Chapter I: FAIN would sing—but will be silent now,

For pain is sitting on my lover’s brow;
And he would hear me—and, though silent, deem
I pleased myself, but little thought of him,
While of nought else I think; to him I give
My spirit—and for him alone I live:
Bear him within my heart, as mothers bear
The last and youngest object of their care.

INQUIRY.

SAY, heavenly spirit! kindly say,
Where tarries now this youth of mine;
Say, is he speeding on his way,
Or doth he linger, drinking wine?

If he be speeding on,—elated
With joy and gladness let him be:
If quaffing wine,—in quiet seated,
O! his be peace and gaiety!

But if he love another maiden,
I wish him nought but sorrow:—No!
Then be his heart with anguish laden!
And let Heaven smite his path with woe!

FROZEN HEART.

THICK fell the snow upon St. George’s day;
The little birds all left their cloudy bed;
The maiden wander’d bare-foot on her way;
Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:
“O sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be.”
“No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet—
But my poor heart is cold with misery.
There’s nought to chill me in the snowy sleet:
My mother—’tis my mother who hath chill’d me,
Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill’d me.”

UNION IN DEATH.

FONDLY lov’d a youth and youthful maiden,
And they wash’d them in the self-same water,
And they dried them with the self-same linen:
Full a year had pass’d, and no one knew it:
Yet another year—’twas all discover’d,
And the father heard it, and the mother;
But the mother check’d their growing fondness,
Banish’d love, and exiled them for ever.

To the stars he look’d, and bade them tell her:
“Die, sweet maiden! on the week’s last even;
Early will I die on Sabbath morning.”
As the stars foretold th’ event, it happen’d:
On the eve of Saturday the maiden
Died—and died the youth on Sunday morning:
And they were, fond pair, together buried;
And their hands were intertwined together:
In those hands they placed the greenest apples:
When, behold! ere many moons had shone there,
From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree,
And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow’d:
Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it,
As around the straw the silk clings closely.

DEER AND VILA.

A YOUNG deer tracked his way through the green forest,
One lonely day—another came in sadness;
And the third dawn’d, and brought him sighs and sorrow:
Then he address’d him to the forest Vila:
“Young deer!” she said, “thou wild one of the forest,
Now tell me what great sorrow has oppress’d thee?
Why wanderest thou thus in the forest lonely:
Lonely one day,—another day in sadness,—
And the third day with sighs and anguish groaning?”

And thus the young deer to the Vila answer’d:
“O thou sweet sister! Vila of the forest!
Me has indeed a heavy grief befallen;
For I had once a fawn, mine own beloved,
And one sad day she sought the running water:
She enter’d it, but came not back to bless me:
Then tell me, had she lost her way and wander’d?
Was she pursued and captured by the huntsman?
Or has she left me?—has she wholly left me?—
Loving some other deer—and I forgotten.
O! if she has but lost her way, and wanders,
Teach her to find it—bring her back to love me.
O! if she has been captured by the huntsman,
Then may a fate as sad as mine await him.
But if she has forsaken me—if, faithless,
She loves another deer—and I forgotten—
Then may the huntsman speedily o’ertake her.”

VIRGIN AND WIDOW.

OVER Sarajevo flies a falcon,
Looking round for cooling shade to cool him.
Then he finds a pine on Sarejevo;
Under it a well of sparkling water;
By the water, Hyacinth, the widow,
And the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin.
He look’d down—the falcon—and bethought him:
“Shall I kiss grave Hyacinth, the widow;
Or the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin?”
Thinking thus—at last the bird determined—
And he whisper’d to himself sedately,
“Gold—though long employ’d, is far, far better
Than the finest silver freshly melted.”
So he kiss’d—kiss’d Hyacinth, the widow.
Very wroth wax’d then young Rose, the virgin:
“Sarejevo! let a ban be on thee!
Cursed be thy strange and evil customs!
For thy youths they love the bygone widows,
And thy aged men the untried virgins.”

NIGHTINGALES.

ALL the night two nightingales were singing
At the window of th’ affianced maiden;
And th’ affianced maiden thus addressed them:
“Tell me, ye two nightingales, O tell me!
Are ye brothers? are ye brothers’ children?”

Thus the nightingales made speedy answer:
“Brothers are we not, nor brother’s children:
We are friends—friends of the verdant forest.
Once we had another friend—another—
But that friend is lost to us for ever.
We have heard that nuptial bliss awaits him;
And we came the youthful bride to look on,
And to offer her a golden spindle,
With the flax of Egypt bound around it.”

THE RING.

THE streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;
There came a maid that stream to draw—a lovely maid was she;
From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.
Young Mirko saw, and offer’d her a golden fruit, and said:
“O take this apple, damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!”
She took the apple—flung it back—and said, in angry tone,
“Neither thine apple, Sir! nor thee—presumptuous boy, be gone!”

The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;
There came a maid that stream to draw—a lovely maid was she;
From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.
Young Mirko saw, and proffer’d her a golden brooch, and said:
“O take this brooch, thou damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!”
She took the brooch, and flung it back, and said, in peevish tone,
“I’ll neither have thee nor thy brooch—presumptuous boy, be gone!”

The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;
There came a maid that stream to draw—the loveliest maid was she;
From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.
Young Mirko saw, and proffer’d her a golden ring, and said:
“O take this ring, my damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!”
She took the ring—she slipp’d it on—and said, in sprightliest tone,
“I’ll have thee and thy golden ring, and be thy faithful one.”

THE FRATRICIDE.

BETWEEN two mountains sank the sun—
Between two maids the enamour’d one.
He gave his kiss to one alone;
The other maid grew jealous then:
“Most faithless thou of faithless men!”
She said—and he replied—“Fair maid!
I fain would kiss thy cheeks of red,
But thou hast got a bickering brother,
Who loves to quarrel with another,
And I no quarrel seek, my love!”

She hied her to the darksome grove—
Silent—she turn’d o’er many a rock,
And look’d ’neath many a broken stock;
Probed weeds and briars, till she found
A poisonous serpent on the ground.
She smote it with her golden ring,
Tore from its mouth the venomy fang;
Its poisonous juice her hands did wring
Into a wine cup—and she sprang
On swiftest feet to Raduli—
Her own—her only brother he—
Her hands the fatal cup supplied—
He drank the poison—and he died.

Then sped she to the youth—“A kiss—
At least one kiss of love for this—
For this—for thee—I dress’d the cup
With poison—and he drank it up—
The brother that thou lov’st not—he
I poison’d—for a kiss from thee”—

“Away! away! thou murd’rous maid!
Avaunt! avaunt!”—the lover said:
“What fame—what courage could confide
In thee—a heartless fratricide!”

LOVE.

THE youth he struck on the tambourine,
And nought was so bright as its golden sheen;
Of the hair of maidens twined together
Its strings, which he struck with a falcon’s feather.
The maid look’d down from the balcony,
And thus to her inner self said she:—

“O heaven! what a noble youth is he!
Would’st thou but give this youth to me,
I would make of the garden-pinks his bed,
I would lay fair roses under his head;
And waked by perfume, with what delight
Would he kiss the maiden’s forehead white!”

MAPLE TREE.

O THOU brotherly maple tree!
Wilt thou be a friend to me?
Be a brother, and be a friend!
To the green grass thy branches bend,
That I may climb to their highest tip!
Look o’er the sea, and see the ship,
Where my lover sits smiling now;
He binds the turban round his brow,
And over his shoulders the shawl he flings,
Which is full of mine own embroiderings.
For three long years my hands inwove
Those golden flowers to deck my love:
The richest silk of the brightest dyes
I work’d for him, and now my eyes
Would fain my absent lover see:
Assist me, brotherly maple tree!
And tell me, if he thinks of me!

SEMENDRIAN BEAUTY.

LOVELY maiden of Semendria! {152}
Turn again thy footsteps hither;
Let me see thy countenance!

Hail thee, youth! and health be with thee!
Hast thou visited the markets?
Saw’st thou there a sheet of paper?
Like that paper is my forehead.
Hast thou ever seen the vineyard,
Seen the rosy wine that flows there?
Youth! my cheeks that wine resemble.
Didst thou ever walk the meadows,
Hast thou seen the black sloe-berry?
That black sloe my eyes will paint thee:
Hast thou wandered near the ocean?
Hast thou seen the _pijavitza_? {153}
Like it are the maiden’s eye-brows.

SELF-ADMIRATION.

A MAIDEN to the fountain went;
I saw her overhang the place—
And—she was young and innocent—
I heard her say with simple grace,
“Indeed she has a pretty face;
And if she had a spring-flower wreath,
How well ’twould sit upon her brow;
And she might hear the shepherd breathe,
Yes! thou shalt be my maiden now!
The shepherd—’midst his fleecy drove,
Goes like a moon the stars above.”

ASSIGNATION.

MAIDEN! let us share each other’s kisses!
Tell me, tell me, where shall be our meeting,
In thy garden, or in mine, sweet maiden?
Under thine, or under my green rose-tree;
Thou shalt be a rose, my gentle angel:
I to a fond butterfly will change me,
Everlastingly o’er thee to flutter—
On thy flowers untired I will suspend me,
Living blest upon mine own love’s kisses.

FOOLISH VOW.

THE maiden made a foolish vow:
“I’ll never wear a flow’ret now;—
No flow’ret shall be ever mine—
I’ll never drink the proffer’d wine,
No wine I’ll drink—no friend I’ll kiss,
No, never more—my vow is this.”
So rashly, rashly spoke the maid,
But soon—ah, soon—repentance said:

“A flowery garland o’er me,
How beautiful ’twould be:
And wine—it would restore me,
My heart’s own gaiety:
And love might play before me,
If one sweet kiss were free.”

VILAS.

VISHNIA! {157a} lovely vishnia!
Lift thy branches higher;
For beneath thy branches,
Vilas {157b} dance delighted:
While Radisha {157c} dashes
From the flow’rs the dewdrops.
Vilas two conveying,
To the third he whispers:
“O be mine, sweet Vila!
Thou, with mine own mother,
In the shade shalt seat thee;
Silken vestments spinning,
Weaving golden garments.”

LEPOTA. {158}

LEPOTA went forth to the harvest—she held
A sickle of silver in fingers of gold:
And the sun mounted high o’er the parched harvest field;
And the maiden in song all her sympathies told.
“I’ll give my white forehead to him who shall bind
All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scatter’d behind:
I’ll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring
A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring;
And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade,
I will be—and for aye—an affectionate maid.”

And she thought that her words were all wasted in air:
But a shepherd—just watching his sheepfold, was there;
And he flew, and with sedges he bound all the sheaves;
And he made her an arbor of haslewood leaves;
And he ran to the spring, and he brought the sweet water;
And he look’d on the face of Beauty’s young daughter,
And he said, “Lovely maiden, thy promise I claim;”
But the cheeks of the maiden were cover’d with shame,
And she said to the shepherd, while blushing—“Not so!
Go back to thy sheepfold—thou wanderer, go!
For if thou didst bind the loose sheaves, thou hast left
Thy sheep in the stubble, to wander bereft;
And if from the fountain the water thou beared’st,
Its freshness and coolness thou equally shared’st;
And if thou hast reared up an arbor of shade,
For thyself as for me its refreshment was made.”

IMPRECATIONS.

THROUGH the long night a falcon cried,
“Awake, awake thee! youth! anon
Thy maiden will become a bride:
She puts her marriage garments on.
Awake! awake thee, youth! and send
A marriage blessing to thy friend.”

“What! shall I be a marriage guest?
And shall I bid the maid be blest?
Hear then my marriage blessing, hear!
No son her barren womb shall bear:
May every bit of bread she breaks
Bring with it wretchedness and woe,—
For every drop her thirst that slakes
May tears of bitter anguish flow!”

SECRETS DIVULGED.

Two lovers kiss each other in the meadows;
They think that no one sees the fond betrayal,
But the green meadows see them, and are faithless;
To the white flocks incontinent they say all;
And the white flocks proclaim it to the shepherd,
The shepherd to a high-road traveller brings it;
He to a sailor on the restless ocean tells it,
The sailor to his spice-ship thoughtless sings it;
The spice-ship whispers it upon the waters,
The waters rush to tell the maiden’s mother.

And thus impassioned spoke the lovely maiden—
“Meadows! of spring-days never see another!
Flocks! may the cruel ravenous wolves destroy ye.
Thee, shepherd! may the cruel Moslem slaughter.
Wanderer! may oft thy slippery footsteps stumble.
Thee, sailor! may the ocean billows smother.
Ship! may a fire unquenchable consume thee;
And sink into the earth, thou treacherous water!”

WISHES.

O THAT I were a little stream,
That I might flow to him—to him!
How should I dance with joy, when knowing
To whom my sparkling wave was flowing!
Beneath his window would I glide,
And linger there till morning-tide;
When first he rouses him to dress
In comely garb his manliness,—
Then should he weak, or thirsty be,
O he might stoop to drink of me!
Or baring there his bosom, lave
That bosom in my rippling wave.
O what a bliss, if I could bear
The cooling power of quiet there!

LOVER ASLEEP.

O NIGHTINGALE! thy warblings cease,
And let my master sleep in peace:
’Twas I who lull’d him to repose,
And I will wake him from his rest;
I’ll seek the sweetest flower that grows,
And bear it to his presence blest;
And gently touch his cheeks, and say,
“Awake, my master! for ’tis day.”

EARLY SORROWS

O NIGHTINGALE! sweet bird—they say,
That peace abides with thee;
But thou hast brought from day to day
A triple woe to me.
The first, first woe my spirit knew,
My first, first woe was this,
My mother never train’d me to
A lover’s early bliss.
My second woe, my second woe,
Was that my trusty steed,
Whene’er I mounted, seem’d to show
Nor eagerness nor speed.
My third, third woe—of all the worst,
Is that the maid I woo,
The maid I lov’d the best—the first,
Is angry with me too.
Then grave an early grave for me,
Yon whiten’d fields among;
In breadth two lances let it be,
And just four lances long.
And o’er my head let roses grow,
There plant the red-rose tree;
And at my feet a fount shall flow,
O scoop that fount for me!
So when a youthful swain appears,
The roses he shall wreathe;
And when an old man bent with years,
He’ll drink the stream beneath.

THE YOUNG SHEPHERDS.

THE sheep, beneath old Buda’s wall,
Their wonted quiet rest enjoy;
But ah! rude stony fragments fall,
And many a silk-wool’d sheep destroy;
Two youthful shepherds perish there,
The golden George, and Mark the fair.

For Mark, O many a friend grew sad,
And father, mother wept for him:
George—father, friend, nor mother had,
For him no tender eye grew dim:
Save one—a maiden far away,
She wept—and thus I heard her say:

“My golden George—and shall a song,
A song of grief be sung for thee—
’Twould go from lip to lip—ere long
By careless lips profaned to be;
Unhallow’d thoughts might soon defame
The purity of woman’s name.

“Or shall I take thy picture fair,
And fix that picture in my sleeve?
Ah! time will soon the vestment tear,
And not a shade, nor fragment leave:
I’ll give not him I love so well
To what is so corruptible.

“I’ll write thy name within a book;
That book will pass from hand to hand,
And many an eager eye will look,
But ah! how few will understand!
And who their holiest thoughts can shroud
From the cold insults of the crowd?” {168}

THOUGHTS OF A MOTHER.

Lo! a fir-tree towers o’er Sarajevo,
Spreads o’er half the face of Sarajevo—
Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo:
Brothers and half-sisters there were seated;
And the brother cuts a silken garment,
Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:

“Brother’s wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet!
Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree?
Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar,
Or art thinking of my absent brother?”

To her brother thus the lady answer’d:
“Golden-ring of mine! my husband’s brother!
Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming,
Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar;
Neither was I dreaming of my brother.
I was thinking of my only mother,
She with sugar and with honey reared me;
She for me the red wine pour’d at even,
And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin;
In the morning milk, with spirit chasten’d,
So to give me cheeks of rose and lily;
And with gentle messages she waked me,
That her child might grow both tall and slender.”

COUNSEL.

“MY Misho! tell me, tell me, pray,
Where wert thou wandering yesterday?”
‘I did not ramble—did not roam;
A wretched head-ache kept me home.’
“A thousand times I’ve said, I think,
No widows love—no water drink!
But thou, a thoughtless unbeliever,
Wilt water drink, and get a fever;
Wilt give to widows thine affection,
And find remorse, or find rejection;
Now take my counsel,—drink of wine,
And be a virgin maiden thine!”

DESOLATION.

GLOOMY night! how full thou art of darkness!
Thou, my heart! art fuller yet of sorrow,
Sorrow which I bear, but cannot utter!
I have now no mother who will hear me,
I have now no sister who will soothe me,—
Yet I had a friend—but he is absent!
Ere he comes, the night will be departed;
Ere he wakes, the birds will sing their matins;
Ere his kiss, the twilight hour will brighten:
Go thy way, my friend! the day is dawning!

APPREHENSION.

“SWEET maiden mine! thou blushing rose!
Sweet, blushing roselet mine!
For me, what thought of honey flows
From those sweet lips of thine?”
‘I dare not speak with thee, my dear,
My mother has forbid me.’
“Sweet maid! thy mother is not here.”
‘She saw me once, and chid me.
Sir, she is in the garden there,
Plucking the evergreen:—
O may her heart like mine decay,
Like mine decay unseen,—
Ere love’s sweet power has pass’d away,
As it had never been.’

MILITZA.

LONG and lovely are Militza’s eyebrows,
And they overhang her cheeks of roses—
Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead.
Three long years have I beheld the maiden,
Could not look upon her eyes so lovely—
On her eyes—nor on her snowy forehead.
To our country dance I lured the maiden,
Lured Militza,—lured her to our dances,
Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.

While they danced upon the greensward, verdant
In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather’d,
And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning,
And the maidens all look’d up to heaven,—
All the maidens—all, except Militza.
She still look’d on the green grass, untrembling,
While the maidens trembled as they whisper’d:

“O Militza! thou our friend and playmate,
Art thou overwise—or art thou silly?
Thus to look upon the grass beneath us,
And not look up to the heaven above us,
To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them.”

And Militza gave this quiet answer:
“I am neither overwise nor silly.
Not the _Vila_, {176} not the cloud-upgatherer;
I am yet a maid—and look before me.”

THE CHOICE.

HE slept beneath a poplar tree:
And three young maidens cross’d the way;
I listened to the lovely three,
And heard them to each other say:—
“Now what is dearest, love! to thee?”
The eldest said—‘Young Ranko’s ring
Would be to me the dearest thing.’
“No! not for me,” the second cried;
“I’d choose the girdle from his side.”
‘Not I,’ the youngest said—‘In truth,
I’ll rather have the sleeping youth.
The ring, O sister! will grow dim,
The girdle will ere long be broken;
But this is an eternal token,—
His love for me, and mine for him.’

FOR WHOM?

SWEET fountain, that so freshly flows!
And thou, my own carnation-rose,
That shinest like a shining gem!
And shall I tear thee from thy stem?
For whom? my mother? ah! for whom?
My mother slumbers in the tomb.
For whom? my sister? she has fled,
To seek a foreign bridal bed.
For whom? my brother? he is far,
Far off, in dark and bloody war.
For whom, for whom, but thee, my love?
But thou art absent far above,
Above these three green mountains,
Beyond these three fresh fountains!

LIBERTY.

NIGHTINGALE sings sweetly
In the verdant forest;
In the verdant forest,
On the slender branches.

Thither came three sportsmen,
Nightingale to shoot at.
She implored the sportsmen,
“Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!

“Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!
I will give you music,
In the verdant garden,
On the crimson rose-tree.”

But the sportsmen seize her;
They deceive the songster,
In a cage confine her,
Give her to their loved one.

Nightingale will sing not—
Hangs its head in silence:
Then the sportsmen bear her
To the verdant forests.

Soon her song is waken’d;
“Woe! woe! woe betides us,
Friend from friend divided,
Bird from forest banish’d!”

THE DANCE.

OMER’S court is near to Sarajevo; {181a}
All around it is a woody mountain:
In the midst there is a verdant meadow;
There the maidens dance their joyous Kolo. {181b}
In the Kolo there is Damian’s loved one;
O’er the Kolo her fair head uprises,
Rises gay and lustrous in her beauty.
’Midst the Kolo Nicholas address’d her:
“Veil your face, thou Damian’s best beloved!
For to-day death’s summons waits on Damian.
Half thy face veil over, lovely maiden!”
Hardly the prophetic words were utter’d,
Ere a gun was heard from the green forest;
Damian, wounded, fell amidst the Kolo—
Damian fell, and thus his love address’d him:
“O my Damian! O my sun of springtime!
Wherefore, wherefore didst thou shine so brightly,
Thus so soon to sink behind the mountain?”
“My beloved! O thou rose all beauteous!
Wherefore didst thou bloom so fair, so lovely,
And I never can enjoy, nor wear thee?”

ELEGY.

KONDA died—his mother’s only offspring.
O what grief was hers the youth to bury
Far away from his own natural dwelling!
So she bore him to a verdant garden,
And ’neath gold pomegranate trees interr’d him.
Every, every day she wandered thither:
“Doth the earth, sweet son, lie heavy on thee?
Heavy are the planks of maple round thee?”
From his grave the voice of Konda answers:
“Lightly presses the green earth upon me,
Lightly press the planks of maple round me.
Heavy is the virgins’ malediction;
When they sigh, their sighs reach God’s high presence;
When they curse, the world begins to tremble;
When they weep, even God is touch’d with pity.”

INQUIRY.

A MAIDEN sat on th’ ocean shore,
And held this converse with herself:
“O God of goodness and of love!
What’s broader than the mighty sea,
And what is longer than the field,
And what is swifter than the steed,
What sweeter than the honey dew,
What dearer than a brother is?”
A fish thus answer’d from the sea:
“O maid! thou art a foolish girl.
The heaven is broader than the sea;
The sea is longer than the field;
The eye is swifter than the steed;
Sugar more sweet than honey dew;
Dearer than brother is thy love.”

DOUBT.

THREE young travellers travell’d forth to travel:
On their travels met a lovely maiden:
Each will give the lovely maid a present:
One presents her with a fresh-pluck’d apple:
One presents her with _bosilka_ {185a} flowering:
One a gold ring for the maiden’s finger.
He who gave the maiden the bosilka
Said, “The maid is mine—I claim the maiden.”
He who gave the maid the fresh-pluck’d apple
Said, “The maid is _mine_—I claim the maiden.”
He who gave the gold ring to the maiden
Said, “We’ll go and seek the judge {185b} together:
He shall say to whom belongs the maiden.”
So they went and sought the judge’s presence:
“Judge, thou honourable judge! between us:
We three travellers travell’d forth together,
And we met a maiden in our travels,
And we gave her—gave her each a present:
One of us a green and fresh-pluck’d apple:
One presented her bosilka flowering;
And the third a gold ring for her finger:—
Now decide to whom belongs the maiden.”

Thus the honourable judge decided:
“We present bosilka for its odour:
As a pledge of love we give an apple:
But to give a ring is a betrothing;—
He who gave the ring must have the maiden.”

THE SULTANESS.

LISTEN! I hear a cry, a cry!
The bells are ringing lustily;
And the hens are cackling all in riot.
No! no! no! the bells are quiet;
The hens at rest with one another:
’Tis the sister calls the brother:

“Brother! I am a Moslem slave:
Tear me from my Turkish grave.
Small the price which sets me free:
Of pearls two measures—of gold but three.”

In vain she calls her brother.—‘O no!
My treasures to my apparel go:
The gold my horse’s bridle must deck:
My pearls must grace my maiden’s neck;
Must buy a kiss—must buy a kiss.’
The maid her brother answer’d with this:
“I am no slave! I am no less
Than the sultan’s chosen sultaness.”

BETROTHING.

HERE there is a maiden,
Young, and yet a virgin:
Give her then a husband,
Or give us the maiden,
And we will betroth her
To Ivan the student.
He’s our parson’s nephew—
He has art to write on
Pinions of the eagle.
What shall be his subject?
What—but bright-eyed maidens
And the brows of heroes?

CAUTIONS.

O THOU lovely maiden!
Lo! thy praise has mounted
To the monarch’s city!
Maiden! thou hast planted
The six-branch’d _kaloper_ {190a}
And bosilka {190b} early.
But the youths unmarried
Long have been in waiting
To tear up thy balsam—
Thy bosilka pillage.
Know’st thou not they linger
Just to steal thy kisses?
Maiden! maiden! never
Let those youths betray thee!

MAIDEN’S CARES.

O SLEEP! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain
I bid thee visit me:
The anxious thought disturbs my brain—
Whose shall the maiden be?
My mother says, “The goatherd, child!
The goatherd, child! for thee.”
Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;
That were no happiness for me:
He tracks the mountains steep and wild
Where rocks and dangers be.

O sleep! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain
I bid thee visit me:
The anxious thought disturbs my brain—
Whose shall the maiden be?
My mother says, “The shepherd, maid!
The shepherd, maid! for thee.”
Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;
That were no happiness for me:
He wanders through the distant glade
Where wolves and perils be.

O sleep! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain
I bid thee visit me:
The anxious thought disturbs my brain—
Whose shall the maiden be?
My mother says, “The tradesman, dear!
The tradesman, dear! for thee.”
Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;
That were no happiness for me:
He is a wanderer far and near,
His house no home may be.

O sleep, sweet sleep! in vain, in vain
I bid thee visit me:
The anxious thought disturbs my brain—
Whose shall the maiden be?
My mother says, “The tailor, then,
The tailor, then, for thee!”
Nay! mother! nay; not he, not he!
That were no happiness for me;
The tailor’s needle may be keen,
His children hungry be.

O sleep, sweet sleep! in vain, in vain
I bid thee visit me;
The anxious thought disturbs my brain,
Whose shall the maiden be?
My mother says;—“The peasant, take
The peasant, child! for thee.”
Yes! mother, yes! in him I see
Both love and happiness for me;
For though his labouring hands are black,
The whitest bread eats he.

MAHOMMEDAN SONG.

HIS breath is amber,—sharp his reed;
The hand which holds it, O! how white.
He writes fair talismans,—a creed,
For maidens doth the loved one write:
“Of him that will not have thee,—think not!
From him that fain would have thee, shrink not.”

MINE EVERY WHERE.

“COME with me, thou charming maiden!
Be my love and come with me.”
‘Wherefore play with words so foolish?
That can never, never be;
I had rather in the tavern
Bear the golden cup, than ever,—
Ever promise to be thine.’
“I am the young tavern-keeper,
So thou wilt indeed be mine.”

‘Wherefore play with words so foolish?
No such fate will e’er befall;
In the coffee-house I’d rather
Serve, envelop’d in my shawl,
Rather than be thine at all.’
“But I am the coffee boiler,
Thee, my maiden, will I call.”

‘Wherefore play with words so foolish?
That can never, never be;
Rather o’er the field I’ll wander,
Changed into a quail, than ever,
Ever give myself to thee.’
“But I am a vigorous sportsman,
And thou wilt belong to me.”

‘Play not, youth! with words so foolish,
That can never, never be;
Rather to a fish I’d change me,
Dive me deep beneath the sea,
Rather than belong to thee.’
“But I am the finest network,
Which into the sea I’ll cast;
Mine thou art, and mine thou shalt be,—
Yes! thou must be mine at last;
Be it here, or be it there,
Mine thou must be every where.”

MAID AWAKING.

LOVELY maiden gather’d roses,
Sleep overtook her then;
Pass’d a youth and call’d the maiden,
Waked the maid again:
“Wake! O wake! thou lovely maiden,
Why art slumbering now?
All the rosy wreaths are fading,
Fading on thy brow.
He, thy heart’s own love, will marry;
He will break his vow!”
‘Let him marry, let him marry,
I shall not complain;
But the thunderbolt of heav’n
Shall destroy him then.’

MOTHER’S LOVE.

ON the balcony young Jovan sported,
While he sported, lo! it crash’d beneath him,
And he fell,—his right arm broke in falling!
Who shall find a surgeon for the sufferer?
Lo! the Vila of the mountain sends one,
But the recompense he asks is heavy;
Her white hand demands he of the mother,—
Of the sister all her silken ringlets,—
Of the wife he asks her pearl-strung necklace.

Freely gave her hand young Jovan’s mother,
Freely gave her silken hair his sister,
But his wife refus’d her pearly treasure:—
“Nay! I will not give my pearl-strung necklace,
For it was a present of my father.”
Anger then incens’d the Mountain-Vila,
Into Jovan’s wounds she pour’d her poison,
And he died,—Alas! for thee, poor mother!

Then began the melancholy cuckoos,—{199}
Cuckoos then began their funeral dirges;
One pour’d out her mournful plaints unceasing,
One at morning mourn’d, and mourn’d at ev’ning,
And the third whene’er sad thoughts came o’er her.
Tell me which is the unceasing mourner?
’Tis the sorrowing mother of young Jovan.
Which at morning mourns and late at evening?
’Tis the grieving sister of young Jovan.
Which when melancholy thoughts come o’er her?
’Tis the youthful wife,—the wife of Jovan.

THE GREYBEARD.