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the ballad of "Young Lochinvar." Both the translation of the Review, and that of Mr. Bowring, are in the metre of the original; but by the aid of poetical embellishment, and some adaptation, the translation in the Review is more likely to attract the attention of the mere English reader. In this ballad of Ajkuna's marriage, as well as in the one which follows, the "Illness of Prince Mujo," the Turkish and Servian manners are blended in a way which tells the event that had taken place as plainly as history.

The "finding of the head of Lazar," is one of the many Servian ballads that allude to the last conflict on the plain of Kossova, which completed the subjugation of the Servians, under the Turkish yoke. The Servian Krall or Despot Lazar, was taken prisoner, and put to death in the camp of sultan Amurath. Many miracles were wrought on his body, according to the superstition of his country. This "finding of the head" records one of them:-A caravan halts on the plain of Kossova; a party of the travellers seeing something shine on the fountain, drew it out-it is the holy head of the Servian monarch. They threw it on the turf, quenched their thirst, sate themselves round it, and "looked about them," when, lo! the holy head is seen making off across the plain, and marches on until it joins the "untainted body." In the morning, all the dignitaries assemble, to ask the corpse where it chooses to be buried. Lazar selects "his beauteous Ravanitza," a convent he had himself founded.

They had quenched their thirst, and all were seated-
Seated round the head, and look'd about them.

On the verdant turf it lies no longer,

O'er the field the head is slowly moving

Holy head seeks out the holy body;

Joins it, where that body lay untainted.

When the dawning of the morn had broken,
To the aged priests the youths reported-
To the aged priests, the wond'rous story.
Lo! a crowd of priests are hastening thither-
Crowds of ancient priests-above three hundred,
And twelve high and dignified archbishops,
And four patriarchs, the most exalted:
Him of Pechki, and the Tzarigrader
Of Jerusalem, and Vassiljenski.

All were habited in priestly vestments;

Camilanks their holy heads enshrouded:

In their hands they held old sacred writings

And they pour'd their fervent prayers to heaven,

And perform'd their holiest solemn vigils

Through three days, and through three nights of darkness

Nor for rest they stopp'd, nor for refreshment,

Nor for sleep, nor any interruption:

And they asked the holy dead, unceasing,

Where his grave should be-his corpse be buried;

In Opovo, or in Krushedōli,

Or in Jassak, or in Beshenovi,

Or Racovatz, or in Shisatovatz,

Or in Jivski, or in Kurejdini,

Or in distant Macedonia rather.

But Lazar will choose no foreign cloister;
He will lie among his own lov'd kindred.
In his own, his beauteous Ravanitza,
On the mountain forest, broad Kushaja,

In the convent he himself erected;

In his days of life and youthful glory,

He erected for his soul's salvation;

With his bread and with his gold he raised it;

Not with tears nor wealth from poor men wrested.

The ballad of Hassan Aga's wife's lament, is one of great pathos and beauty. Hassan's wife neglects him, when he is sorely wounded; in his wrath he threatens to repudiate her. The haughty dame takes him at his word-she is fetched home by her brother; and her hand being sought by many, she is compelled, by him, to marry one of her suitors. As the bridal procession passes the habitation of her former husband, she beseeches to be permitted to see her children. She had prepared little presents for each, even to the poor baby in the cradle For the time to come, a little garment.

Hassan is present, with a breaking heart. He calls his children from the caresses of their mother, and tells them, in her presence, that her heart is of iron. Her children leave her, looking at her with changed looks-and as they leave her,

On the ground she fell, all pale and trembling,

Till her spirit burst her heavy bosom

At the glances of her orphan children.
HASSAN AGA'S WIFE'S LAMENT.

What's so white upon yon verdant forest?
Is it snow, or is it swans assembled ?
Were it snow, it surely had been melted;
Were it swans, long since they had departed.
Lo! it is not swans, it is not snow there :
'Tis the tent of Aga, Hassan Aga;
He is lying there severely wounded,

And his mother seeks him, and his sister;

But for very shame his wife is absent.

When the misery of his wounds was soften'd,

Hassan thus his faithful wife commanded:

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In my house thou shalt abide no longer

Thou shalt dwell no more among my kindred."
When his wife had heard this gloomy language,
Stiff she stood, and full of bitter sorrow.
When the horses, stamping, shook the portal,'
Fled the faithful wife of Hassan Aga-

Fain would throw her from the castle window.
Anxious two beloved daughters follow'd,
Crying after her in tearful anguish-

These are not our father Hassan's coursers;

'Tis our uncle Pintorovich coming."

Then approached the wife of Hassan Aga-
Threw her arms, in misery, round her brother-
"See the sorrow, brother, of thy sister:
He would tear me from my helpless children."
He was silent-but from out his pocket,
Safely wrapp'd in silk of deepest scarlet,
Letters of divorce he drew, and bid her
Seek again her mother's ancient dwelling-
Free to win and free to wed another.
When she saw the letter of divorcement,
Kisses on her young boy's forehead, kisses
On her girls' red cheek she press'd-the nursling-
For there was a nursling in the cradle-

Could she tear her, wretched, from her infant?
But her brother seized her hand, and led her-

Led her swiftly to the agile courser;
And he hastened with the sorrowing woman
To the ancient dwelling of her fathers.

Short the time was-not seven days had glided-
Short indeed the time-and many a noble

Had our lady-though in widow's garments-
Had our lady asked in holy marriage.

And the noblest was Imoski's Cadi;
And our lady, weeping, prayed her brother:
"I exhort thee, on thy life exhort thee,
Give me not, oh, give me not in marriage!
For the sight of my poor orphan'd children
Sure would break the spirit of thy sister!"
Little car'd her brother for her sorrows;
He had sworn she should espouse the Cadi.
But his sister pray'd him thus unceasing;
Send at least one letter, O my brother!
With this language to Imoski's Cadi:

Friendly greetings speeds the youthful woman;
But entreats thee, by these words entreats thee,
When the Suates shall conduct thee hither,
Thou a long and flowing veil wilt bring me,
That, in passing Hassan's lonely dwelling,
I may hide me from my hapless orphans.'
Hardly had the Cadi read the letter,

Than he gather'd his Suates together,

Arm'd himself, and hasten'd t'wards the lady,

Home to bring her as his bridal treasure.

Happily he reach'd the princely dwelling,
Happily were all returning home ward,

When toward Hassan's house they were approaching,
Her two daughters saw her from the window,
Her two sons rush'd on her from the portal:

And they cried, "Come hither! O come hither!
Take thy night's repast with thine own children!"

Sorrowfully Hassan's consort heard them;
To the Surisvat she thus address'd her:
"Let the Suates stay, and let the horses
Tarry here at this beloved portal,
While I make a present to the children."

As they stopped at the beloved portal,
Presents gave she unto all the children.
To the boys, boots all with gold embroider'd;
To the girls, long and resplendent dresses;
And to the poor baby in the cradle,
For the time to come, a little garment.
Near them sat their father, Hassan Aga,
And he call'd in sorrow to his children :

Come to me, poor children! to your father;
For your mother's breast is turn'd to iron,
Closed against you, harden'd 'gainst all pity."

When these words were heard by Hassan's consort,
On the ground she fell all pale and trembling,

Till her spirit burst her heavy bosom

At the glances of her orphan children.

Of these ballads we can only speak of one more: it is, the "Building of Skadra," a curious specimen of superstition. The mythology of the Servians seems to be nearly a-kin to our notions of fairies.

* Conductors of the marriage festival.

There is a little all-powerful and very capricious body, called the Vila by the Servians. She appears in a great number of shapes, and seems to haunt the woods like a cuckoo. Whatever she commands must, however, be obeyed; there is no resisting her will; her power seems to be as indefinite as her motives and motions are uncertain and wayward. Three brothers, King Vukashin, the Voivode Uglesha, and the youngest Goiko, determine on rebuilding the fortress of Skadra (or Scutari). The Vila, unfortunately, demands a sacrifice; and, until a suitable one is found, she destroys every night the labours of the day. The Vila first demands that Vukashin shall find two persons, named Stojan and Stojana-a command we do not comprehend. When this is found impossible, she requires that the young wife of one of the brothers shall be built up in the walls of the tower, which-is to be settled by chance:-she who first brings food for the workmen in the morning is to be the one immured. The three brothers take an oath not to divulge the commands of the Vila to their wives, but to leave the determination of the event to accident. The two elder brothers violate their oaths; the third keeps his, and his young wife falls the victim. She visits the builders at noontide, to carry their meal. The rest of the story is thus told.—

Then arose the youthful wife of Goiko;

Gave them the repast, and bade them forward.
Call'd around her all the serving maidens;
When they reach'd Bojana's flowing river,
They were seen by Mrljavchevich Goiko,

On his youthful wife, heart-rent, he threw him;
Flung his strong right arm around her body;
Kiss'd a thousand times her snowy forehead:
Burning tears stream'd swiftly from his eyelids,
As he spoke, in melancholy language:

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O my wife, my own! my full heart's-sorrow!
Didst thou never dream that thou must perish?
Why hast thou our little one abandoned?
Who will bathe our little one, thou absent?
Who will bare the breast to feed the nursling?"
More, and more, and more, he fain would utter;
But the king allow'd it not. Vukashin,
By her white hand seizes her, and summons
Master Rado,-he the master-builder;

And he summons his three hundred workmen.

But the young-espoused one smiles, and deems it
All a laughing jest,-no fear o'ercame her.
Gathering round her, the three hundred workmen
Pile the stones and pile the beams about her.
They have now immured her to the girdle.
Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher;
Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared,
And she shriek'd aloud in her despairing;
In her woe implored her husband's brothers:
"Can ye think of God?-have ye no pity?
Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?"
But in vain, in vain were her entreaties;
And her brothers left her thus imploring.

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Let us go and seek my aged mother:
Let us go-my mother she is wealthy:
She will buy a slave,-a man or woman,
To be buried in the walls' foundations."
When the mother-wife-the wife and mother,
Found her earnest plaints and prayers neglected,
She addressed herself to Neimar Rado:
"In God's name, my brother, Neimar Rado,
Leave a window for this snowy bosom,
Let this snowy bosom heave it freely;
When my voiceless Jovo shall come near me,
When he comes, O let him drain my bosom,
Rado bade the workmen all obey her,

Leave a window for that snowy bosom."
Let that snowy bosom heave

freely

When her voiceless Jovo shall come near her,
When he comes, he'll drink from out her bosom.

Once again she cried to Neimar Rado,
"Neimar Rado! in God's name, my brother!
Leave for these mine eyes a little window,

That these eyes may see our own white dwelling,
When my Jovo shall be brought towards me,
When my Jovo shall be carried homeward."
Rado bade the workmen all obey her,
Leave for those bright eyes a little window,
That her eyes may see her own white dwelling,
When they bring her infant Jovo to her,
When they take the infant Jovo homeward.
So they built the heavy wall about her,
And then brought the infant in his cradle,
Which a long, long while his mother suckled.
Then her voice grew feeble-then was silent:
Still the stream flow'd forth and nursed the infant :
Full a year he hung upon her bosom ;
Still the stream flow'd forth-and still it floweth,t
Women, when the life-stream dries within them,
Thither come-the place retains its virtue-
Thither come, to still their crying infants.‡

We must now turn to the songs and the occasional poems.

won delful."

The following poem is called by Goethe " tainly a little piece of great delicacy and beauty.

Neimar.-Master.

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t is cer

A small stream of liquid carbonate of lime is still shown on the walls of Scutari, as evidence of the truth of this story.

‡ A translation of the poem by Grimm is to be found in the second part of the fifth volume of the Kunst und Altherthum, p. 24, and Goethe observes, that it is equally remarkable for its polish and for its barbarously superstitious sentiment. It represents a human victim as murdered in its most disgusting shape. A young woman is immured in order that the fortress of Scutari may be built; and the sacrifice seems less accountable, since oriental usages have generally only required the entombment of consecrated pictures or talismans in order to make castles and asylums impregnable.

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