Vladimir Nabokov's translation of Igor's defeat:
From early morn to eve,
and from eve to dawn,
tempered arrows fly,
sabers resound against helmets,
steel lances crack.
In the field unknown, midst the Kuman land,
the black sod under hooves
was sown with bones
and irrigated with gore.
As grief they came up
throughout the Russian land.

What dins unto me,
what rings unto me?
Early today, before the effulgences,
Igor turns back his troops:
he is anxious about his dear brother Vsevolod.
They fought one day;
they fought another,
on the third, toward noon,
Igor's banners fell.
Here the brothers parted
on the bank of the swift Kayala.
Here was a want of blood-wine;
here the brave sons of Rus
finished the feast -
got their in-laws drunk,
and themselves lay down
in defense of the Russian land.

The grass droops with condolements
and the tree with sorrow
bends to the ground.
For now, brothers, a cheerless tide has set in;
now the wild has covered the strong;
Wrong has risen among the forces
of Dazhbog's grandson;
in the guise of a maiden
[Wrong] has stepped into Troyan's land;
she clapped her swan wings
on the blue sea by the Don,
and clapping, decreased rich times.

Really appallingly awkward translation full of grotesque Latinisms (vatic Bayan etc.) . the original story may be good, but this version is terrible. ( )