Word of the day for 3rd graders: Academic vocabulary words for 3rd graders

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Attention game “Word of the day” | Elementary school

Author: Prokazova Lyudmila Nikolaevna

Organization: MAOU secondary school № 8

Settlement: Krasnodar Territory, Krasnoarmeisky district, the village of Maryanskaya

Children in grades 1-2 are characterized by low stability of attention and its low volume. Even interesting, but monotonous activity tires the attention of students. How to maintain and develop their attention during the school day?

I came up with an idea for a game that I called Word of the Day. The purpose of this game is not only the development of attention, but also the expansion of vocabulary, the development of communication skills of children.

The essence of the game is as follows.

1. At the beginning of the first lesson, I give a description of the word I have guessed. This word should not be found in the texts of the textbook assignments at the lessons of this day.
2. During the lessons I include the word in various tasks, physical minutes.
3. At the end of the last lesson, the children are given about 1 minute to discuss and solve the word. Teams write down their guessed word, then it is compared with the sample.
4. The team that guessed the word gets a prize.

Explanations on the points of the game.

1. The choice of a word for the game is usually determined by the content of the exercises of the Russian language lesson. For example: the topic “Composing a story based on the painting by S. Tutunov “Winter has come. Childhood”, and I thought of the word “terrace”. I wrote down the characteristics of the word on the board: noun, common noun, inanimate.
2. Assignments with the word should be in 2-3 lessons. At the Russian language lesson, I included the word “terrace” in the phonemic physical minute: if the named word has a sound [p], you need to sit down; if the sound is [l] – put your hands to the sides (tractor, husky, terrace, ear, cottage cheese, carpet, corridor). Be sure to ask what words the guys do not know the meaning of, and explain them. At a mathematics lesson, she included a word in one of the tasks on the mental account: “52 logs and 30 boards were brought to build the terrace. How many more logs were brought in than boards? At the lesson of literary reading, the word was included in the test questions based on the story of L.N. Tolstoy “Kitten”: “Where did the children find a cat with kittens? a) in the barn b) on the terrace c) on the road.
3. The word is guessed by each team of the class (asterisk next to it). It is necessary to remind children of the characteristics of the word. I try to place a note with a description of the word so that it is not erased from the board, but also does not distract during the lessons.
4. The solved word is written by children on a piece of paper. I suggest that everyone on the team try to be in charge of writing the word. Responsible go to the board, showing the notes. I post the hidden word on the board, and the teams are compared with their record. I pay attention to the spelling of the word, spelling, meaning.
5. How much joy when the word was guessed. The team gets the opportunity to add a sticker to the “We Compete” album.

I would like to note that the guys liked this game. This game solves the set goals. The time to discuss the word is now significantly reduced compared to the beginning of the game (from September to November). The discussion became more organized. I hope that the idea of ​​this game will interest colleagues and give impetus to the creation of a new creative project!

Primary school teacher, secondary school No. 8 Prokazova L.N.

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Published: 11/23/2019

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© 2022, All-Russian pedagogical journal “Modern lesson”
ISSN: 2713 – 282X, UDC 371.321.1(051), BBC 74.202.701, Auth. sign С56
License for educational activities No. 041875 dated 29.12.2021
Mass media EL No. FS 77 – 65249 of 04/01/2016
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Phone: +7 (925) 664-32-11
E-mail: [email protected]

16+

A word about Igor’s regiment – Zabolotsky. The full text of the poem – A word about Igor’s regiment

Isn’t it time for us, brethren, to start
About Igor’s campaign,
To tell in an old speech
About the deeds of the daring prince?
And sing to us, brothers, him –
In praise of his labors and wounds –
According to the epics of this time,
Not chasing Boyan in thought.
That Boyan, full of marvelous powers,
Starting the prophetic melody,
Circled the field like a gray wolf,
Soared like an eagle, under a cloud,
Spreading thoughts over the tree.
He lived in the thunder of his grandfather’s victories,
He knew many feats and fights,
And a flock of swans at a little light
He released a dozen falcons.
And, meeting the enemy in the air,
The falcons began the massacre,
And the swan took off into the clouds
And trumpeted glory to Yaroslav.
The ancient Kyiv throne sang,
The duel glorified the ancient one,
Where Mstislav Rededya stabbed
In front of the entire Kosozh squad,
And praise to Roman Red
The swan sang, falling into the darkness.

But not ten falcons let go
Our Boyan, but, remembering the days of old,
He raised prophetic fingers
And laid living ones on the strings, –
The strings quivered, trembled,
The princes themselves rumbled glory.

We have a different plan
This story about a time of troubles
Since the time of Prince Vladimir
Let’s bring to Igor’s years
And glorify Igor, who,
Straining his mind, full of strength,
Chose courage as a support,
Sharpened his heart with a military spirit
And led the regiments of his native land,
Threatening the Polovtsian lands.

O Boyan, old nightingale!
Starting the prophetic tune,
If you were about the battles of our days
Sang, jumping along the mental tree;
If you, having taken off under the clouds,
Combined our glory with grandfather’s glory
for many centuries,
To glorify the son of Svyatoslav:
If you were Trayan’s path
And rushed among the fields and barrows, –
So would you now be sung by you
Prince Igor, the mighty grandson of Trayans:
“It is not a storm of falcons that carries
Over the wide fields and valleys,
It is not flocks of jackdaws flying
To the Don to the great open spaces!

Or so sing to you, Boyan,
Velesov’s grandson, our military camp:
“The horses neigh beyond the Sula,
Glory rings in Kyiv,
Loud trumpets blow in Novegrad,
There are swearing banners in Putivl!”.

Part one

1

Prince Igor with his mighty retinue
Sweet brother Vsevolod is waiting.
The buoy tour Vsevolod says: – One
You are my brother, my Igor, and stronghold!
Children of Svyatoslav, we are with you,
So saddle up your greyhound horses, brother!
And mine have long been ready for battle,
Near Kursk they are standing under the saddle.

2

– And glorious Kuryans –
Serviceable knights:
Born under pipes,
Grew up under helmets,
Grew up like warriors,
Fed from the end of the spear.
They know all the ways,
They know all the yarugs,
Their bows are stretched,
Quivers are open,
Their sabers are sharpened,
The helmets are gilded.
They themselves gallop across the field like wolves
And, always ready to fight,
Get with sharp swords
To the prince – glory, honor – to themselves!

3

But, looking at the sun that day,
Igor marveled at the luminary:
In broad daylight, the night shadow
Russian militia covered.
And, not knowing what fate holds,
the Prince said: “Brothers and retinue!”
It is better to be killed by swords,
Than by the hands of filthy people!
Let’s sit down, brothers, on dashing horses,
Let’s see the blue Don! –
This thought fell into the mind of the prince –
Tempt the unknown land,
And he said, full of military thoughts,
Neglecting the sign of heaven:
– I want to break a spear
In an unfamiliar Polovtsian field,
With you, brothers, lay down your head
Or Don scoop up with a helmet!

4

Prince Igor enters the golden stirrup,
He leaves for the open field.
The sun blocked his path with darkness,
The night woke up the birds with a thunderstorm,
The whistle of animals rushes, full of anger,
Div calls over him from the top of the tree,
Div calls, like a Polovtsian on patrol,
For Sulu, to Sourozh, to Pomorye,
Korsun and the whole district of the Khan,
And you, Tmutorokan blockhead!

5

And they run when they hear about the raid,
Polovtsy through the steppes and yarugas,
And their old carts creak,
They cry like frightened swans.
Igor moves to the Don with regiments,
And trouble rushes after him:
Birds, rising above the oaks,
Soar with their mournful cry,
Wolves howl through the ravines,
The cry of eagles comes from the mist –
Know, the Russians are clicking on the bones
Beast bloodthirsty eagles;
Already a fox on a scarlet shield,
Moaning and grinding in the dusk of the night …
O Russian land!
You are already over the hill.

6

The night is long. But
lit up the east with morning dawns.
The fog has already swirled over the field;
Rusichi, having closed their shields in rows,
Prepared for a glorious fight,
Getting with sharp swords
To the prince – glory, honors – to themselves.

7

At dawn, on Friday, in the fogs,
Flying with arrows across the field,
The army of the filthy Polovtsy was crushed
And the Polovtsian maidens sped away.
Captured gold without an account,
A heap of Aksamites and silks,
Paved marshy swamps
Enemies with red Yapanches.
A scarlet banner with a white banner,
A bang and a spear made of silver
Svyatoslavich the brave took it as a reward,
Not wanting other good.

8

Having chosen a place to sleep in the field
And needing rest for a long time,
Oleg’s fearless nest is sleeping –
It has moved far!
The brave flew far away,
And no one is his master –
Be it a falcon, be it a proud gyrfalcon,
Be it a black raven – polovchin.
And in the steppe, with his wild horde
As a gray wolf prowling at light,
The great old Gzak runs to the Don,
And Konchak hurries after him.

9

The night has passed, and the bloody dawns
Herald disaster in the morning.
A cloud is approaching from the sea
On the four princely tents.
So that the four suns do not sparkle,
Illuminating Igor’s army,
May there be thunder on Kayala today,
Pour rain and whip with arrows!
Blue lightnings are already trembling,
Lightning flashes all around.
That’s where the Russian spears break,
That’s where the sharp sabers become blunt,
Rattled against the enemy’s helmet!
O Russian land!
You are already over the hill.

10

Here the grandchildren of Stribog flew out –
The winds rustled near the river,
And the enemy bows were thrown
A cloud of arrows on the Russian regiments.
Damp mother earth moans like a groan,
Dirty fast rivers flow,
Dust rushes, covering the field,
Banners are splashing: the Polovtsy are coming!
From the Don, from the sea, with shouts and howls
The enemy is bringing down, but full of military forces,
The Russian camp closed before the battle –
Shield to the shield – and blocked the steppe.

11

Glorious Yar Tour Vsevolod! With regiments
You stand firmly in defense,
You prickle arrows, with sharp blades
You rattle against military helmets.
Wherever you gallop, tour, with a helmet
Shining golden, there
Shishaks of the Avar lands with thunder
Fall, broken in half.
And the heads fly off the filthy ones,
Chopped with sabers in battle,
And you, tour, mourn the wounds,
If you don’t value your life!
If you are on this military field
Forgot about the glory of former days,
About the golden throne of Chernigov,
About your desired Glebovna!

12

There were, brothers, the times of Trajan,
Yaroslav’s years passed,
Forgotten by great-grandchildren early
Terrible Oleg campaigns.
That Oleg forged sedition with a sword,
Making his way to his father’s throne,
He sowed arrows and, preparing for battle,
He entered Tmutorokan into the golden stirrup.
He stepped into the golden stirrup, preparing for the slaughter,
Vsevolod listened to that ringing far away,
And Vladimir behind his wall
Plugged his ears before trouble.

13

A Boris, son of Vyacheslav,
Zelen-shroud near Kanin shore
Awarded military glory
For insulting the brave Oleg.
On the same woeful Kayala,
Stretching a stretcher between packs,
Svyatopolk took his father away in sorrow,
Lulled the Ugrian horses.
Nicknamed Gorislavich among the people,
Prince Oleg came to Rus’ like a thief,
The grandson of Dazhd-God was in poverty on a campaign,
The human age in sedition became short-lived.
And we didn’t have a rich life,
Rarely yelled out in the field,
Crows circled over arable land,
They landed on the dead with screams,
Yes, jackdaws flew to talk,
Gathering in flocks for dinner …
Many battles in those years were over But there was no such thing as this one.

14

From morning to evening and again –
From evening to morning
The army of the daring prince fights,
And the mountain of bloody bodies grows.
Day and night over an unfamiliar field
Polovtsian arrows whistle,
Sabers hit helmets,
Haraluzh spears crackle.
The dead are strewn with bones,
Blackened far from the blood,
The field smoked underfoot,
And ascended with great sorrows
That bloody sowing in Rus’.

15

What’s the noise,
What is ringing there
Far away in the mist, before the dawn?
Igor, all wounded, hurries
The fugitives back to the battle.
You can’t hold the enemy army!
It’s a pity to lose brother Igor.
They fought for a day, they fought for a day, another,
On the third day, by noon, the banners fell,
And my brother parted from his brother
On the bloody river, on Kayal.
There was not enough wine for the Russians,
The squad completed the glorious feast –
Made the matchmakers drunk
And they themselves laid down their heads.
The steppe drooped, full of pity,
And the trees bowed their branches.

16

And a hard time came,
The foreign land swallowed up the Russians,
Resentment rose from mounds
And the virgin entered the land of Trajans.
She fluttered her swan wings,
Announced the Don and the sea with a cry,
She shook the times of contentment,
Announced a great calamity.
And the princes do not gather squads,
Do not go to war against the adversary,
They call the small great
And they forge sedition brother against brother.
And the enemies rush to Rus’ in a cloud,
And everywhere disaster and grief.
You are far away, our mighty falcon,
Biya birds, went to the blue sea!

17

Do not resurrect Igor to the squad,
Do not rise after the formidable slaughter!
And Karna appeared and in the gorge
The cry of death vomited, and far away
Jelly swept along the roads,
Shaking her sparkling horn.
And from the edge, brothers, and to the edge
The Russian wives fell, weeping:
– We can no longer see sweet ways!
Who will wake them up on the battlefield?
We can’t think of them now,
We can’t think of them now,
And we can’t live in a rich house,
We can’t ring silver and gold!

18

Groaning, brothers, Kyiv over the mountain,
Chernigov’s attack is heavy,
And sadness like a plentiful river
Over the Russian villages spilled.
And the Polovtsians hung over us,
They take tribute by squirrels from the yard,
And sedition grows among the princes,
And no good is seen from the princes.

19

Prince Igor and Vsevolod the brave —
Svyatoslav’s brave sons —
Who, with the fearless retinue
Woke up the filthy ones for war!
How long ago with a powerful hand
Punishing our offenses,
This evil with a great thunderstorm
Their father Svyatoslav put to sleep!
He was formidable in Kyiv with enemies
And he did not spare the filthy troops –
Frightened them with strong regiments,
Chopped them with damask swords
And stepped on the Steppe with his foot.
He trampled the hills and yarugas,
He disturbed the flow of fast rivers,
He dried up swampy districts,
Crossed the steppe to the Lukomorye.
And that filthy Kobyak
From the iron enemy ranks
A whirlwind pulled out and fell – a dog –
In Kyiv, near the prince’s towers.

20

Venetians, Greeks and Moravians
Every day they sing about the Russians,
They call Prince Svyatoslav,
they curse the brave Igor.
And the guest of the German land laughs,
That when there were no more forces,
Prince Igor in Polovtsian Kayala
He drowned Russian riches.
And the rumor about the daring one is running,
As if he, having called evil on Rus’,
From the saddle, the unfortunate, golden one
Moved to the saddle of Kashchei …
The cities fell silent, and again
In Rus’ the fun died down.

Part two

1

In distant Kyiv, on the mountains,
Svyatoslav had a vague dream,
And he embraced his great fear,
And he gathered the boyars.
– From evening to this day, –
Said the prince, bowing his head, –
On the yew bed me
Covered with a black veil.
They scooped blue wine for me,
A bitter poisoned potion,
They poured pearls on a canvas
From quivers of an enemy product.
My golden-domed tower stood
Without a horse and, foreshadowing grief,
A gray raven in Plesensk shouted
And flew, noisily, on the blue sea.

2

And the boyars answered the prince:
– Your mind is confused, prince, from sadness.
Aren’t your two favorite children
Rising above the unfamiliar field –
Search for Tmutorokani-grad
Should Don scoop it up with a helmet?
Yes, their efforts were in vain.
Laughing at your gray hairs,
Polovtsy cut off their wings,
And they entangled themselves in putin. —

3

On the third day the struggle ended
On the bloody river, on Kayal,
And two pillars went out in the sky,
Two luminaries disappeared in the dusk.
Together with them, falling over the sea,
Two beautiful months were eclipsed –
Young Oleg and Svyatoslav
They plunged into the darkness of the night.
And the sky closed and went out
White light over the Russian land,
And, like fierce leopards,
filthy ones rushed at us with war.
And the Hula was erected on the Praise,
And Violence broke free,
The Divas sprang to the ground, and there was
Night all around and grief abundance.

4

Gothic maidens at the edge
The blue seas live.
Playing Russian gold,
Busovo time they sing.
Revenge is cherished by Sharukan,
There is no end to their rejoicing…
But we, brethren,
Only troubles guard.

5

And then the great Svyatoslav
Dropped his golden word,
Mixed with tears, saying:
— Oh sons, I did not expect such evil!
You ruined your youth,
Attacked the enemy at the wrong time,
Not with great honor in battle
Shed the blood of the enemy on the ground.
Your heart in forged armor
Tempered in self-made rampage.
What have you children done to me
And to my silver gray hair?
Where is my brother, my formidable Yaroslav,
Where are his Chernihiv servants,
Where are the Tatras, inhabitants of the oak forests,
Topchaks, Olbers and Revugs?
But there was a time – without shields,
Drawing knives from their tops,
They went to hordes of enemies,
To avenge our ashes.
That’s where the glory of great-grandfather’s thunder!
Well, you decided to strike at random:
“We will take our glory by force,
And after it we will share the past.”
Is it a miracle for an old man – can I get younger?
The old falcon, though weak in appearance,
Will make the birds fly high,
Will not give a nest to offend anyone.
Yes, the princes do not want to help me,
There is little use in the strength of a valiant.
Has time moved back?
After all, under the very Rimov shout
Rusichi under the Polovtsian saber!
And Vladimir in wounds, barely alive –
Woe to the prince in battle!

6

Great Prince Vsevolod! How long will we endure great torments?
Not for you on the throne of Suzdal
Why please about the throne?
You will splash the Volga with oars,
You will scoop out the Don with a helmet,
You throw arrows from living bows,
Surrounded by the Sons of Gleb.
If you would bring the rati to help,
So that the enemy would not let go of your hands, –
They would sell the girls by foot,
And the slaves – cut into a circle.

7

You, princes Bui-Rurik and David!
Your military thunders have ceased.
Didn’t yours swim in blood
Gold-covered helmets?
And not your brave regiments
Roar like tours, dying
From a red-hot saber, from the hand of
Warrior of an unknown land?
Stand up, sovereigns, in the golden stirrup
For insult on this rainy day,
For the Russian land,
For Igor’s wounds –
The daring son of Svyatoslavich!

8

Yaroslav, Prince of Galicia! Your city
stands high under the clouds.
You saddled the peaks of the Carpathians
And propped up with iron shelves.
On your throne of gold
You, prince, decide eight things at once,
And the people call you around
Osmomyslen — for the great mind.
Door of the Danube locked with a key,
Blocking the way for the King,
You throw Bremen above the clouds,
You pronounce judgment all the way to the Danube.
Your power has flowed across the lands,
You enter the limits of Kyiv,
And into the saltans from your father’s table
You shoot princely arrows.
So shoot at Konchak, sir,
Hit the enemy from the distant mountains –
For the Russian land,
For Igor’s wounds –
The daring son of Svyatoslavich!

9

You, princes Mstislav and buoy-Roman!
Your mind rushes to a feat, a living thought.
And you rush to the enemy camp,
Spreading like a falcon through the fog,
Wanting to defeat the bird in a riot.
The princely chest is full of iron,
The Latin shines with a golden helmet,
And wherever your path lies,
The whole earth trembles from heaviness.
you beat Khinova and Lithuania;
Deremela, Polovtsy, Yotvingians,
Throwing spears, fell on the grass
And bowed their violent head
Under damask swords and banners.

10

But the former glory is no more with us.
The clear light of the sun no longer shines on Igor.
Not for good the tree dropped its leaves:
The filthy army divided the city.
According to Sula, according to Roshi, there is no enemy.
Do not resurrect Igor’s brave regiment!
Don calls us, prince, calls us with you!
Olgovichi brave alone entered the battle.

11

Prince Ingvar, Prince Vsevolod! And we call you
for a long trip,
We have three Mstislavichs,
Six-wings of the princely family!
Didn’t you honestly fight
Cities and parishes?
Where is your fatherly helmet,
Faithful shield, spear of Lyash steel?
To lock the gates of the Field,
time for your arrows to ring
For the Russian land,
For Igor’s wounds –
The daring son of Svyatoslavich!

12

No longer flows like a silver stream
To Pereyaslavl-city of Sula.
Already the Dvina behind the Polotsk wall
Under the call of the filthy swamps flowed away.
But Izyaslav, son of Vasilkov, with swords
Called Lithuanian helmets,
Alone with his brave regiments
Vseslav-grandfather of glory nailed.
And he himself, hacked with a red-hot saber,
In a foreign land, among bloody grasses,
Stained with seething blood in battle,
Fell on a scarlet shield, groaning: licked the blood on the young body of
Forest animals, leaving the dens. –
And in the hour of death to help the brave husband
None of the brothers hurried into battle.
Alone in the steppe his pearly soul
From his brave body he dropped.
Through a golden necklace, brothers
She left, leaving her shelter.
The songs are sad, the joy has died away,
Only the pipes of Goroden are singing…

13

Yaroslav and Vseslav’s great grandchildren!
Bow down the banners! Drop the sword!
You jumped out of ancient glory,
Kohl decided to neglect honor.
It’s you with strife and turmoil
They brought filthy people to us in Rus’,
And since then we have no life from the fierce
Polovtsian cursed land!

14

It was the seventh century of the Trojans.
The mighty prince of Polotsk Vseslav
Cast lots, looking into the future,
Thinking about his beloved.
Plotting a new sedition,
He found support in Kyiv
And rushed to the ancient throne,
And hit the throne with a spear.
But the old prince’s tower did not flinch,
And Vseslav, hanging in the blue haze,
Jumped out of Belgorod like a beast –
Not a tenant on Kyiv land.
And, ringing with axes for glory,
Novgorod doors opened,
And he crushed the glory of Yaroslav,
And from Dudutki through the oak forest
To Nemiga he slipped like a wolf.
And on the river, brothers, on Nemiga
Prince’s honor is not given as an insult –
Day and night sheaves are laid on the barn,
Not sheaves, but heads are laid.
Not with a flail – with his damask sword
In that land the farmer threshes,
And he lays down his life on the military field,
Blows the soul from bloody bodies.
The shores of that accursed Nemiga
Blackened from bloody herbs –
Oratay sowed them not good,
And Russian bones – Vseslav.

15

That Vseslav judged people by court,
Vseslav divided the cities among princes,
Himself all night, like a beast, wandered in the fog,
Evening – in Kyiv, until dawn – in Tmutorokan,
Like a faithful wolf attacked path,
He could have crossed the run for Horse.

16

It used to happen at Sophia in Polotsk,
They would call for matins, and he
In Kyiv, as soon as dawn came,
The bellman hears a chime.
And although a prophetic soul dwelt in his mighty body
,
All the same, the prince’s suffering overcame
And he died, breathing revenge.
Thus he completed his unprecedented path.
And then Boyan said to him:
“Prince Vseslav! Neither the wise nor the daring
do not escape God’s judgment.

17

Oh, you moan, dear land,
Remembering the old days
And the princes of bygone years!
Old Vladimir is no more.
He was brave, and no force
would nail him to Kyiv.
Who keeps the ancient banners?
These – Rurik wears, those – David,
But not together their banners splash,
Apart their copies sing and shine.

Part Three

1

Above the wide Board of the Danube,
over the Great Galician Land
cries,
Voice Yaroslavna Young:
-I wrapped up, Poor, cuckoo,
on the Danube-Rechka I will lay down
And a sleeve with a beaver edge,
Leaning down, I will soak in Kayala.
The mists will fly away, the mists will disperse,
Prince Igor will open his eyes,
And bloody wounds in the morning,
Leaning over the mighty body.
Far away in Putivl, on the visor,
Only the dawn will dawn in the morning,
Yaroslavna, full of sadness,
Like a cuckoo, calls to the south:
– What are you, the Wind, angrily sing,
What are the fogs swirling by the river,
Polovtsian arrows rise,
Are you throwing them at the Russian regiments?
What do you not like in space
Fly high under the cloud,
Nurture ships in the blue sea,
Waves sway behind the stern?
You, the enemy’s arrows,
You only blow death from on high.
Oh, why, why did you dispel my fun
In feather grass forever?
Lamenting at the dawn in Putivl,
Like a cuckoo in early spring,
Young Yaroslavna calls,
Sobbing city on the wall:
– My glorious Dnieper! Stone mountains
In the lands of the Polovtsian you broke through,
Svyatoslav in the distant expanses
He wore Kobyakovs to the regiments.
Cherish the prince, sir,
Save it on the far side,
So that I forget tears from now on,
So that he returns to me alive!
Far in Putivl, on visor,
Only dawn breaks in the morning,
Yaroslavna, full of sadness,
Like a cuckoo, calls to the south:
– The sun is thrice bright! With you
Everyone is welcome and warm.
Why are you the prince’s daring army
Burned with hot rays?
And why are you in the waterless desert?
Under the blow of the formidable Polovtsy?

2

And the sea surged. Through the fog
The whirlwind rushed to the native north –
The Lord himself from the Polovtsian countries
The way points to the prince to the house.
The dawns have gone out. Igor is sleeping.
Igor is dozing, but not falling asleep.
Igor’s thoughts fly to the Don
He measures the road to the Donets.
It’s already midnight. The horse is ready.
Who whistles in the fog across the river?
To Ovlur. His conditional call
Hears the prince, covered in darkness:
– Come out, Prince Igor! – And as soon as
Ovlur fell silent, as from the night rumble
The earth trembled,
The grass rustled,
The veil was stirred by a violent wind.
Turning into an ermine-squirrel,
Prince Igor rushed to the reeds,

And swam like a goldeneye on a wave,
He flew like the wind on a horse.

The horse has fallen, and the prince is off his horse,
He rides home like a gray wolf.

Like a falcon, soaring into the clouds,
Seeing the Donets from afar.

Flies without roads and without paths,
Beats swan ducks for dinner.

Where Igor flies like a falcon
There Ovlur runs like a gray wolf

3

The raven no longer caws in the field,
The jackdaw no longer calls there,
Magpies no longer chirp,
They only jump through the bushes.
Woodpeckers, meeting Igor,
With a knock they show the way to the river,
And, announcing a cheerful dawn,
Nightingales rejoice in the distance.

4

And, on the waves of the knight, cherishing,
Rek Donets: – You are great, Prince Igor!
You brought joy to the Russian lands,
Returning home from captivity.
– Oh, the river! – answered the prince. — Not a lot
And greatness to you! At the hour of the night
You rocked Igor on the waves,
Covered your silver shore
With green grass for him.
And when he dozed under the foliage,
Where gloomy haze reigned,
His guard was a goldeneye over the water,
The gull of the prince guarded in the sky.

5

But not all rivers are so famous.
Here is Stugna, having a bad temper,
Spilled majestically near the mouth,
Devouring all the neighboring streams,
And closed the Dnieper from Rostislav,
And Rostislav died in the abyss.
A mother is crying over a dark river,
Calling her son-young man in the darkness,
And the flowers drooped, and with anguish
The tree bowed to the ground.

6

Not magpies are chirping in the field,
Not ravens are calling near the Donets –
Polovtsian horses are trampling,
Gzak and Konchak are looking for a fugitive.
And old Gzak said to Konchak:
– If the falcon flies to the tower,
The falconer will fall into a mess –
We will shoot him with a golden arrow. –
And then Konchak said to him:
– If the falcon tends to the tower,
The falconer will get into trouble –
We will entangle him with a maiden.
– If we entangle him with a girl, –
Old Gzak answered Konchak, –
He and the girl will rush off to his tower,
And any bird will start beating us
In the Polovtsian field, Khan Konchak!

7

And Boyan said how to end his speech
To the song-maker of Prince Svyatoslav:
– It is hard, brothers, for a head without shoulders,
Bitter for the body, since it is without a head. –
Darkness stands over the Russian land:
It is bitter for her without Igor alone.

8

But the sun is rising in the sky —
Prince Igor appeared in Rus’.

Songs are winding from the far Danube,
Flying across the sea to Kyiv.

The daring
Ascends along Borichev To the Holy Mother of God Pirogoshcha.

And the countries are glad,
And the cities are cheerful.