Submissive to perun, the old man is one of the covenants of the coming messenger. Alexander Pushkin - Song of the Prophetic Oleg: Verse

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous labors;

He, sensing the master's will,

That meek stands under the arrows of enemies,

It rushes across the battlefield.

And the cold and cutting him nothing ...

But you will accept death from your horse.

Oleg chuckled - but the forehead

And the eyes were clouded with thought.

In silence, hand leaning on the saddle,

He dismounts from his horse, sullen;

And a true friend with a farewell hand

And strokes and pats on the neck steep.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,

The time has come for us to part;

Now rest! no more footsteps

In your gilded stirrup.

Farewell, be comforted - but remember me.

You lads-friends, take a horse!

Cover with a blanket, shaggy carpet;

Take me to my meadow by the bridle;

Bathe; feed with selected grain;

Drink spring water."

And the youths immediately departed with the horse,

And the prince brought another horse.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with the retinue

At the ringing 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? Oleg said. -

Tell me, where is my zealous horse?

Are you healthy? Still, is his run easy?

Is he still the same stormy, playful?

And listens to the answer: on a steep hill

He had long since passed into a sleepless sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head

And he thinks: “What is fortune-telling?

Magician, you deceitful, mad old man!

I would despise your prediction!

My horse would carry me to this day."

And he wants to see the bones of the horse.

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 rains wash them, their dust falls asleep,

And the wind excites the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull

And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!

Your old master has outlived you:

At the funeral feast, not far away,

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

And drink my ashes with hot blood!

So that's where my death lurked!

The bone threatened me with death!”

From the dead head a coffin snake

Meanwhile, hersing crawled out;

Like a black ribbon wrapped around the legs,

And suddenly the stung prince cried out.

How the prophetic Oleg is now going
Take revenge on the unreasonable Khazars,
Their villages and fields for a violent raid
He doomed swords and fires;
With his retinue, in Constantinople armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him
There is an inspired magician,
Submissive to Perun, the old man alone,
The promises of the future messenger,
In prayers and divination spent the whole century.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

"Tell me, sorcerer, favorite of the gods,
What will happen in my life?
And soon, to the delight of neighbors-enemies,
Will I cover myself with grave earth?
Tell me the whole truth, don't be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.

"Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,
And they do not need a princely gift;
Truthful and free is their prophetic language
And friendly with the will of heaven.
The coming years lurk in the mist;
But I see your lot on a bright forehead.

Remember now you my word:
Glory to the Warrior is a joy;
Your name is glorified by victory;
Your shield is on the gates of Tsaregrad;
And 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 shaft
In the hours of fatal bad weather,
And a sling, and an arrow, and a crafty dagger
Years spare the winner ...
Under formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian is given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous labors;
He, sensing the master's will,
That meek stands under the arrows of enemies,
It rushes across the battlefield.
And the cold and cutting him nothing ...
But you will accept death from your horse.

Oleg chuckled, but
And the eyes were clouded with thought.
In silence, hand leaning on the saddle,
He dismounts from his horse, sullen;
And a true friend with a farewell hand
And strokes and pats on the neck steep.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,
The time has come for us to part;
Now rest! no more footsteps
In your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - but remember me.
You, fellow youths, take a horse,

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

The prophetic Oleg feasts with the retinue
At the ringing 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 run still easy?
Is he still the same stormy, playful?
And listens to the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since passed into a sleepless sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head
And he thinks: “What is fortune-telling?
Magician, you deceitful, mad old man!
I would despise your prediction!
My horse would carry me to this day."
And he wants to see the bones of the horse.

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 rains wash them, their dust falls asleep,
And the wind excites the feather grass above them.

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

So that's where my death lurked!
The bone threatened me with death!”
From the dead head a grave serpent,
Hissing, meanwhile crawled out;
Like a black ribbon wrapped around the legs,
And suddenly the stung prince cried out.

Ladles are circular, foaming, hissing
At the feast of the deplorable Oleg;
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;
The squad is feasting at the shore;
Fighters commemorate past days
And the battles where they fought together.

Analysis of the poem "Song of the Prophetic Oleg" by Alexander Pushkin

The poem "The Song of the Prophetic Oleg" was written 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. Indirect sources were folk tales and legends. Oleg was very popular in Ancient Rus'. The main positive features that characterized the great people at that time were considered courage and courage. For Oleg, the nickname Prophetic was fixed 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. “Song…” is presented in a very beautiful musical language with an abundance of epithets and figurative expressions. The victorious campaigns of the prince, his courage during the battles are listed.

All colorful descriptions serve as a background for the main theme of the work - the inevitability of fate in the fate of a person. The glorified prince meets a sorcerer who knows the will of the gods. The ancient Russian Magi, even after the adoption of Christianity, enjoyed great authority for a long time. They were credited with the ability to see the future. Even Oleg, nicknamed the Prophet, respectfully addresses the elder and asks him to reveal the secret of his fate.

In the image of the sorcerer, Pushkin symbolically portrays the poet-creator, who is not subject to time and earthly power. Perhaps this is an allusion to his own exile, which is not able to influence 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-in-arms. After many years, covered with victories and glory, the prince learns about the death of his horse. He curses the "deceitful old man", but dies from a snake crawling out of a horse's skull. Only before death does he realize the truth of the prediction.

Oleg's death can be regarded in two ways. This is the fulfillment of the prediction, and the revenge of the sorcerer for the desecration of his own name. Pushkin again puts in place all the rulers and bosses who consider themselves omnipotent. He reminds that no one has power over their own destiny. The ability to see, recognize millions of accidents and try to predict the future is the lot of creative people. They should not be treated with disdain, because in the hands of the Magi, poets, prophets, the key to the future.

The Song of the Prophetic Oleg, for all its artistic merits, is one of Pushkin's first attempts at a philosophical understanding of the poet's place in the life of society.

How the prophetic Oleg is now going

Take revenge on the unreasonable Khazars:
Their villages and fields for a violent raid

He doomed swords and fires;
With his retinue, in Constantinople armor,
The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him

There is an inspired magician,
Submissive to Perun, the old man alone,

The promises of the future messenger,
In prayers and divination spent the whole century.
And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

"Tell me, sorcerer, favorite of the gods,

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

Will I cover myself with grave earth?
Tell me the whole truth, don't be afraid of me:
You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.

"Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,

And they do not need a princely gift;
Truthful and free is their prophetic language

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

Remember now you my word:

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

Your shield is on the gates of Tsaregrad;
And 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 shaft

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

Spare the winner years ...
Under formidable armor you know no wounds;
An invisible guardian is given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous labors:

He, sensing the master's will,
That meek stands under the arrows of enemies,

It rushes across the battlefield,
And the cold and cutting him nothing.
But you will accept death from your horse.

Oleg chuckled - but the forehead

And the eyes were clouded with thought.
In silence, hand leaning on the saddle,

He gets down from his horse sullen;
And a true friend with a farewell hand
And strokes and pats on the neck steep.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,

It's time for us to part:
Now rest! no more footsteps

In your gilded stirrup.
Farewell, be comforted - but remember me.
You lads-friends, take a horse!

Cover with a blanket, shaggy carpet;

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

Drink spring water."
And the youths immediately departed with the horse,
And the prince brought another horse.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with the retinue

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

Above the glorious head of the barrow...
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 lie down O to his run?

Is he still the same stormy, playful?
And listens to the answer: on a steep hill
He had long since passed into a sleepless sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head

And he thinks: “What is fortune-telling?
Magician, you deceitful, mad old man!

I would despise your prediction!
My horse would carry me to this day."
And he wants to see the bones of the horse.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,

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

Noble bones lie;
The rains wash them, their dust falls asleep,
And the wind excites the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull

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

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

So that's where my death lurked!

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

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

Ladles are circular, being lazy, hissing

At the feast of the deplorable Oleg:
Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;

The squad is feasting at the shore;
Fighters commemorate past days
And the battles where they fought together.

Alexander Pushkin, 1822

How the prophetic Oleg is now going

Take revenge on the unreasonable Khazars,

Their villages and fields for a violent raid

He doomed swords and fires;

With his retinue, in Constantinople armor,

The prince rides across the field on a faithful horse.

From the dark forest towards him

There is an inspired magician,

Submissive to Perun, the old man alone,

The promises of the future messenger,

In prayers and divination spent the whole century.

And Oleg drove up to the wise old man.

"Tell me, sorcerer, favorite of the gods,

What will happen in my life?

And soon, to the delight of neighbors-enemies,

Will I cover myself with grave earth?

Tell me the whole truth, don't be afraid of me:

You will take a horse as a reward for anyone.

"Magi are not afraid of mighty lords,

And they do not need a princely gift;

Truthful and free is their prophetic language

And friendly with the will of heaven.

The coming years lurk in the mist;

But I see your lot on a bright forehead.

Remember now you my word:

Glory to the Warrior is a joy;

Your name is glorified by victory;

Your shield is on the gates of Tsaregrad;

And 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 shaft

In the hours of fatal bad weather,

And a sling, and an arrow, and a crafty dagger

Years spare the winner ...

Under formidable armor you know no wounds;

An invisible guardian is given to the mighty.

Your horse is not afraid of dangerous labors;

He, sensing the master's will,

That meek stands under the arrows of enemies,

It rushes across the battlefield.

And the cold and cutting him nothing ...

But you will accept death from your horse.

Oleg chuckled - but the forehead

And the eyes were clouded with thought.

In silence, hand leaning on the saddle,

He dismounts from his horse, sullen;

And a true friend with a farewell hand

And strokes and pats on the neck steep.

"Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant,

The time has come for us to part;

Now rest! no more footsteps

In your gilded stirrup.

Farewell, be comforted - but remember me.

You, fellow youths, take a horse,

Cover with a blanket, shaggy carpet;

Take me to my meadow by the bridle;

Bathe; feed with selected grain;

Drink spring water."

And the youths immediately departed with the horse,

And the prince brought another horse.

The prophetic Oleg feasts with the retinue

At the ringing 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 run still easy?

Is he still the same stormy, playful?

And listens to the answer: on a steep hill

He had long since passed into a sleepless sleep.

Mighty Oleg bowed his head

And he thinks: “What is fortune-telling?

Magician, you deceitful, mad old man!

I would despise your prediction!

My horse would carry me to this day."

And he wants to see the bones of the horse.

Here comes the mighty Oleg from the yard,

Igor and old guests are with him,

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

Noble bones lie;

The rains wash them, their dust falls asleep,

And the wind excites the feather grass above them.

The prince quietly stepped on the horse's skull

And he said: “Sleep, lonely friend!

Your old master has outlived you:

At the funeral feast, already close,

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

And drink my ashes with hot blood!

So that's where my death lurked!

The bone threatened me with death!”

From the dead head a grave serpent,

Hissing, meanwhile crawled out;

Like a black ribbon wrapped around the legs,

And suddenly the stung prince cried out.

Ladles are circular, foaming, hissing

At the feast of the deplorable Oleg;

Prince Igor and Olga are sitting on a hill;

The squad is feasting at the shore;

Fighters commemorate past days

And the battles where they fought together.