d accompanying the meaning of his words with the movements of their
features. The _Toolholos_ selected, for his subjects, national
traditions, which warmly excited the feelings of his audience. As to
ourselves, very slightly acquainted with the history of Tartary, we took
small interest in all those illustrious unknown, whom the Mongol
rhapsodist marshalled over the scene.

When he had sung for some time, the old man presented to him a large cup
of milk-wine. The minstrel placed his instrument upon his knees, and
with evident relish proceeded to moisten his throat, parched with the
infinitude of marvels he had been relating. While, having finished his
draught, he was licking the brim of his cup: "_Toolholos_," said we, "the
songs you have sung were all excellent. But you have as yet said nothing
about the Immortal Tamerlane: the 'Invocation to Timour,' we have heard,
is a famous song, dear to the Mongols." "Yes, yes," exclaimed several
voices at once, "sing us the 'Invocation to Timour.'" There was a
moment's silence, and then the Toolholos, having refreshed his memory,
sang, in a vigorous and warlike tone, the following strophes:--

"When the divine Timour dwelt within our tents, the Mongol nation was
redoubtable and warlike; its least movements made the earth bend; its
mere look froze with fear the ten thousand peoples upon whom the sun
shines.

"O divine Timour, will thy great soul soon revive?
Return! return! we await thee, O Timour!

"We live in our vast plains, tranquil and peaceful as sheep; yet our
hearts are fervent and full of life. The memory of the glorious age
of Timour is ever present to our minds. Where is the chief who is to
place himself at our head, and render us once more great warriors?

"O divine Timour, will thy great soul soon revive?
Return! return! we await thee, O Timour!

"The young Mongol has arms wherewith to quell the wild horse, eyes
wherewith he sees afar off in the desert the traces of the lost
camel. Alas! his arms can no longer bend the bow of his ancestors;
his eye cannot see the wiles of the enemy.

"O divine Timour, will thy great soul soon revive?
Return! return! we await thee, O Timour!

"We have burned the sweet smelling wood at the feet of the divine
Timour, our foreheads bent to the earth; we have offered to him the
green leaf of tea and the milk of our herds. We are ready; th