On Volga-mother, river-breadwinner
There are ships with goods, strugs1 and shallops
And it didn’t overstrain and is not tiered.
The burden is not heavy - ships are not foreign

Swiming on the ship down Volga,
I pass thresholds
I look right:
Riverside is flat.

There reed moves
And across breaks
Right riverside is flat
Left riverside is high-pitched

Volga heard songs harder then "Dubinushka"
All water is beaten with bullets of enemies
And water was with our blood
It was like red foam near riversides

Long time to fresh water
Cryed
High-pitched riversides,
And flat riversides

Cryed. It is trampled
With acute horseshoes.
But now hard wounds are
slicked with waves.

What is happened, old citys
With antique walls and kremlins on hills?
Fairy-tale heroes woke up
And with big crowd, Are up from the ground.

Moving with big hands
Ships try,
Pull barges from the Caspian
Pull and overstrain,

Pull and dont look back.
And for many miles
There are high-pitched
And flat riversides