ill alive, although the race of the
professional bards is growing more and more scarce. They call their
historical ballads _Dumi_, or _Dumki_, an appellation for historical
elegies, which has recently been adopted by Polish literati.[35]

We give here a few characteristic specimens of their poetry; serving
to illustrate their warlike spirit, as well as their domestic
relations; their skill in narrative ballads, as well as their power of
expressing in lyric strains the unsophisticated feelings of a tender
heart. We begin with two genuine Kozak elegies.

ON THE MURDER OF YESSAUL TSHURAI.[36]

O eagle, young gray eagle,
Tshurai, thou youth so brave,
In thine own land, the Pole,
The Pole dug thee thy grave!

The Pole dug thee thy grave,
For thee and thy Hetman;
They killed the two young heroes,
Stephen, the valiant Pan.

O eagle, young gray eagle,
Thy brethren are eagles too;
The old ones and the young ones,
Their custom well they knew!

The old ones and the young ones
They are all brave like thee,
An oath they all did take
Avenged shalt thou be!

The old ones and the young ones,
In council grave they meet;
They sit on coal black steeds,
On steeds so brave and fleet.

On steeds so brave and fleet
They are flying, eagle like;
In Polish towns and castles
Like lightning they will strike.

Of steel they carry lances,
Lances so sharp and strong;
With points as sharp as needles,
With hooks so sharp and long.

Of steel they carry sabres,
Two edged, blunted never;
To bring the Pole perdition
For ever and for ever!

LAMENT FOR YESSAUL PUSHKAR.

There flows a little river,
And Worskla is its name;
And of the little river
Know old and young the fame.

And on the little river,
They know good songs to sing;
And on the little river,
They like good thoughts to think.

O thoughts, ye manly thoughts,
Ye call up sorrow and woe;
O thoughts, ye manly thoughts,
From you strong deeds can grow!

Where are you, brave Kozaks?
Where are you, valiant lords?
Your bones are in the grave,
In the deep moor your swords!

Where art thou, O Pushkar?
Where art thou, valiant knight?
Ukraina weeps for thee,
And for her fate so bright.

His bones are in the grave,
Himself with God is now;
O weep, O weep, Ukraina,
An orphan left art thou.

Ukra