eader.

The translations in this little collection make no pretension to being
more than an effort to share the delight found in them; from which most
of the world is debarred by the difficulty of the language in which they
are written. They have been chosen at random, each for some intrinsic
charm or because of its bearing upon some peculiar phase of the author.
Very few of the lyrics of Pushkin have been included, for the reason
that the great founder of Russian poetry has been more widely translated
than any other Russian poet, and is therefore available in several
languages.

Remembering always that Heine declared translation was betrayal,--the
rhyme and smoothness have in every case been sacrificed when necessary
to preserve the exact rhythm, and as far as possible the vigour and
colour, as well as thought of the original; a task entirely beyond me
save for the co-operation of an accomplished Russian linguist who has
kindly assisted in the literal translation of every poem here presented.

M.G.D.B.

RUSSIAN LYRICS AND
COSSACK SONGS

THE SONG OF THE KAZAK

Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,
Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!

Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
With him a mighty power brings,
To win the honour of his land
Kazak his life unheeding flings--
Till fame of him eternal sings!

Kazak brought all Siberia
At foot of Russia's throne to lie,
Kazak left glory in the Alps,
His name the Turk can terrify,
His flag he ever carries high!

Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,
Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!

PUSHKIN.

_The accent in singing falls sharply on the second half--Kazak_.

CRADLE SONG OF A COSSACK MOTHER

Slumber sweet, my fairest baby,
Slumber calmly, sleep--
Peaceful moonbeams light thy chamber,
In thy cradle creep;
I will tell to thee a story,
Pure as dewdrop glow,
Close those two beloved eyelids--
Lullaby, By-low!

List! The Terek o'er its pebbles
Blusters through the vale,
On its shores the little Khirgez
Whets his murdrous blade;
Yet thy father grey in battle--
Guards thee, child of woe,
Safely rest thee in thy cradle,
Lullaby, By-low!

Grievous times will sure befall thee,
Danger, slaughterous fire--