Without pursuing any other goal than just my own whim, according to which, during a walk, I suddenly wanted to combine three poets: A.S. Pushkin, V.S. Vysotsky and A.A. Galich through the prophetic Oleg, either because Providence or fate often occupied their minds and they somehow connected in me through this association, or because the first two lines exist in an unchanged state in all three poems by three poets, but one way or another it happened. It seems that it is necessary to say about some distinctiveness in the imagery of these poets. If Pushkin wrote the prophetic Oleg without irony and with faith in historical tradition, then in Vysotsky the image of the prophetic Oleg is carried by no one life rule, an idea, rather than a historical event as such. In Galich, the prophetic Oleg is no longer a historical character and not a moralizing idea, but rather a poetic line from Pushkin, transformed into an interpretation of history as such, history in general, and not the prophetic Oleg, and specifically directed against the Marxist approach to antiquity. Below I present all three poems, although A. Galich and V. Vysotsky call them songs and are sung, however,
I don't see any significant difference between a song and a poem if the song has a logical meaning.
* * *
The circumstances of the death of Prophetic Oleg are contradictory. According to the Kyiv version (“PVL”), his grave is located in Kyiv on Mount Shchekovitsa. The Novgorod Chronicle places his grave in Ladoga, but also says that he went “over the sea.”
In both versions there is a legend about death from a snake bite. According to legend, the Magi predicted to the prince that he would die from his beloved horse. Oleg ordered the horse to be taken away, and remembered the prediction only four years later, when the horse had long since died. Oleg laughed at the Magi and wanted to look at the bones of the horse, stood with his foot on the skull and said: “Should I be afraid of him?” However, a poisonous snake lived in the horse’s skull, which fatally stung the prince.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Song of prophetic Oleg

To take revenge on the foolish Khazars:
Their villages and fields for a violent raid
He condemned him to swords and fires;
With his squad, in Tsaregrad armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.
From the dark forest towards him
An inspired magician is coming,
An old man obedient to Perun alone,
The messenger of the covenants of the future,
He spent his entire century in prayers and fortune-telling.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.
"Tell me, magician, favorite of the gods,
What will happen to me in life?
And soon, to the delight of our neighbors-enemies,
Will I be covered with grave earth?
Reveal to me the whole truth, do not be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone."
"The Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,
But they don’t need a princely gift;
Their prophetic language is truthful and free
And friendly with the will of heaven.
The coming years lurk in darkness;
But I see your lot on your bright brow.
Now remember my words:
Glory is a joy to the warrior;
Your name is glorified by victory:
Your shield is on the gates of Constantinople;
Both the waves and the land are submissive to you;
The enemy is jealous of such a wondrous fate.
And the blue sea is a deceptive wave
In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And the sling and the arrow and the crafty dagger
The years are kind to the winner...
Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian has been given to the mighty.
Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work;
He, sensing the master's will,
Then the humble one stands under the arrows of enemies,
It rushes across the battlefield,
And the cold and the lashing are nothing to him...
But you will receive death from your horse."
Oleg grinned - however
And the gaze was darkened by thoughts.
In silence, leaning his hand on the saddle,
He gets off his horse gloomily;
AND true friend with a farewell hand
And he strokes and pats the cool guy’s neck.
"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,
The time has come for us to part;
Now rest! no one will step foot
Into your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - and remember me.
You, fellow youths, take a horse,
Cover with blanket, shaggy carpet;
Take me to my meadow by the bridle;
Bathe, feed with selected grain;
Give me spring water to drink."
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And they brought another horse to the prince.
The prophetic Oleg feasts with his retinue
At the clink of a cheerful glass.
And their curls are white as morning snow
Above the glorious head of the mound...
They remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together...
“Where is my comrade?” said Oleg,
Tell me, where is my zealous horse?
Are you healthy? Is his running still as easy?
Is he still the same stormy, playful person?”
And he heeds the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since fallen into deep sleep.
Mighty Oleg bowed his head
And he thinks: “What is fortune telling?
Magician, you lying, crazy old man!
I would despise your prediction!
My horse would still carry me."
And he wants to see the horse's bones.
Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,
Igor and old guests are with him,
And they see: on a hill, on the banks of the Dnieper,
Noble bones lie;
The rain washes them, the dust covers them,
And the wind stirs the feather grass above them.
The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull
And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!
Your old master outlived you:
At the funeral feast, already nearby,
It’s not you who will stain the feather grass under the ax
And feed my ashes with hot blood!
So this is where my destruction was hidden!
The bone threatened me with death!”
From the dead head of the grave serpent
Meanwhile, hissing crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around my legs:
And the suddenly stung prince cried out.
The circular buckets, foaming, hiss
At the mournful funeral of Oleg:
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;
The squad feasts on the shore;
Soldiers remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together.

V.Vysotsky
Song about the prophetic Oleg (How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now...)

How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now
Nail the shield onto the gate,
When suddenly a man runs up to him
And well, lisp something.

“Eh, prince,” he says for no apparent reason, “
After all, you will accept death from your horse!”

Well, he was just about to go to you -
Take revenge on the foolish Khazars,
Suddenly the gray-haired wise men came running,
Besides, I'm stinking of fumes.

And they say out of the blue,
That he will accept death from his horse.

“Who are you, where did you come from?!”
The squad took up their whips. -
You're drunk, old man, so go get a hangover,
And there’s no point in telling stories

And speak out of nowhere
"

Well, in general, they didn’t knock heads -
You can't joke with princes!
And for a long time the squad trampled the Magi
With your bay horses:

Look, they say out of the blue,
That he will accept death from his horse!

And the prophetic Oleg stuck to his line,
So much so that no one made a peep.
He only mentioned the Magi once,
And then he chuckled sarcastically:

Well, we need to chat for no reason at all,
That he will accept death from his horse!

"But here he is, my horse, - he has died for centuries,
Only one skull remains!..”
Oleg calmly laid his foot down -
And he died on the spot:

An evil viper bit him -
And he accepted death from his horse.

Every Magi strives to punish,
If not, listen, right?
Oleg would listen - another shield
I would nail it to the gates of Constantinople.

The Magi said from this and that,
That he will accept death from his horse!
1967

The proposed text of my proposed speech at the proposed congress of historians of the countries of the socialist camp, if such a congress took place and if I were given the high honor of speaking at this congress introductory remarks
Alexander Galich

Half the world is in blood, and in the ruins of eyelids,
And it was not without reason that it was said:
"How does the prophetic Oleg gather now?
Take revenge on the foolish Khazars..."
And these copper-ringing words,
We repeated everything more than once or twice.

But somehow from the stands a big man
He exclaimed with excitement and fervor:
"Once upon a time the traitor Oleg conceived
To take revenge on our brothers the Khazars..."

Words come and words go
With truth comes truth.
Truths change like snow during a thaw,
And let's say so that the troubles end:
Some Khazars, some Oleg,
For some reason he took revenge for something!

And this Marxist approach to antiquity
It has long been used in our country,
It was quite useful to our country,
And it will be quite useful for your country,
Since you are also in the same... camp,
It will be quite useful to you!

Reviews

I remembered the same Vysotsky: “And everyone drank something other than what they brought.”
:)
In psychology, the most popular test is probably the “non-existent animal” test, however, there are many similar ones, called projective ones. The instruction is given to draw something, for example, an animal that never existed. A man sniffles, invents something, not suspecting that he is always drawing himself. Deciphering the drawing, it’s very easy to tell about the artist)
So here it is. Vysotsky and Galich wrote about themselves.
Pushkin is not about himself.
Because for a fee.
)

Something, Margarita, you have turned something almost psychoanalytic, so you can go so far as to treat poets and prose writers by interpreting their own works to them. I’m giving you an idea, you can write a Ph.D. thesis on this topic. It’s not like Pushkin wrote the Prophetic for a fee Oleg, it was just that the time was such that folk tales and legends and, in general, the origins of the nation among the people were fashionable. The Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, Humboldt, etc. etc. As Hegel would say, first there was the thesis-Pushkin, then the antithesis-Vysotsky, and then the synthesis-Galich. And Kant would add that a priori there was the real historical event, and then, a posteriori, the poets made their synthetic judgments.
I read here in my spare time that you closed your website due to the fact that you are no longer able to summarize something meaningful in poetry. I would like to note to you that in poetry you don’t always need to generalize something, but rather, on the contrary, express it privately.
"The sound is cautious and dull,
The fruit that fell from the tree,
Among the incessant chant
Deep forest silence."
O.M.
and he
"Only read children's books,
Only cherish children's thoughts,
Scatter everything big far away,
Rise from deep sorrow"
And finally,
"And the day burned like a white page,
A little smoke and silent ash"
The ease of existence, among other things, consists in the fact that the girl with a white bow does not stand on a chair to tell her parents’ guests the poem she has learned, but goes to school and hums a song that suits her mood.

How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now
Take revenge on the foolish Khazars,
Their villages and fields for a violent raid
He condemned him to swords and fires;
With his squad, in Tsaregrad armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him
An inspired magician is coming,
An old man obedient to Perun alone,
The messenger of the covenants of the future,
He spent his entire century in prayers and fortune-telling.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

“Tell me, magician, favorite of the gods,
What will happen to me in life?
And soon, to the delight of our neighbors-enemies,
Will I be covered with grave earth?
Reveal to me the whole truth, do not be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.”

“The Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,
But they don’t need a princely gift;
Their prophetic language is truthful and free
And friendly with the will of heaven.
The coming years lurk in darkness;
But I see your lot on your bright brow.

Now remember my words:
Glory to the warrior is joy;
Your name is glorified by victory;
Your shield is on the gates of Constantinople;
Both the waves and the land are submissive to you;
The enemy is jealous of such a wondrous fate.

And the blue sea is a deceptive wave
In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And the sling and the arrow and the crafty dagger
The years are kind to the winner...
Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian has been given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work;
He, sensing the master's will,
Then the humble one stands under the arrows of enemies,
Then he rushes across the battlefield.
And the cold and slashing are nothing to him...
But you will receive death from your horse.”

Oleg grinned - however
And the gaze was darkened by thoughts.
In silence, leaning his hand on the saddle,
He gets off his horse, gloomy;
And a faithful friend with a farewell hand
And he strokes and pats the cool guy’s neck.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,
The time has come for us to part;
Now rest! no one will step foot
Into your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - and remember me.
You, fellow youths, take a horse,

Cover with blanket, shaggy carpet;
Take me to my meadow by the bridle;
Bathe; feed with selected grain;
Give me spring water to drink.”
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And they brought another horse to the prince.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with his retinue
At the clink of a cheerful glass.
And their curls are white as morning snow
Above the glorious head of the mound...
They remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together...

“Where is my friend? - said Oleg, -
Tell me, where is my zealous horse?
Are you healthy? Is his running still as easy?
Is he still the same stormy, playful person?”
And he heeds the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since fallen into deep sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head
And he thinks: “What is fortune telling?
Magician, you lying, crazy old man!
I would despise your prediction!
My horse would still carry me.”
And he wants to see the horse's bones.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,
Igor and old guests are with him,
And they see - on a hill, on the banks of the Dnieper,
Noble bones lie;
The rain washes them, the dust covers them,
And the wind stirs the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull
And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!
Your old master outlived you:
At the funeral feast, already nearby,
It’s not you who will stain the feather grass under the ax
And feed my ashes with hot blood!

So this is where my destruction was hidden!
The bone threatened me with death!”
From the dead head of the grave serpent,
Hissing, meanwhile she crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around my legs,
And the suddenly stung prince cried out.

The circular buckets, foaming, hiss
At the mournful funeral of Oleg;
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;
The squad feasts on the shore;
Soldiers remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together.

Analysis of the poem “Song of the Prophetic Oleg” by Alexander Pushkin

The poem “Song of the Prophetic Oleg” was created by Pushkin in 1822, when he was in Chisinau (southern link). The source of inspiration for the poet was the chronicle evidence of the death of the ancient Russian prince Oleg. Folk tales and legends became indirect sources. Oleg was very popular in Ancient Rus'. Main positive features, which characterized great people at that time, were considered courage and bravery. Oleg was given the nickname Prophetic among the people, which meant respect for his mental abilities.

The work is written in the ballad genre. Pushkin gave it the character of a chronicle narrative. “The Song...” is presented in very beautiful musical language with an abundance of epithets and figurative expressions. The prince's victorious campaigns and his courage during battles are listed.

All colorful descriptions serve as a background for main topic works - the inevitability of fate in human destiny. The illustrious prince meets a sorcerer who knows the will of the gods. The Old Russian Magi, even after the adoption of Christianity, enjoyed enormous authority for a long time. They were credited with the ability to see the future. Even Oleg, nicknamed the Prophetic, respectfully turns to the elder and asks him to reveal the secret of his fate.

In the image of a sorcerer, Pushkin symbolically depicts a poet-creator who is not subject to time and earthly power. Perhaps this is a hint of his own exile, which is not capable of influencing the poet’s beliefs. The proud old man rejects Oleg's reward for the prediction and reveals the harsh truth that the prince will die from his horse.

Oleg bitterly says goodbye to his comrade. Through for many years Covered with victories and glory, the prince learns of the death of his horse. He curses the “lying old man,” but dies from a snake crawling out of a horse’s skull. Only before his death does he come to realize the truth of the prediction.

Oleg's death can be assessed in two ways. This is both the fulfillment of a prediction and the sorcerer’s revenge for a reproach own name. Pushkin again puts in place all the rulers and bosses who consider themselves omnipotent. He reminds us that no one has control over his own destiny. The ability to see, recognize millions of coincidences and try to predict the future is the destiny of creative people. They cannot be treated with disdain, since the key to the future is in the hands of the wise men, poets, and prophets.

“The Song of the Prophetic Oleg,” for all its artistic merits, is one of Pushkin’s first attempts to philosophically comprehend the poet’s place in the life of society.

"Song about the prophetic Oleg"

How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now
To take revenge on the foolish Khazars:
Their villages and fields for a violent raid
He condemned him to swords and fires;
With his squad, in Tsaregrad armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him
An inspired magician is coming,
An old man obedient to Perun alone,
The messenger of the covenants of the future,
He spent his entire century in prayers and fortune-telling.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

“Tell me, magician, favorite of the gods,
What will happen to me in life?
And soon, to the delight of our neighbors-enemies,
Will I be covered with grave earth?
Reveal to me the whole truth, do not be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.”

“The Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,
But they don’t need a princely gift;
Their prophetic language is truthful and free
And friendly with the will of heaven.
The coming years lurk in darkness;
But I see your lot on your bright brow,

Now remember my words:
Glory is a joy to the warrior;
Your name is glorified by victory;
Your shield is on the gates of Constantinople;
Both the waves and the land are submissive to you;
The enemy is jealous of such a wondrous fate.

And the blue sea is a deceptive wave
In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And the sling and the arrow and the crafty dagger
The years are kind to the winner...
Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian has been given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work:
He, sensing the master's will,
Then the humble one stands under the arrows of enemies,
It rushes across the battlefield,
And the cold and the slashing are nothing to him.
But you will receive death from your horse.”

Oleg grinned - however
And the gaze was darkened by thoughts.
In silence, leaning his hand on the saddle,
He gets off his horse gloomily;
And a faithful friend with a farewell hand
And he strokes and pats the cool guy’s neck.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,
The time has come for us to part:
Now rest! no one will step foot
Into your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - and remember me.
You, fellow youths, take a horse!

Cover with blanket, shaggy carpet;
Take me by the bridle to my meadow:
Bathe, feed with selected grain;
Give me spring water to drink.”
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And they brought another horse to the prince.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with his retinue
At the clink of a cheerful glass.
And their curls are white as morning snow
Above the glorious head of the mound...
They remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together...

“Where is my friend? - said Oleg, -
Tell me, where is my zealous horse?
Are you healthy? Is his running still as easy?
Is he still the same stormy, playful person?”
And he heeds the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since fallen into deep sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head
And he thinks: “What is fortune telling?
Magician, you lying, crazy old man!
I would despise your prediction!
My horse would still carry me.”
And he wants to see the horse's bones.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,
Igor and old guests are with him,
And they see: on a hill, on the banks of the Dnieper,
Noble bones lie;
The rain washes them, the dust covers them,
And the wind stirs the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull
And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!
Your old master outlived you:
At the funeral feast, already nearby,
It’s not you who will stain the feather grass under the ax
And feed my ashes with hot blood!

So this is where my destruction was hidden!
The bone threatened me with death!”
From the dead head of the grave serpent
Meanwhile, hissing crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around my legs:
And the suddenly stung prince cried out.

The circular buckets, getting lazy, hiss
At the mournful funeral of Oleg:
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;
The squad feasts on the shore;
Soldiers remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together.

How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now

Take revenge on the foolish Khazars,

Their villages and fields for a violent raid

He condemned him to swords and fires;

With his squad, in Tsaregrad armor,

The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him

An inspired magician is coming,

An old man obedient to Perun alone,

The messenger of the covenants of the future,

He spent his entire century in prayers and fortune-telling.

And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

“Tell me, magician, favorite of the gods,

What will happen to me in life?

And soon, to the delight of our neighbors-enemies,

Will I be covered with grave earth?

Reveal to me the whole truth, do not be afraid of me:

You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.”

“The Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,

But they don’t need a princely gift;

Their prophetic language is truthful and free

And friendly with the will of heaven.

The coming years lurk in darkness;

But I see your lot on your bright brow.

Now remember my words:

Glory is a joy to the warrior;

Your name is glorified by victory;

Your shield is on the gates of Constantinople;

Both the waves and the land are submissive to you;

The enemy is jealous of such a wondrous fate.

And the blue sea is a deceptive wave

In the hours of fatal bad weather,

And the sling and the arrow and the crafty dagger

The years are kind to the winner...

Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;

An invisible guardian has been given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work;

He, sensing the master's will,

Then the humble one stands under the arrows of enemies,

Then he rushes across the battlefield.

And the cold and slashing are nothing to him...

But you will receive death from your horse.”

Oleg grinned - however

And the gaze was darkened by thoughts.

In silence, leaning his hand on the saddle,

He gets off his horse, gloomy;

And a faithful friend with a farewell hand

And he strokes and pats the cool guy’s neck.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,

The time has come for us to part;

Now rest! no one will step foot

Into your gilded stirrup.

Farewell, be comforted - and remember me.

You, fellow youths, take a horse,

Cover with blanket, shaggy carpet;

Take me to my meadow by the bridle;

Bathe; feed with selected grain;

Give me spring water to drink.”

And the youths immediately departed with the horse,

And they brought another horse to the prince.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with his retinue

At the clink of a cheerful glass.

And their curls are white as morning snow

Above the glorious head of the mound...

They remember days gone by

And the battles where they fought together...

“Where is my friend? - said Oleg, -

Tell me, where is my zealous horse?

Are you healthy? Is his running still as easy?

Is he still the same stormy, playful person?”

And he heeds the answer: on a steep hill

He had long since fallen into deep sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head

And he thinks: “What is fortune telling?

Magician, you lying, crazy old man!

I would despise your prediction!

My horse would still carry me.”

And he wants to see the horse's bones.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,

Igor and old guests are with him,

And they see - on a hill, on the banks of the Dnieper,

Noble bones lie;

The rain washes them, the dust covers them,

And the wind stirs the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull

And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!

Your old master outlived you:

At the funeral feast, already nearby,

It’s not you who will stain the feather grass under the ax

And feed my ashes with hot blood!

So this is where my destruction was hidden!

The bone threatened me with death!”

From the dead head of the grave serpent,

Hissing, meanwhile she crawled out;

Like a black ribbon wrapped around my legs,

And the suddenly stung prince cried out.

The circular buckets, foaming, hiss

At the mournful funeral of Oleg;

Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;

The squad feasts on the shore;

Soldiers remember days gone by

And the battles where they fought together.

How the prophetic Oleg is getting ready now

To take revenge on the foolish Khazars:
Their villages and fields for a violent raid

He condemned him to swords and fires;
With his squad, in Tsaregrad armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him

An inspired magician is coming,
An old man obedient to Perun alone,

The messenger of the covenants of the future,
He spent his entire century in prayers and fortune-telling.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

“Tell me, magician, favorite of the gods,

What will happen to me in life?
And soon, to the delight of our neighbors-enemies,

Will I be covered with grave earth?
Reveal to me the whole truth, do not be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.”

“The Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,

But they don’t need a princely gift;
Their prophetic language is truthful and free

And friendly with the will of heaven.
The coming years lurk in darkness;
But I see your lot on your bright brow,

Now remember my words:

Glory is a joy to the warrior;
Your name is glorified by victory;

Your shield is on the gates of Constantinople;
Both the waves and the land are submissive to you;
The enemy is jealous of such a wondrous fate.

And the blue sea is a deceptive wave

In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And the sling and the arrow and the crafty dagger

The years are kind to the winner...
Under the formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian has been given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous work:

He, sensing the master's will,
Then the humble one stands under the arrows of enemies,

It rushes across the battlefield,
And the cold and the slashing are nothing to him.
But you will receive death from your horse.”

Oleg grinned - however

And the gaze was darkened by thoughts.
In silence, leaning his hand on the saddle,

He gets off his horse gloomily;
And a faithful friend with a farewell hand
And he strokes and pats the cool guy’s neck.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,

The time has come for us to part:
Now rest! no one will step foot

Into your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - and remember me.
You, fellow youths, take a horse!

Cover with blanket, shaggy carpet;

Take me by the bridle to my meadow:
Bathe, feed with selected grain;

Give me spring water to drink.”
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And they brought another horse to the prince.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with his retinue

At the clink of a cheerful glass.
And their curls are white as morning snow

Above the glorious head of the mound...
They remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together...

“Where is my friend? - said Oleg, -

Tell me, where is my zealous horse?
Are you healthy? still lay down the same O to his run?

Is he still the same stormy, playful person?”
And he heeds the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since fallen into deep sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head

And he thinks: “What is fortune telling?
Magician, you lying, crazy old man!

I would despise your prediction!
My horse would still carry me.”
And he wants to see the horse's bones.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,

Igor and old guests are with him,
And they see: on a hill, on the banks of the Dnieper,

Noble bones lie;
The rain washes them, the dust covers them,
And the wind stirs the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull

And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!
Your old master outlived you:

At the funeral feast, already nearby,
It’s not you who will stain the feather grass under the ax
And feed my ashes with hot blood!

So this is where my destruction was hidden!

The bone threatened me with death!”
From the dead head of the grave serpent

Meanwhile, hissing crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around my legs:
And the suddenly stung prince cried out.

The circular buckets, getting lazy, hiss

At the mournful funeral of Oleg:
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;

The squad feasts on the shore;
Soldiers remember days gone by
And the battles where they fought together.

Alexander Pushkin, 1822