I heard a sprightly swallow say
To a gray cuckoo t’ other day,—
“Thou art a happy bird indeed;
Thou dost not in the chimney breed,
Thou dost not hear the eternal jarring,
Of sisters and step-sisters warring;
Their woes and grievances rehearsing,
Cursing themselves, and others cursing.
A young step-sister once I saw,
Foul language at the elder throw;
“Perdition’s daughter! hence depart;
Thou hast no fruit beneath thy heart.”
And thus the elder one replied:
“Curse thy perverseness and thy pride!
Mijailo is a son of thine;
Now thou shalt bring forth daughters nine,
And madness shall their portion be.
Thy son shall cross the parting sea;
He never shall return to thee,
But, bathed in blood and wounded, pine!”
And thus she cursed;—the curse was true;
Her sister’s nine fair daughters grew;
And madness seized them,—seized them all:
Mijailo,—far away, and wounded,
By solitude and woe surrounded,
I heard him on his mother call:
“O mother! mother! send me now
A bandage of that snowy linen
Which you so thoughtlessly were spinning,
When curses wander’d to and fro.
In your rage you wove it,—now remove it;
Tear it for bandages, as you tore
Love and affection all asunder.
Where it was bleach’d thy son lies under;
With it cover his hot wounds o’er.
Rend it, mother! and send it, mother!
May it thy suffering son restore!”
Against white Buda’s walls, a vine
Doth its white branches fondly twine:
O, no! it was no vine-tree there;
It was a fond, a faithful pair,
Bound each to each in earliest vow—
And, O! they must be severed now!
And these their farewell words:—“We part—
Break from my bosom—break—my heart!
Go to a garden—go, and see,
Some rose-branch blushing on the tree;
And from that branch a rose-flower tear,
Then place it on thy bosom bare;
And as its leavelets fade and pine,
So fades my sinking heart in thine.”
And thus the other spoke: “My love!
A few short paces backward move,
And to the verdant forest go;
There’s a fresh water-fount below;
And in the fount a marble stone,
Which a gold cup reposes on;
And in the cup a ball of snow—
Love! take that ball of snow to rest
Upon thine heart within thy breast.
And as it melts unnoticed there,
So melts my heart in thine, my dear!”
THE VIOLET.
How captivating is to me,
Sweet flower! thine own young modesty!
Though did I pluck thee from thy stem,
There’s none would wear thy purple gem.
I thought, perchance, that Ali Bey—
But he is proud and lofty—nay!
He would not prize thee—would not wear
A flower so feeble though so fair:
His turban for its decorations
Had full blown roses and carnations.
Sweet Smilia-flowers did Smilia pull,
Her sleevelets and her bosom full;
By the cool stream she gather’d them,
And twined her many a diadem—
A diadem of flowery-wreaths;—
One round her brows its fragrance breathes;
One to her bosom-friend she throws;
The other where the streamlet flows
She flings, and says in gentlest tone—
“Swim on, thou odorous wreath! swim on,
Swim to my Juris’ home, and there
O whisper in his mother’s ear:
‘Say, wilt thou not thy Juris wed?—
Then give him not a widow’s bed;
But some sweet maiden, young and fair.’”
HARVEST SONG.
Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see
Who the kissers and kiss’d of the reapers shall be.
Take hold of your reeds, till the secret be told,
If the old shall kiss young, and the young shall kiss old.
Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see
What fortune and chance to the drawers decree:
And if any refuse, may God smite them—may they
Be cursed by Paraskev, the saint of to-day!
Now loosen your hands—now loosen, and see
Who the kissers and kiss’d of the reapers shall be. [117]
MAIDEN’S PRAYER.
Beauty’s maiden thus invoked the Heavens:
“Send me down a whirlwind! let it scatter
Yonder stony tower—its halls lay open!
Let me look on Gertshich Manoilo.
If the otter on his knee is playing—
If the falcon sits upon his shoulder—
If the rose is blooming on his kalpak.” [118]
What she pray’d for speedily was granted:
And a storm-wind came across the ocean;
And the stony tower fell down before it:
And she look’d on Gertshich Manoilo:
Saw the otter on his knees disporting:
Saw the falcon sitting on his shoulder:
Saw the rose upon his kalpak blooming.
KISSES.
What’s the time of night, my dear?
For my maiden said, “I’ll come”—
Said “I’ll come,”—but is not here:
And ’tis now the midnight’s gloom.
Lone and silent home I turn’d;
But upon the bridge I met her—
Kiss’d her:—How my hot lips burned!—
How forget it—how forget her!
In one kiss full ten I drew:
And upon my lips there grew,
From that hour, a honey-dew,
As if sugar were my meat,
And my drink metheglin sweet.
HARVEST SONG.
Lord and master! let us homewards, let us homewards haste:
Far, far distant are our dwellings—far across the waste. [120a]
Some have aged mothers threat’ning—“Ne’er allow another:”
Some male-children [120b] in the cradle, crying for their mother:
Some impatient lovers chiding;—dearer they than brother.
CURSE.
The maiden cursed her raven eyes,
She cursed them for their treacheries.
“Be blinded now, to you if heaven
All that is visible has given!
If ye see all, ye traitors, say
Why saw ye not my love to day:—
He pass’d my door,—but, truants, ye
Gave not the gentlest hint to me.
He had a nosegay in his hand,—
He wore a gold embroider’d band,—
’Twas made by other hands than mine!
Upon it wreathing branches twine:
May every branch embroidered there,
A miserable heart-wound bear;—
Upon each branch, may every leaf
Bring and betoken toil and grief.”
SALUTATION OF THE MORNING STAR.
Lo! the maiden greets the day-star! “Sister!
Sister star of morning! well I greet thee;
Thou dost watch the world from thine uprising
To thy sinking hour. In Herzgovina, [122]
Tell me didst thou see the princely Stephan?
Tell me, was his snowy palace open,
Were his steeds caparisoned, and ready;
And was he equipp’d his bride to visit?”
Gently then the morning star responded:
“Lovely sister! beautiful young maiden,
True, I watch the world from my uprising
To my setting;—and in Herzgovina
Saw the palace of the princely Stephan;
And that snowy palace was wide open,
And his horse was saddled, and was ready,
And he was equipp’d his bride to visit:
But not thee—not thee—another maiden;
False tongues three have whisper’d evil of thee;
One has said—thine origin is lowly;
One, that thou art treacherous as a serpent;
And the third, that thou art dull and dreamy.”
Then the maiden pour’d her imprecations:
“He who said my origin was lowly,
Never let a child of love be born him;
He who called me treacherous as a serpent,
Round his heart, O! let a serpent wreathe it;
Through hot summers in his hair be tangled,
Through cold winters in his bosom nestle;
He who dar’d to call me dull and dreamy,
Nine long years may he be worn by sickness,
And no sleep renew his strength to bear it.”
The maiden sat upon the hill,
Upon the hill and far away,
Her fingers wove a silken cord,
And thus I heard the maiden say:
“O with what joy, what ready will,
If some fond youth, some youth adored,
Might wear thee, should I weave thee now!
The finest gold I’d interblend,
The richest pearls as white as snow.
But if I knew, my silken friend,
That an old man should wear thee, I
The coarsest worsted would inweave,
Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave,
And all thy knots with nettles tie.”
ROYAL CONVERSE.
The king from the queen an answer craves;
“How shall we now employ our slaves?”
The maidens in fine embroidery,
The widows shall spin flax-yarn for me,
And the men shall dig in the fields for thee.
The king from the queen an answer craves;
“How shall we, lady, feed our slaves?”
The maidens shall have the honey-comb sweet,
The widows shall feed on the finest wheat,
And the men of maize-meal bread shall eat.
The king from the queen an answer craves;
“Where for the night shall rest our slaves?”
The maidens shall sleep in the chambers high,
The widows on mattress’d beds shall lie,
And the men on nettles under the sky.
ROSA.
Under roses slept the maiden Rosa,
And a rose fell down and waken’d Rosa;
To the flower-rose, said the maiden Rosa—
“Rose of mine! O fall not on the maiden,
I am in no tune of soul to love thee,
For a heavy grief o’erwhelms my spirit;
Youth would have me,—but old age hath won me.
An old bridegroom is a worthless maple;
When the wind is up it faints and trembles;
When the rain descends, decay decays it:
But a young bride, is a roselet budding;
When the wind is up, its fair leaves open,
When the rain descends, it shines in beauty,—
When the sun comes forth, it smiles and glories.”
THE MAIDEN AND THE SUN.
A maiden proudly thus the sun accosted:
“Sun! I am fairer far than thou,—far fairer;
Fairer than is thy sister [127a] or thy brethren,—
Fairer than yon bright moon at midnight shining,
Fairer than yon gay star in heav’n’s arch twinkling,
That star, all other stars preceding proudly,
As walks before his sheep the careful shepherd.”
The sun complain’d to God of such an insult:
“What shall be done with this presumptuous maiden?”
And to the sun God gave a speedy answer:
“Thou glorious Sun! thou my beloved daughter! [127b]
Be joyous yet! say, why art thou dejected?
Wilt thou reward the maiden for her folly—
Shine on, and burn the maiden’s snowy forehead.
But I a gloomier dowry yet will give her;
Evil to her shall be her husband’s brother;
Evil to her shall be her husband’s father.
Then shall she think upon the affront she gave thee.”
THE MAIDEN’S WISH.
If I had, ah Laso!
All the emp’ror’s treasures,
Well I know, ah Laso!
What with these I’d purchase;
I would buy, ah Laso!
Garden on the Sava;
Well I know, ah Laso!
What my hands would plant there;
I would plant, ah Laso!
Hyacinths, carnations.
If I had, ah Laso!
All the emp’ror’s treasures,
Well I know, ah Laso!
What with these I’d purchase;
I would buy, ah Laso!
I would purchase Laso,
He should be, ah Laso!
Gardener in my garden.
THE FALCON.
The falcon soars both far and high,
He spreads his pinions in the sky;
Then from his cloudy heights he lowers,
And seats him on the city’s towers:
He sees a laughing girl of grace,
In crystal water bathe her face;
And looks with open, eager eye
Upon her neck of ivory:
White as the snow upon the mountain;
And there he hears a youth recounting
His tale of love.—“Now bend thy head
Upon thy snowy neck,” he said;
“Its whiteness is too bright for me:
And ’neath it sorrowing heart may be.”
HEROES SERVED.
Upon the silent Danube’s shore,
When ev’ning wastes, ’tis sweet to see
(Their golden wine cups flowing o’er);
Our heroes in their revelry.
A youthful beauty pours the wine,
And each will pledge a cup to her;
And each of charms that seem divine,
Would fain become a worshiper.
“Nay! heroes, nay!” the virgin cried,
“My service—not my love—I give:
For one alone—for none beside:
For one alone I love and live.”
YOUTH AND AGE.
Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving.
Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead:
“Forehead! if I thought an old man’s kisses
Would be stamp’d upon thee, I would hasten
To the forest, and would gather wormwood:
Into boiling water press its bitters:
With it steep my forehead ev’ry morning,
That the old man’s kiss might taste of wormwood.
But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me,
I would hurry to the verdant garden:
I would gather all its sweetest roses,
Would condense their fragrance,—and at morning,
Every morning, would perfume my forehead:
So the youth’s sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance,
And his heart be gladden’d with the odour.
Better dwell with youth upon the mountains,
Than with age in luxury’s richest palace:
Better sleep with youth on naked granite,
Than with eld on silks howe’er voluptuous!”
CHOICE.
In my court the morning’s twilight found me;
At the chase the early sun while rising,
I upon the mountain—and behind it,
On that mountain, ’neath a dark-green pine tree,
Lo! I saw a lovely maiden sleeping;
On a clover-sheaf her head was pillow’d;
On her bosom lay two snowy dovelets;
In her lap there was a dappled fawnkin.
There I tarried till the fall of ev’ning:
Bound my steed at night around the pine-tree:
Bound my falcon to the pine-tree branches:
Gave the sheaf of clover to my courser:
Gave the two white dovelets to my falcon:
Gave the dappled fawn to my good greyhound:
And, for me,—I took the lovely maiden.
ANXIETY.
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 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.
I heard young Falisava say:
“I’ll have no ancient greybeard, nay!
A sprightly beardless youth for me.”
An aged man the maiden heard,
He shaves his long and snowy beard,
And paints his chin like ebony:
To Falisava then he goes—
“My heart! my soul! my garden rose!
A beardless youth is come for thee.”
And then she listen’d—they were wed—
And to the old man’s home they sped.
Then twilight came, and evening’s shade—
And said the old man to the maid:
“Sweet Falisava! maiden fair!
Our bed beside the stove prepare,
And the warm feather-mattress bear”—
The maiden heard—the maiden went,
And gather’d flowers of sweetest scent—
Of sweetest scent and fairest hue,
Which on the old man’s bed she threw,
And like a strong-wing’d eagle then
Flew to her father’s home again.
MAHOMMEDAN TALE.
Who is mourning there in Glamotz’s fortress?
’Tis the Vila—’tis an angry serpent?
’Tis no Vila—’tis no angry serpent!
’Tis the maid Emina there lamenting—
There lamenting, for her woe is grievous!
Lo! the Ban the maiden hath imprison’d—
Hath imprison’d her, and will baptize her;
But Emina never will be faithless—
From the white-wall’d tower will fling her rather.
Thus the unbelieving Ban address’d she:
“Unbelieving Ban! a moment tarry,
While I hasten to the upper story.”
And she hasten’d to the upper story;
Look’d around her from the white-wall’d fortress:
In the distance saw her father’s dwelling—
Saw the white school where she pass’d her childhood.
“O my father’s home! my poor heart’s sorrow!
School of childhood! once that childhood’s terror!
Many a day of weariness and sorrow
Did thy small-writ lessons give Emina.”
Then she wrapp’d her snowy robes around her—
Thought not of the band that bound her tresses,
And she flung her from the fortress turret.
But her hairband caught the open window—
From the window, ah! she hung suspended—
Hung a week suspended from the window—
Then her hair gave way—and then the maiden
On the greensward fell.
The Christian heard it—
He, the Christian Ban, and hasten’d thither;
Oft and oft he kiss’d the dead Emina;
And he peacefully entomb’d the maiden.
O’er her grave a chapel he erected,
And with golden apples he adorn’d it.
Ere a week had pass’d away, descended
On her tomb a beauteous light from heaven;
At her head a beauteous light was kindled;
At her feet another light shone sweetly;
And her aged mother saw and wonder’d.
From her chain she took her knife, and plunged it—
Plunged it deep within her troubled bosom—
Fell, and died—O melancholy mother!
LOVE’S DIFFICULTIES.
I loved her from her infancy,
Lado! Lado!
From childhood to maturity,
Lado! Lado!
And when I claim’d the smiling maid,
Lado! Lado!
“Ye are of kindred blood!” they said,
Lado! Lado!
“Brother and sister’s children ye,
Lado! Lado!
It were a sin to steal a kiss,”
Lado! Lado!
Oh what a sacrifice is this!
Lado! Lado!
I’ll steal a kiss though I be riven,
Lado! Lado!
From every, every hope of heaven,
Lado! Lado!
For what would heaven become to me,
Lado! Lado!
When the long nights of autumn flee,
Lado! Lado! [206]
WITCHES.
The sky is cover’d with stars again:
The plains are cover’d with flocks of sheep:
But where is the shepherd? On the plain
The shepherd is lost in careless-sleep:
The youthful Radoje sleeps:—Arise!
Awake! his sister Jania cries.
“Jania! sister! nay! depart!
My body to witches is plighted:
My mother has torn away my heart,
And my aunt my mother lighted.”
PLEDGES.
The wind was with the roses playing:
To Ranko’s tent it blew their leaves:
Militza, Ranko, there were staying;
And Ranko writes—Militza weaves.
His letter done, he drops his pen:
Her finish’d web she throws aside:
And lo! I heard the lover then
Low whisper to his promised bride:
“Militza! tell me truly now
And dost thou love me—love me best?
Or heavy is thy nuptial vow?”—
And thus the maid the youth address’d:
“O trust me—thou my heart—my soul!
That thou art dearer far to me—
Far dearer, Ranko! than the whole
Of brothers—many though they be:
And that the vows we pledged together
Are lighter than the lightest feather.”
COMPLAINT.
O flower! so lovely in thy bloom,
Be evil fate thy mother’s doom!
Thy mother, who so kindly nurst,
And sent thee to our village first.
Where heroes o’er their cups romancing,
And our young striplings stones are flinging,
And our delighted brides are dancing,
And our gay maidens songs are singing—
’Twas then I saw thee, lovely flower!
And lost my quiet from that hour.
SONG.
The winter is gone,
Beloved, arise!
The spring is come on,
The birds are all singing:
Beloved, arise!
The roses are springing;
Earth laughs out in love:
Beloved, arise!
And thou, my sweet dove!
O waste not thy time:
Beloved, arise!
Enjoy the sweet bliss
Of a kiss—of a kiss:
Beloved, arise!
In the hour of thy prime,
Beloved, arise!
MAHOMMEDAN SONG.
I have piercing eyes—the eyes of falcons:
I am of undoubted noble lineage:
I can read the heart of Osman Aga:
I was ask’d by Osman Aga’s mother:
“Cursed witch: and yet most lovely maiden!
Why with white and red dost paint thy visage?
Fascinate no longer Osman Aga!
I will speed me to the verdant forest,
Build me up of maple-trees a dwelling,
And lock up within it Osman Aga.”
Then the maid replied to Osman’s mother:
“Lady Anka! Osman Aga’s mother—
I have falcon eyes—and eyes of devils:
With them I can ope thy maple dwelling—
With them visit, too, thy Osman Aga.”
BROTHERLESS SISTERS.
Two solitary sisters, who
A brother’s fondness never knew,
Agreed, poor girls, with one another,
That they would make themselves a brother:
They cut them silk, as snow-drops white;
And silk, as richest rubies bright;
They carved his body from a bough
Of box-tree from the mountain’s brow;
Two jewels dark for eyes they gave;
For eyebrows, from the ocean’s wave
They took two leeches; and for teeth
Fix’d pearls above, and pearls beneath;
For food they gave him honey sweet,
And said, “Now live, and speak, and eat.”
MISFORTUNES.
On the hill, the fir-tree hill,
Grows a tall fir-tree:
There a maiden, calm and still,
Sits delightedly.
To a youthful swain she pledges
Vows: “O come to me:
Lightly spring across the hedges:
Come—but silently.
Come at eve—lest harm betide thee.
If any home thou seek,
In our quiet dwelling hide thee;
Not a whisper speak.”
As he o’er the hedges sprung,
Lo! a twig he tore:
When the house-door ope he flung,
Noisy was the door.
When he enter’d in, there fell
Shelves upon the floor,
’Twas the broken china’s knell—
O the luckless hour!
Then her mother comes afeard,
Trips and cuts her knee;
And her father burns his beard
In perplexity.
And the youth must quench the fire,
And the maiden must retire.
TIMIDITY.
Lo! upon the mountain green
Stands a fir tree tall and thin—
’Tis no fir tree—none at all—
’Tis a maiden thin and tall.
Three long years the enamour’d one
Fed upon her eyes alone;
On the fourth, he sought the bliss
Of the maiden’s primal kiss:
“Why, thou witching maid! repel me—
Why with foot of scorn dost tread,
On my feet, my boots of red!
Why despise me, maiden! tell me.”
“No, my friend, I will not tread
On thy feet, thy boots of red!
Come at evening—come and string
Pearls for me—and thou shalt fling
O’er me my embroider’d shawl.
We will go at morning’s call
To the Kolo—Friend! but thou
Must not touch the maiden now—
Know’st thou not that busy slander
Follows us where’er we wander?
Evil tongues are ever talking;
Calumny abroad is walking.
Know’st thou that a simple kiss
Ample food for slander is?
‘Never did we kiss,’ you’ll say,
‘Till last evening and to-day.’
Come at evening—come my dear!
Sisters’ eyes will watch thee here.”
YOUTH ENAMOURED.
“Where wert thou, Misho! yesterday?”
‘O ’twas a happy day to me!
A lovely maiden cross’d my way,
A maiden smiling lovelily.
And those sweet smiles for me were meant;
I claimed her—mother answer’d ‘No!’
Would steal her—vain was the intent,
For many guardians watch’d her so.
There grows a verdant almond-tree
Before her house—its boughs I’ll climb;
Wail like a cuckoo mournfully,
And swallow-like, at evening time,
Pour forth my woe in throbbings deep,
And like a sorrowing widow sigh,
And like a youthful maiden weep.
So may her mother turn her eye,
Pitying my grief, her heart may move,
And she may give me her I love.’
BLUE AND BLACK EYES.
I wish the happy time were nigh,
When youths are sold, that I might buy.
But for an azure-eyed Milinar, [219]
I would not give a single dinar,
Though for a raven-black eyed youth,
A thousand golden coins, in truth.
Alas! alas!—and is it true?
My own fair youth has eyes of blue;
Yes! they are blue—yet dear to me—
Will he forgive my levity?
Ye maidens! pray him to forgive me;
Nay! spare me now—and rather leave me
To tell him “I am yours”—and smile
In fond affection all the while.
THE WIDOW.
Rose! O smile upon the youth no longer;
He, in his impatience to be wedded,
Chose a widow for his years unsuited,
And where’er she goes, where’er she tarries,
She is mourning for her ancient husband.
“O my husband! first and best possession!
Happy were the days we spent together!
Early we retired and late we waken’d.
Thou didst wake me kissing my white forehead,
‘Up, my heart! the sun is high in heaven,
And our aged mother is arisen.’”
ALARMS.
Fairest youths are here—but not the fairest!
Could I hear him now, or could I see him,—
Could I know if he be sick, or faithless!
Were he sick, my ears would rather hear it,
Than that he had loved another maiden.
Sickness may depart, and time restore him,—
If enamour’d,—never! never! never!
FOND WIFE.
O! if I were a mountain streamlet,
I know where I would flow;
I’d spring into the crystal Sava,
Where the gay vessels go,
That I might look upon my lover—
For fain my heart would know
If, when he holds the helm, he ever
Looks on my rose, and thinks
Of her who gave it;—if the nosegay
I made of sweetest pinks
Is faded yet, and if he wear it.
On Saturday I cull
To give him for a Sabbath present
All that is beautiful.
UNHAPPY BRIDE.
The maiden gave the ring she wore
To him who gave it her before:
“O take the ring,—for thou and thine
Are hated,—not by me,—but mine:—
Father and mother will not hear thee,
Brother and sister both forswear thee:
Yet, think not, youth,—O think not ill
Of her who needs must love thee still!
I am a poor unhappy maid,
Whose path the darkest clouds o’ershade;
I sowed sweet basil, and there grew
On that same spot the bitterest rue:
And wormwood, that unholy flower,
Is now alone my marriage dower;
The only flower which they shall wear
Who to the maiden’s marriage come,
When for my marriage altar there
The guests shall find the maiden’s tomb.”
Upon her mother’s bosom lay
Young Mira, and she pined away.
’T was in her own maternal shed;
And thus the anxious mother said:—
“What ails thee, tell me, Mira! pray?”
“O ask me not, my mother dear!
I feel that death approaches near;
I shall not rise from this my bed;
But, mother mine! when I am dead—
O mother mine! call round me all
My playmates to my funeral:
And let the friends I loved receive
The little gifts that I shall leave;
Then let me sleep in peace beneath.—
There’s one, my mother, I should grieve
To be divided from in death.
Then call around me priests divine,
And pious pilgrims, mother mine!
The forehead of thy dying daughter
Steep in the rose’s fragrant water.
And, mother, let my forehead be
Dried with the rose-leaves from the tree;
And pillow not thy daughter’s head,
O mother! with the common dead;
But let me have a quiet tomb
Adjacent to my Mirjo’s home,
And near my Mirjo’s nightly bed;
So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwell
With her he loved, and loved so well.”
LOVE FOR A BROTHER.
The sun sank down behind the gold-flower’d hill;
The warriors from the fight approach the shore:
There stood young George’s wife, serene and still:
She counted all the heroes o’er and o’er,
And found not those she loved—though they were three:—
Her husband, George; her marriage friend, another,
Who late had led the marriage revelry;
The third, her best-beloved, her only brother.
Her husband, he was dead; she rent her hair
For him.—Her friend was gone,—for him she tore
Her cheeks.—Her only brother was not there:
For him she pluck’d her eye-balls from their bed.
Her hair grew forth as lovely as before;
Upon her cheeks her former beauties spread;
But nothing could her perish’d sight restore:
Nought heals the heart that mourns a brother dead.
REBUKE.
“Maiden! hast thou seen my steed?”
‘Faithless one! not I, indeed!
But I heard that thou hadst tied him
To the mountain-maple tree;
When a stranger pass’d beside him,
Full of scorn and rage was he:
With his hoofs the ground he beat;
Of his master’s guilt he knew.
Not one maiden did he cheat:
No; that master cheated two:
One has borne a wretched child;
One with grief and shame is wild!’
MAN’S FAITH.
Say! dost thou remember when under the vine,
Thy tears fell in streams on the breast of thy maid;
When thy heart burst in joy as I own’d thee for mine?
Alas! for the maiden whose peace is betray’d,
By the tears and the vows of a falsehood like thine!
As the changeable sky—now o’erclouded, now bright,
Is the faith of thy race—their language to-day,
“I will wed thee to-morrow, my love and my light!”
To-morrow—“Let’s wait till the harvest’s away.”
The harvest is ended, the winter is nigh,
And another maid dwells in their hearts and their eye.
MAIDEN’S AFFECTION.
“Black is the night—an outcast lad
Is wandering in our village, mother!
Thy daughter’s heart is very sad,
Sad even to death! He has no home:
O give him ours, he has no other,
And bid the lad no longer roam!”
‘Nay! daughter, let this outcast stray,
He is a proud and city youth;
Will ask for wine at break of day,
And costly meats at eve, forsooth,
And for his city-tutor’d head
Will want a soft and stately bed.’
“O mother! In God’s name divine,
Give the poor lad a shelter now:
My eyes shall serve instead of wine,
For costly meats my maiden brow.
My neck shall be his honey comb:
His bed the dewy grass shall be,
And heaven his stately canopy.
His head shall rest upon my arm.
O mother! give the youth a home,
And shelter, shelter him from harm.”
