own the tree.
Feathers too were strew'd
Widely o'er the field;
High away the down
Floated in the air.

Ah! how wept and wept;
Ah! how sobb'd and sobb'd
The poor doveling then
For her little dove.

"Weep not, weep not so,
Tender little bird!"
Spake the light young hawk
To the little dove.
"O'er the sea away.
O'er the far blue sea,
I will drive to thee
Flocks of other doves.
From them choose thee then.
Choose a soft and blue,
With his feathered feet,
Better little dove."

"Fly, thou villain, not,
O'er the far blue sea
Drive not here to me
Flocks of other doves.
Ah! of all thy doves
None can comfort me;
Only he, the father
Of my little ones."

P.

The following little elegy we translate from a Russian Annual; the
editor of which, Baron Delvig, took it down from the lips of a peasant
girl.

THE FAITHLESS LOVER.

Nightingale, O nightingale,
Nightingale so full of song,
Tell me, tell me, where thou fliest,
Where to sing now in the night?
Will another maiden hear thee
Like to me, poor me, all night
Sleepless, restless, comfortless,
Ever full of tears her eyes?
Fly, O fly, dear nightingale,
Over hundred countries fly,
Over the blue sea so far;
Spy the distant countries through,
Town and village, hill and dell,
Whether thou find'st any one,
Who so sad is, as I am?

O, I bore a necklace once,
All of pearls like morning dew;
And I bore a finger-ring,
With a precious stone thereon;

And I bore deep in my heart
Love, a love so warm and true.
When the sad, sad autumn came,
Were the pearls no longer clear;
And in winter burst my ring,
On my finger, of itself![25]
Ah! and when the spring came on,
Had forgotten me my love.

There is one trait in the Russian character, which we recognize
distinctly in their poetry, namely, their peculiar and almost Oriental
veneration for their sovereign, and a blind submission to his will.
There is indeed somewhat of a religious mixture in this feeling; for
the Tzar is not only the sovereign lord of the country and master of
their lives, but he is also the head of the orthodox church. The
_orthodox_ Tzar is one of his standing epithets. The following ballad,
which we consider as one of the most perfect among Russian popular
narrative ballads, exhibits very affectingly the complete resignation
with which the Russian meets death, when decreed by h