Amongst them are poetic idylls reverting to the twelve months of the year. A collection of poems belong to each of these, some of which are written in the form of epic poems or romances, others in lyric, epigrammatic, or didactic form. Most of the ballads are taken from life. In these forms the poetic genius and intellectual power of Carmen Sylva appear to their greatest advantage, and we find many cheerful songs in this rich collection. “The Post,” a Roumanian picture, vivid with life and colour, is particularly charming. It runs thus:-- “Swift, swift as the wind drives the great Russian Czar, But we of Roumania are swifter by far-- Eight horses we harness for every day speed, But I’ve driven a team of a dozen at need. Then over the bridges we hurry along, Through village and hamlet, with shouting and song, With a hip-hip-hurrah! swiftly onwards we go, The birds fly above and our horses below. When the sun burns at noon and the dust whirls on high, Like the leaves of the forest, grown withered and dry, We hasten along, never slacking the rein-- The wild mountain riders come down to the plain. Their hair and their cloaks flutter free in the wind-- The sheep and the buffaloes gallop behind, And hip-hip-hurrah! boys, with horse and with man, Like the tempest we pass--let him follow who can. When winter is here and the storm-sprite’s abroad, Swift glideth the sledge o’er the snow-covered road-- Great drifts hide the inn and the sign-post from sight, ’Tis an ocean of snow lying waveless and white. The wolves and the ravens’ wild greetings we hear As we pass the ravine, and the precipice drear, With a hip-hip-hurrah! From the road though we stray, No matter, the horses will find out the way. The rain falls in torrents--the stream, grown a flood, Has shattered the bridge on our passage that stood. The waters have risen--are rising yet more-- ’Tis foolhardy daring to swim to the shore. Ten pieces of gold and I’ll venture my neck-- The carriage is floating--the box-seat’s the deck; But hip-hip-hurrah! boys, so loud are our cheers, That the water flows back, for our shouting it fears. A jest to the lad and a kiss to the lass We throw, while they linger to watch as we pass; His laugh still resounds and her cheek is still red, When already our bells jingle far on ahead. Right well does our team know their silvery chime, And we scarce slacken speed as the mountain we climb. Then hip-hip-hurrah! boys, nay! slowly, beware, For steep’s the descent, we must make it with care.