All, all is in tranquillity.

On the third night the hermit fated

Beside those shores of sorcery,

Sat and the damsel fair awaited,

And dark the woods began to be -

The beams of morn the night mists scatter,

No Monk is seen then, well a day!

And only, only in the water

The lasses view'd his beard of grey.

ANCIENT RUSSIAN SONG.

I.

The windel-straw nor grass so shook and trembled;

As the good and gallant stripling shook and trembled;

A linen shirt so fine his frame invested,

O'er the shirt was drawn a bright pelisse of scarlet

The sleeves of that pelisse depended backward,

The lappets of its front were button'd backward,

And were spotted with the blood of unbelievers;

See the good and gallant stripling reeling goeth,

From his eyeballs hot and briny tears distilling;

On his bended bow his figure he supporteth,

Till his bended bow has lost its goodly gilding;

Not a single soul the stripling good encounter'd,

Till encounter'd he the mother dear who bore him:

O my boy, O my treasure, and my darling!

By what mean hast thou render'd thee so drunken,

To the clay that thou bowest down thy figure,

And the grass and the windel-straws art grasping?

To his Mother thus the gallant youth made answer:

'Twas not I, O mother dear, who made me drunken,

But the Sultan of the Turks has made me drunken

With three potent, various potations;

The first of them his keenly cutting sabre;

The next of them his never failing jav'lin;