stood--
I was faint--and the sun seem'd as darken'd with blood:

By the maiden's lone window I listen'd, and there
I beheld an Armenian caressing the fair.

The light darken'd round me--then flash'd my good blade....
The minion ne'er finish'd the kiss that betray'd.

On the corse of the minion in fury I danced,
Then silent and pale at the maiden I glanced.

I remember the prayers and the red-bursting stream....
Thus perish'd the maiden--thus perish'd my dream.

This raven-black shawl from her dead brow I tore--
On its fold from my dagger I wiped off the gore.

The mists of the evening arose, and my slave
Hurl'd the corses of both in the Danube's dark wave.

Since then, I kiss never the maid's eyes of light--
Since then, I know never the soft joys of night.

Like a madman I gaze on the raven-black shawl;
Remorse, fear, and anguish--this heart knows them all!

* * * * *

The pretty lines which we are now about to offer, are rather remarkable
as being written in the manner of the ancient national songs of Russia,
than for any thing very new in the ideas, or very striking in the
expression. They possess, however--at least in the original--a certain
charm arising from simplicity and grace.

THE ROSE.

Where is our rose, friends?
Tell if ye may!
Faded the rose, friends,
The Dawn-child of Day.
Ah, do not say,
Such is youth's fleetness!
Ah, do not say,
Thus fades life's sweetness!
No, rather say,
I mourn thee, rose--farewell!
Now to the lily-bell
Flit we away.

* * * * *

Among the thousand-and-one compositions, in all languages, founded upon
the sublime theme of the downfall and death of Napoleon, there are, we
think, very few which have surpassed, in weight of thought, in splendour
of diction, and in grandeur of versification, Pushkin's noble lyric upon
this subject. The mighty share which Russia had in overthrowing the
gigantic power of the greatest of modern conquerors, could not fail of
affording to a Russian poet a peculiar source of triumphant yet not too
exulting inspiration; and Pushkin, in that portion of the following ode
in which he is led more particularly to allude to the part played by his
country in the sublime drama, whose catastrophe was the ruin of
Bonaparte's blood-cemented empire, has given undeniable proof of his
possessing that union of magnanimity and