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THE RUSSIAN REVIEW

second, and the third, Senista was waiting for him, turning his head towards the door, expecting him in vain. And he died lonely, forsaken, like a puppy thrown out into the backyard. Only one day sooner, and the boy's closing eyes might have seen the present, and his childish heart might have been filled with joy, and his soul might have soared to Heaven without suffering the torment of loneliness.

Sazonka began to sob, tearing his fine hair, and rolling on the ground. He cried aloud, lifting his hands to Heaven in pitiful justification:

"O God! Ain't we human?"

And then he fell on the ground, his cut lip touching the earth. And there he remained, overwhelmed with dumb grief. The new grass tickled his face gently; a sweet, quieting odor came from the ground, and the earth seemed to exhale a feeling of mighty power, of a passionate appeal for life. The eternal mother earth was enfolding a sinning son in her embrace, and was filling his suffering heart with warmth, love, and hope.

And far away, in the city, the joyful holiday bells were ringing their discordant melody.

 
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By A. W. Koltzov.

Translated for "The Russian Review".

I shall saddle my steed, my steed speedy and fleet,
And away I shall fly, light as falcon, and free,
On through fields, over seas, to the land far away,
There my youth overtake, and return it to me.
I shall dress myself gaily, and maidens again,
As before, will with greeting receive me, and love.
But alas! No paths lead where there's never return,
And the sun never starts its bright course in the West.