Nestor, the famous old Russian chronicler (he died in 1114), states that in ancient heathen times, marriage customs varied somewhat among the various Slavonian tribes in the vicinity of the Dniester; but brides were always seized or purchased.

This purchase of the bride is supposed to be represented in the game and choral song (_khorovod_), called "The Sowing of the Millet." The singers form two choirs, which face each other and exchange remarks.

The song belongs to the vernal rites, hence the reference to Lado, which is repeated after every line--_Did-Lado_, meaning (in Lithuanian) Great Lado: First Chorus: We have sown, we have sown millet, Oi, Did-Lado, we have sown! Second Chorus: But we will trample it, Oi, Did-Lado, we will trample it.
First Chorus: But wherewith will ye trample it?
Second Chorus: Horses will we turn into it.
First Chorus: But we will catch the horses.
Second Chorus: Wherewith will ye catch them?
First Chorus: With a silken rein.
Second Chorus: But we will ransom the horses.
First Chorus: Wherewith will ye ransom them?
Second Chorus: We will give a hundred rubles.
First Chorus: A thousand is not what we want.
Second Chorus: What is it then, that ye want?
First Chorus: What we want is a maiden.
Thereupon, one of the girls of the second choir goes over to the first, both sides singing together: "Our band has lost," and "Our band has gained." The game ends when all the girls have gone over to one side.
The funeral wails are also very ancient.

While at the present day a very talented wailer improvises a new plaint, which her associates take up and perpetuate, the ancient forms are generally used.
From the side of the East, The wild winds have arisen, With the roaring thunders And the lightnings fiery.
On my father's grave A star hath fallen, Hath fallen from heaven.
Split open, O dart of the thunder! Damp Mother Earth, Fall thou apart, O Mother Earth! On all four sides, Split open, O coffin planks, Unfold, O white shroud, Fall away, O white hands From over the bold heart, And become parted, O ye sweet lips.
Turn thyself, O mine own father Into a bright, swift-winged falcon; Fly away to the blue sea, to the Caspian Sea, Wash off, O mine own father, From thy white face the mold.
Come flying, O my father To thine own home, to the lofty terem.[1] Listen, O my father, To our songs of sadness! The Christmas and New-Year carols offer additional illustrations of the ancient heathen customs, and mythic or ritual poetry.

The festival which was almost universally celebrated at Christmas-tide, in ancient heathen times, seems to have referred to the renewed life attributed to the sun after the winter solstice.