THE DOVE.
RUSSIAN.
On an oak-tree sat,
Sat a pair of doves;
And they bill’d and coo’d,
And they heart to heart,
Tenderly embraced
With their little wings;
On them suddenly
Darted down a hawk.
One he seized and tore,
Tore the little dove,
With his feathered feet,
Soft, blue little dove;
And he pour’d his blood,
Streaming down the tree;
Feathers too were strewed
Widely o’er the field;
High away the down
Floated in the air.
Ah, how wept and wept,
Ah, how sobb’d and sobb’d
The poor doveling then
For her little dove.
“Weep not, weep not so,
Tender little bird!”
Spake the light young hawk
To the little dove.
“O’er the sea away,
O’er the far blue sea,
I will drive to thee
Flocks of other doves;
From them choose thee then,
Choose a soft and blue,
With his feathered feet,
Better little dove.”
“Fly, thou villain! not
O’er the far blue sea,
Drive not here to me
Flocks of other doves.
Ah! of all thy doves
None can comfort me,
Only he, the father
Of my little ones.”
Translated by J. G. Percival.