Don Ivanovich, our nourisher!
Great praise of thee is spoken,
Great praise and words of honor,
That thou didst swiftly run in olden days,
Swiftly but all clearly didst thou run.
But now, our nourisher, all troubled dost thou flow,
Troubled unto thy depths art thou, O Don.
Then glorious, quiet Don thus made reply,—
“How otherwise than troubled can I be?
Russian song
