In Kiev, the capital, in Kiev city,
When Prince Vladimir ruled us nobly,
A marvel was revealed, a portent.
Turgarin Zmyeyevich sailed forth.
Vladimir, the sun of the city of Kiev,
Was heading his princely and pompous feast;
The oaken tables were all set up
And honey drinks poured forth like a river,
And sugared sweetmeats covered the board.
Tugarin was gulping the swan's white flesh,
But Alyosha Popovich was sitting at hand.
And Alyosha Popovich spake in this wise:
"When I still abode at my father's homestead,
My father Leon, the pope of Rostov,
Now he had a hound, so sorry and mangy,
A hound all grizzled and grey.
It grabbed at a bone which was much too big,
And where it grabbed it burst and split;
And thus will I deal with Tugarin Zmyeyevich,
Will I, Alyosha, the Pope's son."
And Tugarin went bibbing the wine, the green wine,
A glass at a time he guzzled down.
Whilst Alyosha bespoke him in this wise:
"When I still abode at my Sire's homestead,
My father, Leon, the pope of Rostov,
He had a big cow, a monster,
Who swallowed her drinks by whole pailfuls
And when she had drunk it she burst!
And thus will I do by Tugarin Zmyeyevich,
I will burst him, I, Alyosha Popovich."
Tugarin beliked not these gentle speeches,
And the tugged on the table a sharp steel knife.
And hurted it by Alyosha.
By the stove, the glaze bricked stove,
His servant Maryshko Paranov was standing
And caught the knife as it flew,
And addressed the knife in this wise: -
"Ho health to you Alyosha Levontyevich,
Is it me you will send, or will you fend
In the flight with Tugarin Zmyeyevich?"
Where the grebe and the legless diver ply,
Tugarin fled to the open fields,
And thither Alyosha went on the morrow,
Alyosha went to the open fields.
He shot at Tugarin Zmyeyevich,
Tugarin Zmyeyevich he slew.
And therefore the ages sing of Alyosha
When the blue sea rolls in peace
And tell the tale for good folk to hear.
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