AN ANTHOLOGY OF
JUGOSLAV POETRY

SERBIAN LYRICS

EDITED BY

Dr. B. STEVENSON STANOYEVICH

BOSTON

RICHARD G. BADGER

THE GORHAM PRESS

Copyright, 1920, By Richard G. Badger

All Rights Reserved

Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

TRANSLITERATION OF UNUSUAL JUGOSLAV SCRIPT:

a = a in father, garden
e = e in men, envoy
i = i in tin, ill
o = o in son, note
u = u in rule, rumor
j = y in yoke, yes
c = ts in cats, lots
lj = ly in William, million
dj = dy in endure, verdure
gj = gy in George
nj = ny in Kenyon, opinion
č = tch in watch, catch
ć = ch in culture, literature
š = sh in ship, shade
ž = zh in azure, seizure
dž = dzh in Badger, or j in James

The rest of the letters correspond to the English sounds.

PREFACE

"Give me the making of a nation's songs, and let who will make their laws," was the maxim of a Scottish patriot. We would prefer to modify this rule, and say, "Give us the poems which the people make for themselves, and then we shall obtain a clear insight into the national character and learn what customs and laws they are likely to accept or reject." Folk-songs are the intimate expressions of the ideas of the people. What the comic drama is to the cultured, and the music-hall to the ill-educated portions of urban population, the popular song has been, and in some countries still is, to the rural peasantry, a true exponent of their sentiments, though too frequently inaccurate in statements of facts. Critics, as is well known, have censured Lord Macaulay for his indiscriminate adoption of the vulgar and often malignant rhapsodies sung in the streets of London. But the Russian bylina, collected by Danilov, Rybnikov, Sreznevsky and others, may be taken as furnishing unimpeachable evidence of the state of Russia during the invasions of the Mongols and Turks. The Jacobite poems give us the real feelings of the people of Scotland for nearly an entire century. The popular and rustic strains which are handed down from the reign of Henry III have rehabilitated the memory of Simon de Montfort. Moore's Irish melodies, originally composed for the delectation of English aristocrats, have been so generally admired in his native land that they exhibit pretty clear indications of what the Irish patriots would like to do if they had the power. And the battle-hymn by Rouget de Lisle is not only popular in France, but has recently been sung by the Russian bolsheviki when marching to occupy Tsarskoe Selo and other imperial lands.

The songs to which the English form has been given in the following volume have been taken mostly from Vuk Karadžić's invaluable collection: Srpske Narodne Pjesme (Serbian National Songs). Karadžić, of whom the literary world has heard so much, is the father of modern Serbian literature. He spent many years among the peasants in collecting the national treasures: ballads, tales, proverbs, anecdotes and other folklore. Before his time the songs had never been reduced to written form, and were kept out of reach of the public ear. He was only able to hear them partly because of a ruse and partly in secret, when he listened with inexhaustible patience to the girls spinning, or the guslars (bards) trolling in taverns and at fairs, or the reapers chanting at their work. In the preface of his first book of Srpske Narodne Pjesme Karadžić tells us that in Serbia two sorts of popular poetry exist—the historical ballads, and popular songs of a character which caused them to be described as ženske pjesme (women's songs) chanted by country folk, both men and women and mostly in duet. It is the latter, ženske pjesme, which having been translated into English are gathered together in the following anthology, Serbian Lyrics.

Sir John Bowring, who unveiled to his countrymen the rich treasures of Slavic popular songs in general, is also distinguished by being the pioneer to point out the Serbian in particular. But the claims, which we, at the present day, feel ourselves entitled to make on a translator, are very different from those current in Bowring's time. Correctness and fidelity are now considered necessary requisites in a good translation, just as antiquarian exactness is expected in the publication of an old manuscript.

Jugoslav lyric poetry is divided into several groups, as, for instance, one grouping contains poems concerning marriage. These songs tell of the beauty of the bride, of her joy and sorrow before departure from the home of her parents, as well as her feelings upon other occasions during wedlock. There are poems belonging to the group of bacchanalian songs, pronounced during the toast, and resounding with many refrains. Then there are lamentations (tužbalice) which are mostly provincial, from Montenegro and Dalmatia. They are also accompanied by refrains, expressing sorrow after the death of some loved one, and extolling the virtues of the deceased, or the great misfortune felt by those left behind. All this emotion is described very fitly and in a touching manner. Further, there are poems commemorating the holy seasons and "red-letter days," as svečarske pjesme sung on the Slava celebration of some svetac (saint). To the same grouping belong Christmas poems hailing the glory of the Christ, and depicting the customs of that season (koledo). Saints, such as Sts. John, George, Peter, and others, have their own eulogies. There are besides poems exalting the Holy Ghost (kraljičke pjesme). Dodole, which originated from old customs of heathenism, are sung during the summer droughts. Others are reapers' songs, mostly sung at prelo time (social gatherings). There are poems that are connected neither with marriage, nor death, nor harvests, but which treat of mythological or religious subjects; they are called pobožne, describing the spiritual virtues of the Virgin, or the Christ, or the apostles. Here are also to be found humoristic and satirical compositions, directed against women, or especially against monks, widows, and old bachelors. They are as a rule sprightly songs and piquant, pleasant and witty.

Critics who have written of the Serbian national songs declare that they are characterized by extreme delicacy both of feeling and workmanship, and that they are noble in their childlike purity, simple treatment of, and sympathy with, every phase of natural human experience. But these Serbian songs have quite a peculiar character of their own. They are directly, passionately, fiercely human, and rich with poetic sympathy. Love, glory, sorrow, death—are the themes constantly handled in a thousand weird and poetic phrases. There is a strong Indian flavor of the joy of rest in Mother Earth; and again, a keen thirst for the fight which smacks of the men who lived with Moslems around them. Although these chants occasionally recall something of the martial lilt of old Spanish ballads, they have an individual original turn which cannot be compared with any extant popular poetry. They have the uncanny mystery of the Celtic tales of love in death, which is very rare.

The love songs of the Jugoslav lands have a dreamy, calm and exalted sweetness that reminds us of the Alps and the Cevennes. Among these the Bosnian sevdalinke (love songs of Bosnia) are especially worthy of remark, for they are full of emotion, yearning and tender passion. The greater warmth of the songs of Herzegovina and Montenegro is owing more to the sonorous language than to any superiority in melody. Here are mostly to be found tužbalice. As to Dalmatia, Croatia and Slovenia, their melodies are chiefly marked by simplicity and a feeling for the domestic side of life. Bačka and Banat, blessed with much open air and sunshine, possess no love-songs in the strict sense of the term; but they have serenade and poskočice, although for these there is little or no original melody. To the light-minded and bright-witted singers of these provinces imagination is easier than memory.

A country very rich in melody is Serbia. Here one may find a truer and more intense musical feeling, a stronger love of the soil, and more sincere devotion to the beauty of nature, especially of spring and summer, than in any other part of Jugoslavia. The love songs of Serbia seem to have a special inspiration of their own. We may hear the shepherds singing in green pastures and among the fir-woods, or in the silence of the mountains. From the vineyards, from the fair and dances, and from the daily round of work the strains arise. Everywhere that youth is seen a poem is heard, and every occupation is accompanied by a song.

We cannot, however, leave this part of our subject without mentioning some of the burlesque poems, which the Jugoslavs possess in great number, partly narrative and partly lyric. The Americans are accustomed to think of the Jugoslavs and their kinsmen as grave and sombre, or, when their passions are excited, prone to deeds of tragic violence. Those who are better acquainted with them know full well that they are as loquacious and sarcastically sportive in their social gatherings as any nation, and many of their verses are redolent of these qualities. They display all the gradations of the comic, from the diverting simplicity of the innocent confession of an enamoured girl, together with the ludicrous situation and disappointed vanity of her cheated lover, up to a strain of bitter satire and merciless irony. Poems marked by that simplicity which borders between the touching and the humorous are also represented in this volume. Such is the song, "Trouble with the Husband":

I married last year, This year I repent. Bad husband have I, With temper like nettle: My lot I resent.

The frost kills the nettle, But this husband of mine, He thinks the frost fine: By the stove all day long He does nothing but sit, And says that the frost He minds not one bit!

In Celovec 'tis market-day, 'Tis market-day to-morrow; I will take my husband there, And will either there him change, Or else will sell him at the fair.

Not too cheap I'll let him go, Because he was so hard to get; Rather than too cheaply sell him, Back home again I'll take the man, And love him—howsomuch I can!

The western world has already heard of the rich mine of Jugoslav folk-literature. Nevertheless, comparatively speaking, only a very small number have been translated into English. The extreme simplicity of these verses, the peculiar character of the Serbian language, with its melodiously protracted words, its pompously sonorous sounds, and its harmonious diffuseness, all render it exceedingly difficult to translate Serbian lyrics without encountering the danger of making constant additions; especially when rendering it into a language with so many monosyllabic words, and so philosophically condensed, as the English.

Milivoy Stanoyevich.

New York, 1920.

I

THE CURSE[^[1]]

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! Mihailo 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;[^[2]] Her sister's nine fair daughters grew; And madness seized them,—seized them all: Mihailo,—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!" S. J. B.

II

FAREWELL[^[3]]

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 of rose-flower tear, Then place it on thy bosom bare; And as its leaflets 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!" S. J. B.

III

THE VIOLET[^[4]]

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. S. J. B.

IV

SMILIA[^[5]]

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.'" S. J. B.

V

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 Paraskeva, the saint of to-day! Now loosen your hands—now loosen, and see Who the kissers and kiss'd of the reapers shall be.[^[6]] S. J. B.

VI

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 Gerčić Manoilo. If the otter on his knee is playing— If the falcon sits upon his shoulder— If the rose is blooming on his kalpak."[^[7]] 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 Gerčić Manoilo: Saw the otter on his knees disporting: Saw the falcon sitting on his shoulder: Saw the rose upon his kalpak blooming. S. J. B.

VII

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. S. J. B.

VIII

HARVEST SONG

Lord and master! let us homewards, let us homewards haste: Far, far distant are our dwellings—far across the waste.[^[8]] Some have aged mothers threat'ning—"Ne'er allow another:" Some male-children[^[9]] in the cradle, crying for their mother; Some impatient lovers chiding;—dearer they than brother. S. J. B.

IX

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.[^[10]] '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."

X

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 Hercegovina, 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 Hercegovina 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." S. J. B.

XI

THE KNITTER

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[^[11]] should wear thee, I The coarsest worsted would inweave, Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave, And all thy knots with nettles tie."

XII

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 the nettles under the sky. S. J. B.

XIII

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." S. J. B.

XIV

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[^[12]] 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![^[13]] 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." S. J. B.

XV

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. S. J. B.

XVI

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." S. J. B.

XVII

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'er take her." S. J. B.

XVIII

VIRGIN AND WIDOW

Over Sarajevo flies a falcon, Looking round for cooling shade to cool him. Then he finds a pine on Sarajevo; 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: "Sarajevo! 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." S. J. B.

XIX

NIGHTINGALES

All the night two nightingales were singing At the window of th'affianced maiden; And th'affianced maiden thus address'd 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 brothers' 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." S. J. B.

XX

THE RING

The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree; There came a maiden 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." S. J. B.

XXI

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." S. J. B.

XXII

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!" S. J. B.

XXIII

MAPLE TREE

O thou brotherly maple tree! Wilt thou be a friend to me? Be a brother, and 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! S. J. B.

XXIV

SEMENDRIAN BEAUTY

Lovely maiden of Semendria! 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 pijavica?[^[14]] Like it are the maiden's eye-brows. S. J. B.

XXV

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." S. J. B.

XXVI

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. S. J. B.

XXVII

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, If one sweet kiss were free." S. J. B.

XXVIII

VILAS

Višnja,[^[15]] lovely višnja! Lift thy branches higher; For beneath thy branches, Vilas[^[16]] dance delight: While Radiša[^[17]] 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." S. J. B.

XXIX

LEPOTA[^[18]]

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 drought of sweet waters 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 hazelwood 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 it refreshment has made." S. J. B.

XXX

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!" S. J. B.

XXXI

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!" S. J. B.

XXXII

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! S. J. B.

XXXIII

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 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."

XXXIV

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 dig 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. S. J. B.

XXXV

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?[^[19]] S. J. B.

XXXVI

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." S. J. B.

XXXVII

COUNSEL

"My Misho! tell me, tell me, pray, Where wert thou wandering yesterday?" "I did not ramble—did not roam; A wretched headache 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!" S. J. B.

XXXVIII

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! S. J. B.

XXXIX

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.' S. J. B.

XL

MILICA

Long and lovely are Milica'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 Milica,—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 Milica. She still look'd on the green grass, untrembling, While the maidens trembled as they whisper'd:

"O Milica! 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 Milica gave this quiet answer: "I am neither overwise nor silly. Not the Vila, nor the cloud-upgatherer; I am yet a maid—and look before me." S. J. B.

XLI

THE CHOICE

He slept beneath a poplar tree: And three young maidens cross'd the way; I listen'd 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.' S. J. B.

XLII

FOR WHOM?

Sweet fountain, that so freshly flows! And thou, my own carnation-rose, That shines 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? who 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! S. J. B.

XLIII

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! betides us, Friend from friend divided, Bird from forest banish'd!" S. J. B.

XLIV

THE DANCE

Omar's court is near to Sarajevo; All around it is a woody mountain: In the midst there is a verdant meadow; There the maidens dance their joyous Kolo[^[20]] 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 spring time! 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?" S. J. B.

XLV

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 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." S. J. B.

XLVI

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. And 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." S. J. B.

XLVII

DOUBT

Three young travellers travell'd forth to travel: On their travels met a lovely maiden: Each will give the lovely maiden a present: One presents her with a fresh-pluck'd apple: One presents her with bosiljak[^[21]] flowering: One a gold ring for the maiden's finger. He who gave the maiden the bosiljak 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 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 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 bosiljak flowering; And the third a gold ring for her finger:— Now decide to whom belongs the maiden."

Thus the honourable judge decided: "We present bosiljak 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." S. J. B.

XLVIII

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." S. J. B.

XLIX

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[^[22]] on Pinions of the eagle. What shall be his subject? What—but bright-eyed maidens And the brows of heroes? S. J. B.

L

CAUTIONS

O thou lovely maiden! Lo! thy praise has mounted To the monarch's city Maiden! thou hast planted The six-branch'd kaloper[^[23]] And bosilka 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! S. J. B.

LI

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. S. J. B.

LII

MOHAMMEDAN 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." S. J. B.

LIII

MINE EVERYWHERE

"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 everywhere." S. J. B.

LIV

MAID AWAKING

Lovely maiden gather'd roses, Sleep o'ertook 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.' S. J. B.

LV

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[^[24]] 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,[^[25]] 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 when'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. S. J. B.

LVI

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 on a strong-wing'd eagle then Flew to her father's home again. S. J. B.

LVII

MOHAMMEDAN TALE

Who is mourning there in Glamodelec'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[^[26]] 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 her: "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 hair-band caught the open window— From the window, ah she hung suspended— Hung a week suspended from the window— Then her hair gave away—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 entom'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! S. J. B.

LVIII

LOVE'S DIFFICULTIES

I loved her from her infancy, Lado![^[27]] 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! S. J. B.

LIX

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." S. J. B.

LX

PLEDGES

The wind was with the roses playing: To Ranko's tent it blew their leaves: Milica, Ranko, there were staying, And Ranko writes—Milica 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: "Milica! 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." S. J. B.

LXI

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. S. J. B.

LXII

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! S. J. B.

LXIII

MOHAMMEDAN 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 ample dwelling— With them visit, too, thy Osman Aga." S. J. B.

LXIV

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." S. J. B.

LXV

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 slightly. Come at eve—lest harm betide thee. If any home thou seek, In our quiet dwelling hide thee; Not a whisper speak." And 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. S. J. B.

LXVI

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 wher'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." S. J. B.

LXVII

YOUTH ENAMOURED

"Where wert thou! Misho! yesterday?" "O 'twas a happy day for 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." S. J. B.

LXVIII

BLACK EYES AND BLUE

I wish the happy time were nigh, When youths are sold, that I might buy. But for an azure-eyed Mlinar,[^[28]] 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. S. J. B.

LXIX

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 wher'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.'" S. J. B.

LXX

ALARMS