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 ! 
Avd 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; 
