56 THE FOREST LANDS OF NORTHERN RUSSIA. 



' We dash into a village near a small black lake. . . . 

 This may be such as has been described, for, as has been 

 stated, one general character pervades the whole until you 

 reach the latitude of Kief to the south, and again to the 

 west in which they are different. 



' Such is travelling through forest lands in Russia/ 



The description is exactly such as I would give if I 

 could ; and I wish I could, but I cannot. I felt while I 

 read the narrative as if I could realise it all the unending 

 road, the weary feeling of being jolted into a jelly ; in the 

 blue or green or gilded dome, the village, seen and soon left 

 behind, the travellers overtaken, or met, and passed, the 

 village, and the tearing along of the rough conveyance, 

 with the reins held at arm's length, while the yemshick or 

 driver encourages them with his voice, coaxing, threaten- 

 ing, thrashing, sometimes in the overflowing of his love, 

 and sometimes in fury, and singing the yemschick's song, 

 while the bell on the horses' bow tingles its monotonous 

 accompaniment : 



The troika drives a quiet trot 



On even road at dead of night ; 

 The tinkling bell alone doth tell 



Its near approach, though not in sight. 

 The tinkling bell alone doth tell 

 Its near approach, though not in sight. 



The yemschick, roused before the dawn, 



Feels sadden'd in the chilly night ; 

 He tries to raise a song in praise 



Of his village maiden's eyes so bright. 

 He tries to raise a song in praise 

 Of his village maiden's eyes so bright. 



"Ye eyes of blue, ye bright blue eyes, 

 Ye've broke a gallant spirit's heart ! 

 Ar>d the oppressors, cruel ever, 



Have dared two loving souls to part. 

 And the oppressors, cruel ever, 

 Have dared two loving souls to part. 



" Fair one ! I've left you !" The tears are falling 

 Upon his coat like drops of rain ; 



