“ Art thou a Knight elected,

And have three Maidens thee bedight;
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day,

For all the Maidens' honour!"
The first tilt they together rode

They put their steeds to the test;
The second tilt they together rode,

They proved their manhood best;
The third tilt they together rode,

Neither of them would yield;
The fourth tilt they together rode,

They both fell on the field.
Now lie the lords upon the plain,

And their blood runs unto death;
Now sit the Maidens in the high tower,

The youngest sorrows till death.

CHILDHOOD.
THERE was a time when I was very small,

When my whole frame was but an ell in height, Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,

And therefore I recall it with delight. I sported in my tender mother's arms,

And rode a-horseback on best father's knee; Alike were sorrows, passions, and alarms,

And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me. Then seemed to me this world far less in size,

Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far; Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,

And longed for wings that I might catch a star. I saw the moon behind the island fade,

And thought, “O, were I on that island there, I could find out of what the moon is made,

Find out how large it is, how round, how fair !" Wondering, I saw God's sun through western skies,

Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night, And yet upon the morrow early rise,

And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light; And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,

Who made me, and that lovely sun on high, And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,

Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.

With childish reverence, my young lips did say

The prayer my pious mother taught to me: “O Gentle God! 0, let me strive alway

Still to be wise, and good, and follow thee!”

So prayed I for my father and my mother,

And for my sister, and for all the town; The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,

Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down. They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,

And all the gladness, all the peace I knew! Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished ;

God! may I never, never, lose that too!

MISCELLANEOUS TRANSLATIONS.

THE FUGITIVE.

TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO.

I.
“He is gone to the desert land !

I can see the shining mane
Of his horse on the distant plain,
As he rides with his Kossak band !

“ Cone back, rebellious one!

Let thy proud heart relent;
Come back to my tall, white tent,

Come back, my only son!
“Thy hand in freedom shall

Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.

“I will give thee leave to stray

And pasture thy hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.

“I will give thee my coat of mail,

Of softest leather made,
With choicest steel inlaid ;
Will not all this prevail ?”

II.

“ This hand no longer shall

Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, On the swans of the Seven Lakes,

On the lakes of Karajal. “I will no longer stray

And pasture my hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday. “ Though thou give me thy coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid,

All this cannot prevail.
“What right hast thou, O Khan,

To me, who am mine own,
Who am slave to God alone,

And not to any man? “God will appoint the day When I again shall be By the blue, shallow sea, Where the steel-bright sturgeons play. “God, who doth care for me,

In the barren wilderness,
On unknown hills, no less

Will my companion be.
“When I wander, lonely and lost,

In the wind; when I watch at night
Like a hungry wolf, and am white
And covered with hoar-frost;
“ Yea, wheresoever I be,

In the yellow desert sands,
In mountains or unknown lands,
Allah will care for me !"

III.
Then Sobra, the old, old man,-
Three hundred and sixty years
Had he lived in this land of tears,
Bowed down and said, “ O Khan!