of them expresses it, the spirit of inquiry is now walking the face of the waters that divide Europe from India;' and they are all deserving of very careful attention from those who are peculiarly interested in the concerns of our Asiatic empire. Though we differ, in some important particulars, from the opinions of Sir John Malcolm, we must always do justice to the liberal spirit in which they are conceived, and the manliness with which they are expressed; -the work, as a whole, is worthy of its author's reputation. It is proper, for an obvious reason, to observe, that the Letter of the Civil Servant appeared earlier than the more elaborate performance with which we have so often had occasion to compare its views; and we must take the liberty of saying that the author, in his brief and hasty style of composition, has done slender justice either to his materials or to his talents. Colonel Stewart's pamphlet, being principally occupied with the Burmese war, has not been so often cited by us; but we cannot conclude without expressing our sense of the ability displayed in it also. It was published some months before the Letter of the Civil Servant.

ART. III.-Translations from the Servian Minstrelsy: to which are added some Specimens of Anglo-Norman Romances. London.

OF

1826.

F this volume a very small edition only has been printed for private circulation; but a copy has been laid upon our table, with leave to make what use of it we might think fit-a permission of which we willingly avail ourselves. For the last twelve years, the popular poetry of the Sclavonic nations, and in particular of the Servians, has received much attention in Germany; and we are happy to hear that the extensive collections published at Vienna and at Leipsig have very recently been followed by another (M. Vesely's) from the press of Pest. When Gibbon wrote his History, he took occasion to say, that the Illyrian provinces were the most obscure part of Europe; and, in spite of the insurrection which was put an end to by the peace of Bucharest, they remained so, until the curiosity of the learned began to be attracted by the discoveryoriginally, we believe, set forth in the Hungarisches Magazin'that there had lurked for centuries among those untravelled regions a large body of ballads, historical and romantic, not unworthy of being placed on the same shelf with the Cancioneros' of Spain, our own Minstrelsies,' and the northern Kiæmpe Viser.' No English ear will ever be persuaded that there is any ballad in the world to be compared with Chevy Chase;' no Spaniard will ever believe that any other chivalries have been sung as nobly

as

as those of Castile and Grenada: nor can it be expected that we should meet with a Scandinavian critic less strongly prepossessed with the superiority of his own Svend Vonveds and Reddar Olles. We suspect, however, that when these various fountains of romance are all equally familiarized, as it appears likely they soon will be, to the general reading public' of Europe, the ballads of the long-trampled Servians may be found entitled to a place not very far below those of haughtier nations, whose ancestors have been enabled to hand them down inheritances more valuable than ditties 'old and plain,' for the benefit of

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

And the free maids that weave their thread with bones.'

This people maintained for ages a dubious struggle with the power of the Byzantine empire; but the Turk had grappled with, and utterly broken them, nearly a century before the final ruin of Constantinople. The campaign in which their freedom was beaten down, never again effectually to re-assert itself, is abundantly celebrated, as might be expected, in their minstrelsy. There the immense superiority of numbers is given to the host of Amurath I., of valour and conduct to the heroes of Lazarus, King, Despot, Zar, or Krall of Servia; and the fatal issue of the field of Kossova is ascribed solely to the treason of the prince's brother-in-law, Vuk, who went over to the Sultan with 12,000 men in the midst of the contest. The story of that conclusive battle is thus given in the page of our old classic Knolles, of whom, if language were everything, Dr. Johnson might perhaps have said without absurdity-at the time when he did say so that he was the first of all [our] historians, unfortunate only in his subject.'

Eurenoses, a man of great experience, told Amurath that the Christians were for the most part well and strongly armed, and shouldring close together in their charge, would be like a rock of iron, unable to be pierced; but if, in joyning the battle, he would a little retire, the Christians, following upon good hope, would so loose their close standing (the chief part of their strength) and leave an entrance for his men. Upon which resolution, Amurath commanded the archers to give the first charge; which they couragiously performed. At which time, the Turks army gave ground a little; which the Christians perceiving, with great force assailed the left wing of their army, and, after a hard and cruel fight, put the same to flight; which Bajazet seeing, with such fury renewed the battel, that the Turks which before, as men discouraged, fled in the left wing, began now to turn again upon their enemies; and the Christians, having as they thought already got the victory, were to begin a great battel. In which bloody flight many thousands fell on both sides; the brightness of the armour and weapons was as it had been the lightening; the multitude of launces and other horsemen's staves, shadowed the light of

F 2

the

the sun; arrows and darts fell so fast, that a man would have thought they had poured down from heaven; the noise of the instruments of war, with the neighing of horses, and outcries of men, was so terrible and great, that the wild beasts of the mountains stood astonied therewith; and the Turkish histories, to express the terror of the day (vainly say) that the angels in heaven, amazed with that hideous noise, for that time forgot the heavenly hymns wherewith they always glorifie God. About noon time of the day, the fortune of the Turks prevailing, the Christians began to give ground, and at length betook themselves to plain flight; whom the Turks with all their force pursued, and slew them downright, without number or mercy. In which battel Lazarus, the Despot, himself was also slain. Howbeit some histories report otherwise, as that he with his son were taken prisoners, and by and by afterwards (in revenge of Amurath his death) cruelly slain; othersome also reporting that he died in prison.

Amurath after this great victory, with some few of his chief captains, taking view of the dead bodies, which without number lay on heaps in the field like mountains, a Christian souldier, sore wounded, and all bloody, seeing him, in staggering manner arose (as if it had been from death) out of a heap of slain men, and making towards him, for want of strength fell down divers times by the way as he came, as if he had been a drunken man; at length drawing nigh unto him, when they which guarded the king's person would have stayed him, he was by Amurath himself commanded to come nearer, supposing that he would have craved his life of him. Thus the half-dead Christian pressing near unto him, as if he would for honour sake have kissed his feet, suddenly stabbed him in the bottom of his belly with a short dagger, which he had under his souldier's coat; of which wound that great king and conqueror presently died. The name of this man (for his courage worthy of eternal memory) was Miles Cobelitz; who before sore wounded, was shortly after in the presence of Bajazet cut into small pieces. The Turks in their annals somewhat otherwise report of the death of Amurath; as that this Cobelitz, one of the despot his servants, in time of the battel, coming to Amurath as a fugitive, offering him his service, and admitted to his presence, in humbling himself to have kissed his feet (as the barbarous manner of the Turks is) stabbed him into the belly, and so slew him; being himself therefore shortly after (as aforesaid) in the presence of Bajazet most cruelly hewen into small pieces. Whereupon ever since that time, the manner of the Turks hath been, and yet is, that when any embassador or stranger is come to kiss the Sultan his hand, or otherwise to approach his person, he is, as it were for honour's sake, led by the arms into his presence betwixt two of the great courtiers, but indeed by so intangling him, to be sure that he shall not offer him the like violence that did this Cobelitz to Amurath.'-History of the Turks, p. 139, edition 1687.

The following is a Servian edition of the tale-in which, our

readers

readers will perceive, the half-dead Christian soldier'—' one of the Despot his servants'-turns out to be a personage of very high rank-the brother-in-law both of the Servian Krall and of the traitor Vuk.

That night came two black ravens from Kossova field,

And round about the tower in the red dawn they wheeled;
Round it, and round it with many a croak, they flew,

When they perched them on the turret more loud their croaking grew.
Ho! is this the castle of that famous king?

It is a silent castle- it holds no living thing.

The solitary lady heard them where she lay,—
Up went she to the turret, in the dawning gray;

"Ye two black ravens, God greet ye well this hour,
Why come ye here so early, to croak about the tower?
Over Kossova field was it your luck to fly?-

Saw ye two mighty hosts that thereupon did lie?—
Saw ye the meeting, ravens? Did ye hear the din?—
Tell me truth, black ravens, which of them did win?"

"Fair thanks for such a greeting," said the ravens black
"We have been to Kossova, we are just come back;
Two mighty hosts, fair lady, it was our luck to see,
Yesterday they fought, and
The princes of the armies
And all the Turks are dead
Some of the Servian warriors
But every breast among them

near enough were we;
are slaughtered, both the two,
except a very few;

still remain in life,

is gashed with lance or knife."

'While the black birds were croaking in Militza's ear,
Her servant, Mulatin, a faithful man, drew near;

His right hand, parted from the wrist, in the left he bore-
Down his horse's sides the streams of blood did pour,

Mulatin had ta'en,

Seventeen wounds, I ween,
Ere he turned his horse's head
"What's that?-poor Mulatin!
Speak, was there any treason,

from Kossova plain.
(it was thus the lady said),
that the Zar is dead?"

'Mulatin, the servant, his lady did thus greet:

"Help me quickly, lady, help me from my seat;

Bring cold water from the well, and wash my burning brow,
And pour me wine, red wine, for I have thirst I trow-

I am sorely wounded, my heart is bloodless now."

The beautiful Militza helped
And she washed his brows
She filled the cup with wine,
And when some strength was come, it was thus she said,—
"Now, Mulatin, look up, and all thy tidings yield,
Tell me how went it upon Kossova field ;

him from his selle,

with cold water from the well,
and held it to his head,

First of the famous prince, how he was slaughtered tell,
And my gray-haired father Ugo, where the old man fell,
And my noble brothers, all the noble nine,

And Milosch the waiwode, that dear friend of mine,
And Vuk, the fearless lord, my other sister's man,
And young and bold Straïnia,

the son of the old Ban?"

and thus his tale begun―

'The soldier raised his head,
"They lie upon Kossova, slaughtered every one;
Where the famous prince, the Zar, my master, lies,
Has blood enow been shed, all the grass it dyes;
With lances broke and shivered is the ground bestrown,
Many a Turkish lance, but more of them our own,
For the Servian soldiers

To defend their master,

clustered from afar

and died about the Zar. For your father Ugo, I saw the good old man

Struck down among the foremost as the fight began;
Eight of the Ugovitzes were slaughtered by his side,
The band stuck fast together till all but one had died ;
It was Bosko Ugovitz he alone was left-

I saw him raise his banner, out his way he cleft;

In like an eagle then among the Turks went he,

And scattered them like doves till the blood was at his knee.
Straïnia lies in Sitniza;-Milosch, too, hath his sleep

In the river's bed, in the water cold and deep;

But ere Milosch was slain, the Lord had blessed his hand

To do a deed of glory for the Servian land,-
With his own hand he slew
God bless his soul for that,
O, sung in many a song,
While green Kossova lasts,
Why did you ask for Vuk ?
But to curse a traitor, and a deadly traitor's strain!
He in the hour went over to the heathen host,

the Sultaun Amurath!
and all the kin he hath!
and told in many a tale,
his memory shall not fail.
Him never name again,

He and his false twelve thousand; thus the Zar was lost."*-pp. 5, 6. The Servian Minstrelsy contains the record of many subsequent battles, or rather skirmishes, between this unfortunate people and their Ottoman enemies; some of them occurring after the Servian soil had been in part colonized by the conquerors. The war had then assumed the ferocity of a civil one, and its terrors appear to have been softened occasionally by that influence which, in all ages and countries, has been humane. For example

Right early rose the Turkish maid, before the East was red, And coming to Moritza's bank, thereon her linen spread.

The field of Cossova was the scene of another great and hardly-won Turkish victory, n 1448; when the Hungarian hero, Huniades, (one of Sir William Temple's seven great men that deserved, without wearing, a crown,') sustained, to use the words of Gibbon, till the fourth day the shock of an Ottoman army four times more numerous than his own.'

The