Go to a garden-go, and see,

Some rose-branch blushing on the tree;
And from that branch a rose-flower tear,
Then place it on thy bosom bare;
And as its leavelets fade and pine,
So fades my sinking heart in thine."
And thus the other spoke: "My love!
A few short paces backward move,
And to the verdant forest go;
There's a fresh water-fount below;
And in the fount a marble stone,
Which a gold cup reposes on;
And in the cup a ball of snow-
Love! take that ball of snow to rest
Upon thine heart within thy breast.
And as it melts unnoticed there,

So melts my heart in thine, my dear!"

A more ornate translation occurs in the unpublished work re

viewed in the Quarterly.

Was it a vine, with clusters white,

That clung round Buda's stateliest towers?

O no; it was a lady bright,

That hung upon an armed knight,—

It was their parting hour.

They had been wedded in their youth;
Together they had spent their bloom;
That hearts so long entwined in truth,
Asunder should be torn in ruth,

It was a cruel doom.

There is also another short poem translated in the Quarterly, and we shall give our readers an opportunity of making a comparison.

HEROES SERVED.

Upon the silent Danube's shore,

When ev'ning wastes, 'tis sweet to see

(Their golden wine-cups flowing o'er)

Our heroes in their revelry.

The translation in the Quarterly is as follows:
O lovely was the sight I saw

By moonlight o'er the still Danan,
When heroes lay on tented ground,

And golden wine went round and round.

A beautiful and gentle maid

From hand to hand the cup conveyed,

And ever as she poured the wine

She heard the whispered prayer, "Be mine!"

"Ah noble lords!" the damsel said,

Quarterly Review, p. 80, No. 69. Mr. Bowring's translation bears marks on the face of it of greater closeness, and it is moreover more natural and forcible in its expressions. The idea in the two last lines in the Quarterly is frittered away by introducing the metaphorical expression "frozen;" but then, the "Be mine" at the end of the second stanza is better than the "would fain become a worshiper" of Mr. Bowring's translation. And then again the phrases of "ev'ning wastes," " 'tis sweet to see," and " seem divine," are blemishes which so facile a pen as the translator's should not have left.

The gentleness and tenderness of many of these little breathings of love, would certainly do honour to more civilized people, and give a very pleasant idea of the girls of Servia. Of these qualities, the few lines termed "Anxiety" are an example.

ANXIETY.

I fain would sing-but will be silent now,

For pain is sitting on my lover's brow;

And he would hear me-and, though silent, deem

I pleased myself, but little thought of him,

While of nought else I think; to him I give

My spirit-and for him alone I live:

Bear him within my heart, as mothers bear
The last and youngest object of their care.

These specimens will probably be sufficient to create a desire for the perusal of more-we shall, in some measure, satisfy this longing by adding, at the end of these remarks, a few more of the pieces which we like the best, or think the most curious, and then refer the reader to the volume itself, for an abundant supply of similar flowers.

FROZEN HEART.

Thick fell the snow upon St. George's day;
The little birds all left their cloudy bed;
The maiden wander'd bare-foot on her way;
Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:

"O sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be." "No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feetBut my poor heart is cold with misery. There's nought to chill me in the snowy sleet: My mother 'tis my mother who hath chill'd me, Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill'd me.'

THE VIOLET.

How captivating is to me,

Sweet flower! thine own young modesty!
Though I did pluck thee from thy stem,
There's none would wear thy purple gem.
I thought, perchance, that Ali Bey-
But he is proud and lofty-nay!

He would not prize thee-would not wear
A flower so feeble though so fair:
His turban for its decorations

Had full blown roses and carnations.

THE KNITTER.

The maiden sat upon the hill,
Upon the hill and far away,
Her fingers wove a silken cord,

And thus I heard the maiden say:

"O with what joy, what ready will,

If some fond youth, some youth adored,

Might wear thee, should I weave thee now!

The finest gold I'd interblend,

The richest pearls as white as snow.

But if I knew, my silken friend,

That an old man should wear thee, I

The coarsest worsted would inweave,
Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave,
And all thy knots with nettles tie."

YOUTH AND AGE.

Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving.
Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead:
"Forehead! if I thought an old man's kisses
Would be stamp'd upon thee, I would hasten
To the forest, and would gather wormwood:
Into boiling water press its bitters :

With it steep my forehead ev'ry morning,

That the old man's kiss might taste of wormwood. But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me,

I would hurry to the verdant garden :

I would gather all its sweetest roses,

Would condense their fragrance,--and at morning,
Every morning, would perfume my forehead:

So the youth's sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance,
And his heart be gladden'd with the odour.
Better dwell with youth upon the mountains,
Than with age in luxury's richest palace :
Better sleep with youth on naked granite,
Than with old on silks howe'er voluptuous."

WISHES.

O that I were a little stream,

That I might flow to him-to him!

How should I dance with joy, when knowing
To whom my sparkling wave was flowing!
Beneath his window would I glide,
And linger there till morning-tide;
When first he rouses him to dress
In comely garb his manliness,-

Then should he weak, or thirsty be,
O he might stoop to drink of me!
Or baring there his bosom, lave
That bosom in my rippling wave.
O what a bliss, if I could bear
The cooling power of quiet there!

HARVEST SONG.

Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see
Who the kissers and kiss'd of the reapers shall be.
Take hold of your reeds, till the secret be told,

If the old shall kiss young, and the young shall kiss old.
Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see
What fortune and chance to the drawers decree :
And if any refuse, may God smite them-may they
Be cursed by Paraskev, the saint of to-day!
Now loosen your hands-now loosen, and see

Who the kissers and kiss'd of the reapers shall be.*

THE YOUNG SHEPHERDS.

The sheep, beneath old Buda's wall,
Their wonted quiet rest enjoy ;
But ah! rude stony fragments fall,
And many a silk-wool'd sheep destroy;
Two youthful shepherds perish there,
The golden George, and Mark the fair.
For Mark, O many a friend grew sad,
And father, mother wept for him :
George-father, friend, nor mother had,
For him no tender eye grew dim:
Save one, a maiden far away,

She wept-and thus I heard her say:

My golden George-and shall a song,

A song of grief be sung for thee-
'Twould go from lip to lip-ere long
By careless lips profaned to be;
Unhallow'd thoughts might soon defame
The purity of woman's name.

Or shall I take thy picture fair,
And fix that picture in my sleeve ?

Ah! time will soon the vestment tear,

And not a shade, nor fragment leave:
I'll give not him I love so well

To what is so corruptible.

I'll write thy name within a book ;

That book will pass from hand to hand,

And many an eager eye will look,

But ah! how few will understand!

And who their holiest thoughts can shroud

From the cold insults of the crowd?

Several writers in Germany have of late been actively gathering the remains of Servian literature. Their collections are already becoming voluminous; and the gleanings which Mr. Bowring has made, are probably not a tithe of what remains behind. We trust that the

This song is sung at the close of the harvest, when all the reapers are gathered together. Half as many reeds as the number of persons present are bound, that no one can distinguish the two ends which belong to the same reed. Each man takes one end of the reeds on one side, each of the women takes one end at the other: the withes that bind the reeds are severed, and the couples that hold the same reed kiss one another.

reception of this volume will be such as to induce him to continue his labours, and to supply us, in due time, with a supplemental volume.

There is prefixed to the volume, a copy of verses addressed to Dr. Vuk Karadjich, by the translator. Mr. Bowring, though we suppose he never saw the poor crippled literatus of Hungary, yet this poem speaks to him in the language of friendship, and almost of affection. Through the whole of Mr. Bowring's writings, this warm and generous sympathy with foreign and distant individuals, whose tie to him is solely that of kindred labours, is highly characteristic. The same facile and generous sympathy, not only with persons, but with their feelings, their habits, and their language, renders Mr. Bowring not only one of the most amiable men, but one of the ablest and readicst transfusers of the spirit of national poetry.

MAGAZINIANA.

CAFFER DRIVING.-A Dutchman never seems in a hurry; he carries his mutton, dried beef, and bread, with his blanket, in a large chest, on which he sits to drive, and with his pipe jogs on contentedly, now and then calling out "Trae, trae." little Hottentot leader joins him, if there are other waggons before him, and only gets His down to lead them down the hill; or, if they gallop off, as soon as he gets hold of the reins which are attached to the two first oxen, he leads them zig zag, or throws mud or dust at them, crying out in a sharp shrill tone till they stop. His whip measures thirty-five feet, which he seldom uses, but when he does, it is with effect, cutting with ease even the foremost of the spann; it is then laid along the top of the waggon. He has besides a smaller one, which he calls his good doctor; it is made of the skin of the buffalo, or the hippopotamus; this is applied at a short pull, and whether it is owing to the whip or the nature of the animal, they are wonderfully tractable, and although one hundred might be let out to graze together, that never before met, they are never known to fight.-Scenes and Occurrences in Caffer Land,

HOW TO DISPOSE OF AN OLD POPE.-I heard here more freely uttered the same kind of complaints, which the Romans made secretly of his Holiness; they complain with reason that the Holy Father will neither get well nor die, which is very unchristian-like behaviour; as he cannot strip off his papacy, and is only kept for a show, and is not fit to be shown, they should dispose of him like an old pointer, and send him off early some morning to the tan-pits, with a rope and a shilling.-Hogg's Two Hundred and Nine Days on the Continent.

TEMPTATION. The river Neve separates us from the French, whom I see every morning at parade, from the window of my garret. Our sentries and theirs can talk to each other with perfect ease; no kind of molestation being offered on either side. They come down to water their horses, and their women to wash the linen of the regiments, and we do the same. The French soldiers often endeavour to entice our fellows to desert, by sticking a piece of beef on the point of a bayonet, or by holding out a canteen, accompanying their action with "I sang, come here! here is ver good rosbif; here is ver good brandy."-Adventures in the Peninsula.

THE SPRING BUCK OF SOUTH AFRICA.-We saw several hearte-beasts, one of the largest species of deer, with very handsome horns; and the pride of the plain, the spring buck: the latter, which are extremely timid, are about the size of the common deer, and of the same colour, with a white stripe on each side, and a black stripe along the back, which they have the power of closing and expanding. They take their name from the amazing springs which they make over paths, rocks, or any thing that obstructs their way; and it is done in a singularly graceful manner, the head bowed, the legs hanging, and the body curved, so that the animal appears as if suspended in the air; the fleetest greyhound only, can overtake them. It is very amusing to see their contemptuous treatment of all other pursuers; they allow them to come near, then give a bound and a snort, and trot off to a little distance, when they expand the hair on their backs, and appear quite white. They are very destructive to the corn, and are seen on farms in numerous herds.-Scenes and Occurrences in Caffer Land.