Заклятье [Zaklyatye] [English translation]

Sacred, sacred invocation, invocation

Rode, Rode, Rode, I conjure thee

Through sacred fire, ardent eyes.

Through the fingers sand and dirt -

Now turn into a bird,

And like a bird without sound

Fly thou low above the ground!

Fly thou low above the ground

Like a bird without sound,

Fly above the Mother-Earth,

And proclaim the sacred Verse,

Sacred Verses from the skies

Show, show our eyes

In the clear forest air

Show the path of forebears!

At the break of dawn fire, come alive!

Like my solemn cry - fly now to the sky!

Clear morning dew in our palms we gather,

Bowing to the ground to the Rode-Father!

Rode, lead us through the path,

To the future from the past.

Thy wide palm, thy open hand

To your folk now extend.

Give them, give them eagle wings,

Send them forth to the unknowns.

Give the great strength to the kings,

To thy people's sons!

Glory, the Graced Multifaced!

Hear my cry - the fire in the sky!

Stand among us in the Yav'!

Eye in the Prav'! Hand in the Nav'!

Give thy strength to those here!

Give them thine eyes, ancient Seer!

Glory, the Graced Multifaced!

Accept this prayer, great Forebear!

Glory, the Graced Multifaced!

Hear my cry - the fire in the sky!

Glory, the Graced Multifaced!

Accept this prayer, great Forebear!