One of the peculiar customs of Roumania is that of two girls of different families choosing each other as sisters by affinity, called _suratas_, or "sisters of the cross," a relationship sanctioned by the church, and acting as the tie of blood in relation to family marriages. It is this custom which is alluded to in the charming ballad, which recalls the best of those of Spain on similar subjects, with its delicate feeling and graceful expressions:-- HE THAT TOOK NOTHING. _See how it raineth! and the com is cut upon the plain, And I have left my sickle, too, forgotten 'mid the grain. Now there it lies--ah, woe is me!--beneath the falling rain._ Of all the lads that joined the dance each took some sign from me-- One took my girdle, and thou know'st full well which that may be, The one, my sister of the cross, I fashioned with thee. My chain, sweet sister of the cross, another took; what needs To tell thee which--the one which hath two strings of golden beads. Another took my flower from me--and which one dost thou know? It is, my sister of the cross, the floweret that doth blow In autumn days among the grass, where thick the plum-trees grow. But only one took naught away, and know'st thou, sister, who? He of whom I often spake of thee, when I most silent grew, He, my little sister of the cross, it is I love so true. Then quick run after him, he dwells beside the mill-pool deep, And through his slumbers murmuring on, their watch the waters keep, O happy water, that may sing and lull him in his sleep. Then quickly run thou after him, my sister, do not stay To watch the flocks upon the hill, that browse the livelong day; Bring him a girdle, and a chain, yea, and a flower--and say: "I found them hard beside the mill, and all of them are thine." But stay not longer lest thou, too, should'st love him, sister mine. That we may both not have to weep together, oh, beware! My tears could not love thy tears, not yet my care thy care, They could not dwell within my hut, nor would be welcome there. _See how it raineth! and the com is cut upon the plain, And I have left my sickle, too, forgotten 'mid the grain, Now there it lies--ah, woe to me! beneath the falling rain._ The spinning songs, which are absolutely improvisations, have, of course, all the inevitable character of abruptness and irregularity, but a charming grace of feeling is often visible through them, and their imagery is as effective as it is spontaneous and natural. SPINNING SONG. What didst thou, mother, when thou wert a maiden?-- I was young.-- Didst thou, like me, hark to the moon's soft footfalls,