies away
High up in the sky;
When the mace goes down, he picks it up with one hand,
He picks up with one hand.
"Svyatogor the hero rides
In the clean police he on a purse and skomoroshnuyu.
He does not get down from his good horse,
He wanted to pick up the purse with the chase, -
That purse won't budge;
Svyatogor descended from the good horse,
He takes the purse with one hand, -
This purse won't budge;
As he takes the purse with one hand,
He strained himself with his bogatyr's strength,
He went down to his knees and into his mother's ground, -
This purse won't move,
He won't move, but he won't get up.
Svyatogor says to himself:
"I've traveled a lot in the world,
But I've never seen such a miracle,
That the little purse does not move,
"It won't budge, but it won't budge.
"Bogatyr's strength does not surrender.
Svyatogor said these words:
"That's right, I, Svyatogor, and death has come."
And he prayed to his horse:
"You're a faithful warhorse,
Help out now master."
And he grabbed the silver bridle,
He grabbed that girth of gold,
And for that stirrup, and for the silver one,
And the knight's horse strained,
And he pulled Svyatogor from the damp earth.
Then Svyatogor sat down on the good horse,
And rode through a clear field
He went to the mountains of Ararat.
Svyatogor got tired, but he got tired
With this purse and the clown's purse,
And he fell asleep on his good horse,
He fell asleep with a sound bogatyr's sleep.
From under the far, far away, out of the clear field.
the old Cossack and Ilya Muromets rode out,
Ilya Muromets and his son Ivanovich,
He saw Svyatogor the hero:
"What a miracle I see in a clear field,
That a bogatyr rides a good horse,
Under the bogatyr's horse is like a fierce beast,
And the bogatyr sleeps soundly".
Elijah cried out with a resounding voice:
"Oh, my goodness, you brave young man!
You are a good young man, but you mock me,
Are you asleep, you bogatyr, or are you pretending to be?
Are you not getting closer to me, the old man?
And to that I can answer."
No answer from the bogatyr here.
But Ilya cried out more than ever,
With a resounding voice,
No answer from the bogatyr here.
The heart of a bogatyr was on fire
And old Cossack Ilya Muromets,
as he picks up a mace of mace,
He strikes the bogatyr in his white breasts,
And the bogatyr sleeps and doesn't wake up.
Ilya Muromets gets angry,
He drives off into a clear field,
And from the field he strikes the bogatyr
with his mace of mace as before,
The bogatyr sleeps and doesn't wake up.
The old Cossack and Ilya Muromets got angry,
And he takes the maul of the road,
And not a small shalapuga - but forty poods,
He drives away from a clear field,
And he hit the bogatyr on his white breasts,
And he blew off his right hand.
Then the bogatyr rides the horse and wakes up,
And the bogatyr says these words:
"Oh, how the Russian flies bite!"
The warrior looked into his right hand,
He saw Ilya Muromets,
He takes Ilya by his yellow curls,
He put Ilya in his pocket,
Ilya and his horse, a bogatyr horse,
And he rode through the holy mountains,
Through the holy mountains of Ararat.
He rode till the evening,
And he rode till nightfall, and he rode till morning,
And the second day he rode till evening,
And the second day he rode till evening, and dark night till morning,
And on the third day
Bogatyr's horse began to stumble.
Svyatogor said to the good horse:
"Oh, you wolf's dampness and a bag of grass,
Why are you stumbling, dog?
Can't you walk or won't you ride?"
Says the faithful knight's horse.
In a human voice:
"How sorry you are, master,
But let me say a word.
For the third twenty-four hours I've been riding
I've been driving two mighty Russian warriors,
And in the third, with a mighty horse."
Then Svyatogor the hero came to his senses,
What he has in his pocket is heavy;
He takes Ilya by his yellow curls,
He lays Ilya on the ground.
Like with his horse and the bogatyr's horse.
He began to inquire about him, to find out:
"Tell me, good man,
What land are you from? What horde?
If you're a saintly Russian warrior,
We'll go to a clear field,
We'll try the strength of a hero."
Ilya said these words:
"You're a brave young man, aren't you?
I see your great strength,
I don't want to fight you,
I'd like to have a brotherhood with you."
Svyatogor the hero agrees,
From the good horse and falls down,
And they spread out a white tent,
And the horses were lowered into the green meadows,
In green meadows they haltered.
And they both went down to the white tent,
They told each other stories,
They exchanged golden crosses,
They and each other were fraternal,
They embraced and kissed each other,
- Svyatogor the hero will be the bigger brother,
Ilya Muromets will be a smaller brother.
They ate bread and salt here,
And the White Swan...
To be continued...
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