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--Kazák_.




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!