Being the wolf and follow the sun’s way,
Being the white gyrfalcon and fly up to the clouds!
The nature bears retribution’ echo,
The heroes’ will is to cry “Go for the victory»!

This is the great field of the final battle,
Where a moss is under my feet and a forest behind my back-
And brothers, who had gone with you to the battle,
Will die or survive close by you!

There is the sword’s glitter like a dew in the Rus warrior’s arm,
And arrows got stick in the ground and trunks,
There is a wolf’s resolution to fight in your eyes,
There is the gyrfalcon’s wing-span at your standard.

These are the standards and pipes and the drums’ sounds,
The castles, wandering wind, victories, sorrow,
And dreams about your native, but lost countries,
Where the gyrfalcon, the wolf and boundless distance are.

So, why do you, brothers, lie immovably?
I had been beaten down to the trunk by the enemy’s spear!
The winner was doom to be in the far world,
And the wound in the chest bleeds little and little.

The warrior keep the eye at the fighting’ sounds through the ancient cup
And squeezes his sword obstinately-
I will call such love very real:
And die for saving my native land.

The bloody battles, where the time had stopped,
There are the sword’s strokes and heavy axes,
The warrior’s sweetheart’s smile,
Fields and the Forests and the sumptuous feast in the knight’s tower.