The maiden gave the ring she woreTo him who gave it her before:"O take the ring—for thou and thineAre hated,—not by me—but mine—Father and mother will not hear theeBrother and sister both forswear theeYet, think not, youth,—I think not illOf 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 grewOn that same spot the bitterest rueAnd wormwood, that unholy flower,I now alone my marriage dower;The only flower which they shall wearWho to the maiden's marriage comes,When for my marriage altar thereThe guests shall find the maiden's tomb."S. J. B.
Upon her mother's bosom layYoung Mira, and she pined away.'Twas in her own maternal bed;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 allMy playmates to my funeral;And let the friends I loved receiveThe little gifts that I shall leave;Then let me sleep in peace beneath.—There's one, my mother, I should grieveTo be divided from in death.Then call around me priests divine,And pious pilgrims, mother mine!The forehead of thy dying daughterSteep in the rose's fragrant water.And, mother, let my forehead beDried 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 tombAdjacent to my Mirjo's home,And near my Mirjo's nightly bed;So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwellWith her he loved and loved so well."S. J. B.
Upon her mother's bosom layYoung Mira, and she pined away.'Twas in her own maternal bed;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 allMy playmates to my funeral;And let the friends I loved receiveThe little gifts that I shall leave;Then let me sleep in peace beneath.—
There's one, my mother, I should grieveTo be divided from in death.Then call around me priests divine,And pious pilgrims, mother mine!The forehead of thy dying daughterSteep in the rose's fragrant water.And, mother, let my forehead beDried 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 tombAdjacent to my Mirjo's home,And near my Mirjo's nightly bed;So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwellWith her he loved and loved so well."S. J. B.
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, anotherWho late had led the marriage revelry;The third, her best-loved, her only brother.Her husband he was dead; she rent her hairFor him—Her friend was gone,—for him she toreHer 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.S. J. B.
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, anotherWho late had led the marriage revelry;The third, her best-loved, her only brother.
Her husband he was dead; she rent her hairFor him—Her friend was gone,—for him she toreHer 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.S. J. B.
"Maiden! hast thou seen my steed?""Faithless one! not I, indeed!But I heard that thou hadst tied himTo 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."S. J. B.
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'dBy 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 nighAnd another maid dwells in their hearts and their eye.S. J. B.
"Black is the night—an outcast ladIs 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 headWill 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."S. J. B.
"Black is the night—an outcast ladIs 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 headWill 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."S. J. B.
The Marriage Leader:
"Make ready! make ready,"To his sister the youth is repeating;"Make ready my steed for the wedding,O sister! the young Doge[29]is waiting.I'm bid to the wedding, I'm summon'd to guideTo the wedding the maiden—the Doge's young bride."
The approaching bridegroom:
What is shining on the verdant mountain?Sun—or moon—that shines so brightly,'Tis not sun, or moon that shines so brightly,'Tis the bridegroom hasting to the marriage.
Parting of the bride:
Sweetest of maidens! O be still,Be silent—prithee weep not nowThy mother she will weep—wilt fillHer sorrowing eyes with tears, for thouWilt leave thy cherish'd home ere long:And when thy young companions goTo the fresh stream, amidst the throngShe'll seek thee—will she find thee! No!
Departure of the wedding guests:
O thou young bridegroom, thou rose in its beauty,Lo! we have brought thee a rosemary branch,And if the rosemary branch should decay,Thine will the shame be, the sorrow be ours.Scatter the rosemary leaves o'er thy way;Let not destruction disparage its flowers.
To the bride, when the marriage hood is first put on:
Maid from a distant forest tree,A verdant leaf is blown to thee;And that green leaf has fixed it now,In the green garland on thy brow:The garland green, that we have boundMaiden! thy auburn ringlets round:O no! it is no leaf, that weHave braided in a wreath for thee;'Tis the white hood that thou must wear,The token of domestic care:Thou hast no mother now—another,A stranger must be called thy mother;And sister-love thy heart must share,With one who was not born thy brother.
At the marriage:
An apple tree at Ranko's door was growing,Its trunk was silver, golden were its branches;Its branches golden and of pearls its foliage,Its leaves were pearls, and all its apple corals.And many dovelets, on the branches seated,Coo'd in their fond affection to each other;Coo'd loudly, and they pluck'd the pearls—one onlyOne, only one was silent, one was silent—It coo'd not, pluck'd no pearls from off the branches:That one was terrified by Ranko's mother:"Begone—grey dovelet! thou art an intruder!Was not the apple-tree by Ranko planted?By Ranko planted, and by Ranko watered,That it might shade the guests at Ranko's marriage,Shade all his guests beneath its joyous branches."S. J. B.
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 worshipper."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."S. J. B.
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 worshipper.
"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."S. J. B.
Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving.Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead:"Forehead! if I thought an old man's kissesWould be stamp'd upon thee, I would hastenTo the forest, and would gather wormwoodInto 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 foreheadSo 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."S. J. B.
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 treeLo! 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.S. J. B.
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, deemI pleased myself, but little thought of him,While of nought else I think; to him I giveMy spirit—and for him alone I live;Bear him within my heart, as mothers bearThe last and youngest object of their care.S. J. B.
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,—elatedWith 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!S. J. B.
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,—elatedWith 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!S. J. B.
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 sleetMy mother—tis my mother who hath chill'd me,Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill'd me."S. J. B.
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 linenFull a year had pass'd, and no one knew itYet 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 the event, it happen'd;On the eve of Saturday the maidenDied—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.S. J. B.
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 linenFull a year had pass'd, and no one knew itYet 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 the event, it happen'd;On the eve of Saturday the maidenDied—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.S. J. B.
I walkt the high and hollow wood, from dawn to even-dew,The wild-eyed wood stared at me, and unclaspt, and let me through,Where mountain pines, like great black birds, stood percht against the blue.Not a whisper heaved the woven woof of those warm trees:All the little leaves lay flat, unmoved of bird or breeze:Day was losing light all round, by indolent degrees.Underneath the brooding branches, all in holy shade,Unseen hands of mountain things a mossy couch had made:There asleep among pale flowers my beloved was laid.Slipping down, a sunbeam bathed her brows with bounteous gold,Unmoved upon her maiden breast her heavy hair was roll'd,Her smile was silent as the smile on corpses three hours old."O God!" I thought, "if this be death, that makes not sound nor stir."My heart stood still with tender awe, I dared not waken her,But to the dear God, in the sky, this prayer I did prefer:"Grant, dear Lord, in the blessed sky, a warm wind from the sea,Then shake a leaf down on my love from yonder leafy tree;That she may open her sweet eyes, and haply look on me."The dear God, from the distant sea, a little wind releast,It shook a leaflet from the tree, and laid it on her breast,Her sweet eyes ope'd and looked on me. How can I tell the rest?O. M.
I walkt the high and hollow wood, from dawn to even-dew,The wild-eyed wood stared at me, and unclaspt, and let me through,Where mountain pines, like great black birds, stood percht against the blue.
Not a whisper heaved the woven woof of those warm trees:All the little leaves lay flat, unmoved of bird or breeze:Day was losing light all round, by indolent degrees.
Underneath the brooding branches, all in holy shade,Unseen hands of mountain things a mossy couch had made:There asleep among pale flowers my beloved was laid.
Slipping down, a sunbeam bathed her brows with bounteous gold,Unmoved upon her maiden breast her heavy hair was roll'd,Her smile was silent as the smile on corpses three hours old."O God!" I thought, "if this be death, that makes not sound nor stir."My heart stood still with tender awe, I dared not waken her,But to the dear God, in the sky, this prayer I did prefer:
"Grant, dear Lord, in the blessed sky, a warm wind from the sea,Then shake a leaf down on my love from yonder leafy tree;That she may open her sweet eyes, and haply look on me."
The dear God, from the distant sea, a little wind releast,It shook a leaflet from the tree, and laid it on her breast,Her sweet eyes ope'd and looked on me. How can I tell the rest?O. M.
He. Violet, little one mine,I would love thee, but thou art so small.She. Love me, my love, from those heights of thine,And I shall grow tall, so tall,The pearl is small, but it hangs aboveThe royal brow, and a kingly mindThe quail is little, little, my love,But she leaves the hunter behind.O. M.
He. Violet, little one mine,I would love thee, but thou art so small.
She. Love me, my love, from those heights of thine,And I shall grow tall, so tall,The pearl is small, but it hangs aboveThe royal brow, and a kingly mindThe quail is little, little, my love,But she leaves the hunter behind.O. M.
He. O maiden of my soul!What odour from the orange hast thou stole,That breathes about thy breast with such sweet power?What sweetness, unto meMore sweet than amber honey to the beeThat builds in the oaken hole,And sucks the essential summer of the yearTo store with sweetest sweets her hollow tower?Or is it breath of basil, maiden dear?Or of the immortal flower?She. By the sweet heavens, young lover!No odour from the orange have I stole;Nor have I robb'd for thee,Dearest the amber dowerOf the building bee,From any hollow towerIn oaken bole:But if, on this poor breast thou dost discoverFragrance of such sweet power,Trust me, O my beloved and my lover,'Tis not of basil, nor the immortal flower,But from a virgin soul.O. M.
He. O maiden of my soul!What odour from the orange hast thou stole,That breathes about thy breast with such sweet power?What sweetness, unto meMore sweet than amber honey to the beeThat builds in the oaken hole,And sucks the essential summer of the yearTo store with sweetest sweets her hollow tower?Or is it breath of basil, maiden dear?Or of the immortal flower?
She. By the sweet heavens, young lover!No odour from the orange have I stole;Nor have I robb'd for thee,Dearest the amber dowerOf the building bee,From any hollow towerIn oaken bole:But if, on this poor breast thou dost discoverFragrance of such sweet power,Trust me, O my beloved and my lover,'Tis not of basil, nor the immortal flower,But from a virgin soul.O. M.
He. "And art thou wed, my beloved?My Beloved of long ago?"She. "I am wed, my Beloved. And I have givenA child to this world of woe.And the name I have given my child is thine:So that, when I call to me my little one,The heaviness of this heart of mineFor a little while may be gone.For I say not ... 'Hither, hither, my son!'But ... 'Hither, my Love, my Beloved.'"XCSLEEP AND DEATHThe morning is growing: the cocks are crowing:Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the morning light;Only the moonbeam white.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The breeze is blowing: the cattle are lowing:Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the cattle there;Only the call to prayer.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The Turks are warning to the mosque, 'tis morning!Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the Turks, sweet soul!Only the wolves that howl.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The white roofs are gleaming: the glad children screaming:Let me away, love, away!'Tis the night-clouds that gleam:The night winds that scream.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.My mother in the gateway calls to me.... "Come straightway"And I must away, love, away!Thy mother's in her bed,Dumb, holy, and dead.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.O. M.XCIIMPERFECTIONAll in the spring,When little birds sing,And flowers do talkFrom stalk to stalk;Whispering to a silver shower,A violet did boast to beOf every flower the fairest flowerThat blows by lawn or lea.But a rose that blew therebyAnswer'd her reproachfully,(All in the spring,When little birds sing,And flowers do talkFrom stalk to stalk):"Violet, I marvel meOf fairest flowers by lawn or leaThe fairest thou should'st boast to be;For one small defect I spy,Should make thee speak more modestly:Thy face is fashion'd tenderly,But then it hangs awry."O. M.XCIIEMANCIPATIONThe Day of Saint George! and a girl pray'd thus:"O Day of Saint George, when again to usThou returnest, and they carouseHere in my mother's house,May'st thou find me either a corpse or a bride,Either buried or wed;Rather married than dead;But, however, that may betide,And whether a corpse or a spouse,No more in my mother's house."O. M.XCIIIPLUCKING A FLOWERHe. O maiden, vermeil rose!Unplanted, unsown,Blooming aloneAs the wild-flower blows,With a will of thine own!Neither grafted nor grown,Neither gather'd nor blown,O maiden, O rose!Blooming aloneIn the green garden-closeUnnoticed, unknown,Unpropt, unsupported,Unwater'd, and uncourted,Unwoo'd and unwed,A sweet wild rose,Who knows? Who knows?Might I kiss thee, and court thee?My kiss would not hurt thee!A sweet, sweet rose,In the green garden-close,If a gate were undone,And if I might come to theeAnd meet thee alone?Sue thee, and woo thee,And make thee my own?Clasp thee, and cull thee, what harm would be done?She. Beside thy field my garden blows,Were a gate in the garden left open ... who knows?And I water'd my garden at eventide?(Who knows?)And if somebody silently happen'd to rideThat way? And a horse to the gate should be tied?And if somebody (Who knows who,), unespied,Were to enter my garden to gather a rose?Who knows?... I supposeNo harm need be done. My beloved one,Come lightly, come softly, at set of the sun!Come, and caress me!Kiss me, and press me,Fold me, and hold me!Kiss me with kisses that leave not a trace,But set not the print of thy teeth on my face,Or my mother will see it, and scold me.O. M.XCIVA WISHI would I were a rivulet,And I know where I would run!To Save, the chilly river,Where the market boats pass on;To see my dear one standBy the rudder; and whether the roseWhich, at parting, I put in his hand,Warm with a kiss in it, blows;Whether it blows or withers:I pluckt it on Saturday;I gave it to him on Sunday;On Monday he went away.O. M.XCVA SERBIAN BEAUTY'Tis the Kolo[31]that dances before the white house,And 'tis Stojan's fair sister, O fair, fair is she!Too fair she is truly, too fair, heaven knows,(God forgive her!) so cruel to be.The fair Vila, whom the wan clouds fondly followO'er the mountain wherever she roam it,Is not fairer nor whiter than she.Her long soft eyelash is the wing of the swallowWhen the dew of the dawn trembles from it,And as dawn-stars her blue eyes to me:Her eyebrows so dark are the slender sea-leeches;Her rich-bloomed cheeks are the ripe river peaches,Her teeth are white pearls from the sea;Her lips are two half-open'd roses;And her breath the south wind, which disclosesThe sweetness that soothes the wild bee.She is tall as the larch, she is slenderAs any green bough the birds move;See her dance—'tis the peacock's full splendour!Hear her talk—'tis the coo of the dove!And, only but let her look tender—'Tis all heaven melting down from above!O. M.XCVISLEEPLESSNESSSleep will not take the place of Love,Nor keep the place from Sorrow.Oh, when the long nights slowly moveTo meet a lonely morrow,The burden of the broken days,The grief that on the bosom weighs,And all the heart oppresses,But lightly lies on restless eyesLove seals no more with kisses.O. M.XCVIIA MESSAGESweet sister of my loved, unloving one,Kiss thy wild brother, kiss him tenderly!Ask him what is it, witless, I have doneThat he should look so coldly upon me?Ah, well ... I know he recks not! Let it be.Yet say ... "There's many a woodland nodding yetFor who needs wood when winter nights be cold."Say ... "Love to give finds ever love to get.There lack not goldsmiths where there lacks not gold.The wood will claim the woodman by-and-by;The gold (be sure!) the goldsmith cannot miss;Each maid to win finds lads to woo: and I...."Well, child, but only tell him, tell him this!Sweet sister, tell him this!O. M.XCVIIITRANSPLANTING A FLOWERO maiden, mother's golden treasure!Purest gold of perfect pleasure!Do they beat thee, and ill-treat thee,That I meet thee all alone?Do they beat thee, that I meet theeAll too often, all too late,After nightfall, at the gateOf the garden, all alone?Tell me, tell me, little one,Do they do it? If I knew it,They should rue it! I would comeOftener, later, yet again,(Hail, or snow, or wind, or rain!)Oftener, later! Nor in vain:For if mother, for my sake,Were to drive thee out of home,Just three little steps 'twould take(Think upon it, little one!)—Just three little steps, or four,To my door from mother's door.Love is wise. I say no more.Ponder on it, little one!O. M.XCIXISOLATIONThe night is very dark and very lonely:And as dark, and all as lonely, is my heart:And the sorrow that is in it night knows only:For the dawn breaks, and my heart breaks. Far apartFrom my old self seems my new self. And my motherAnd my sister are in heaven,—so they say:And the dear one dearer yet than any otherIs far, far away.The sweet hour of his coming ... night is falling!The hour of our awakening ... bird on bough!The hour of last embraces ... friends are calling"Love, farewell!" ... and every hour is silent now.O. M.CFATIMA AND MEHMEDBeneath a milk-white almond tree,Fatima and Mehmed be.The black earth is their bridal bed;The thick-starred sky clear-spreadIs their coverlet all the night,As they lie in each other's arms so white.The grass is full of honey-dew;The crescent moon, that glimmers throughThe unrippled leaves, is faint and new:And the milk-white almond blossomsAll night long fall on their bosoms.O. M.CIMORAVA HORSES[32]On the banks of Morava,Sleek black horses danced,"Could not we," one horse did say,"Over this river swim to-day?"But the second cried, "Beware,Deep flows the stream, beware, beware!'Twas by these banks of Morava,At set of sun a knight was drowned,And dawn had broke ere he was found.If mother this poor knight had had,Within a day his fate she'd know,And him to seek next day would go;The third day, finding him, would weep,And who knows how long sad heart keep?"To which a third black horse replied"No mother mourns him as lost son,But mother-in-law the knight has one!She in one year would surely cry:'What has my daughter's husband done?'And in two years find time to goToward the place where he lay low;And when there should have passed years three,His grave, perchance, she then might see—Where long since green grass had grown,The peacock preened himself and flown."J. W. W.CIITHE GIRL AND THE GRASSIn the green grass a girl fell asleep;When she awoke the grass was red,And her ruddy cheeks were green instead.Before the Kadi the girl sued the grass:Give me, O grass, my color red!"And to the girl the red grass said:"Thy color red, I'll give it thee,When my color green thou dost give me."Then before the Kadi they exchanged colorAnd became bosom-sisters for ever and ever.J. W. W.CIIITHE SUN AND THE GIRLTo the great sun a radiant maiden cried:"Bright sun, thy beauty cannot equal mine!"Whereon the burning orb complained to God:"Let me bring low her pride, and scorch her face."To which request his mighty Maker said:"The burden that she bears is weight enough;Her father and her mother, both I've taken;One simple, smiling youth alone is left to her;Touch not their joy, let him be fond of her."J. W. W.CIVCURSE AND BLESSINGTo the river ran the mother,To her Mary by the water,Dreaming there, the pretty daughter:"Have you washed the linen, Mary?""Why, mother dear, not yet begun;A naughty youth did come my way,And muddy made the silvery water.""I'll curse him, then; I'll curse him, daughter!Cold be his heart as ice is cold.""As cold as the sun o'er the corn-fields, mother!""May his face be black before all men!""As black as the snow on the mountains, mother!""May he be hanged!—Dost hear, my daughter!""But hanged upon my neck, dear mother!""From grievous wounds he then shall suffer!""Let my own teeth, then, cause them, mother!""May the wild torrent take him, daughter!""And bring him home to me, my mother!"J. W. W.CVTHE NICEST FLOWER IN THE WORLDA yellow orange by the seaVaunted much his beauty,This boast the red, round apple heard,Scolded the orange for his word,"See my superiority!"The apple's boast the meadow heard,The meadow rich beflowered:"Boast not, thou smooth, round apple red,But see how I am carpeted,So green and richly dowered!"The meadow's boast the maiden heard:"Deem'st flowery mead, so great thy worth!Though sweetly thou art sure bedight,Yet still I am the sweetest sight,That can be found in all the earth."These vaunts heard all a daring youth:"This maid, I see she is in truth,She is by far the sweetest flowerThat can be found in all the earth.That orange, I will bring it down,That apple-tree, I'll root it up,That meadow's flowers shall all be mown,And thou, fair maid, shalt be mine own!"J. W. W.CVITHE PRETTY TOMB"Wait, my girl, I want to talk,Though my talk will wound thee!""Speak, O Youth; I'll listen, speak!Even though thou wound me""Well, I am about to die.""Die! Where will they bury thee?""I pray to rest upon thy breast.""Ah! blind and foolish is thy prayer!That were unseemly cemet'ry.My bosom is no graveyard lone,An apple orchard is my breastWhere fruits do ripen, birds do rest!"J. W. W.CVIITODA AND HER FATEMany youths paid court to Toda,She, the blithesome shepherd girl;So with mirthful laugh she cried:"The youth on whom my apple falls,'Tis henceforth he my heart enthralls."Then Toda threw her apple red,Which fell upon a grey-haired head.Toda had not wished such love,So sent him off to draw her water.She sent him thus unto the river,That no more trouble he might give her!But safely back the old man came,Brought the water, smiled and spake:"O love me, Toda, love me, Toda."Toda did not want to love him,So sent him off to cut down branches,Not caring should they fall upon him;But safely back the old man came,Brought the wood, and smiled and spake:"O love me, Toda, little Toda!"Toda did not want to love him,So sent him to the war to fight,Not caring what might be his plight:But safely back the old man came,Back from the war, and spake the same:"O love me, Toda, Toda, love me!That which must be, let it be."J. W. W.CVIIITHE VILAUnder the clouds there's nought to meSo handsome as a falcon bird.A falcon I did wish to be,And my wish by God was heard.High to the clouds I flew,And over the clouds too!Then to a nut-tree I shot down.Under the tree a vila sleeping!Or else some being strange to me!Oh, God Himself, and He alone, can say,But she was fairer than the fairest summer day.J. W. W.CIXTHREE ROSESRed Sun! too quickly art thou hasting down;A little while prolong thy stay,Smile from thy evening gate on me,Till I've adorned with roses three—Roses of silk in purest gold—My darling's garment that I hold:The first rose, a rose for my own country dear,The second, a rose for sweet mother,The third, the rose of my own bridal crown.O stay, glad Sun! too quickly art thou going down!J. W. W.CXHER DREAMThe girl awoke at dawn of day,Aroused by trilling roundelay;"Nightingale, oh, stop thy singing!Stop thy singing, pray!Cease thy songs, and fly awayTo Cattaro, down by the bay.To Cattaro now speed thy flight,To tell the dream I've dreamt this night:I found me in his garden gay,Gathering fair roses;With his eye he followed me,As I passed from tree to tree.I brought him then red roses fair,And tied them in his steed's black hair.Smiling, then a ring he gave me;Ah, a ring so rare!And he kissed me where I stood;A kiss that made to me all good.Smiling, yes, a kiss he gave me!Than golden ring with diamond brightMore precious far in my heart's sight.Stop singing, bird!This is my dream; go, tell him so,Go! wing thy way to Cattaro."J. W. W.CXITROUBLE WITH THE HUSBANDI 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 longHe does nothing but sit,And says that the frostHe 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!J. W. W.CXIITHE PEACOCK AND THE NIGHTINGALEHow beautiful it is this evening-time!The noblemen, they quaff the cool wine,And to their knee there comes a little stag,With golden peacock proudly on one shoulder,While on the other, perching there as neighbour,Behold a silver-throated nightingale!Upon whom gazing, saith the peacock golden:"How now, my silver-throated friend!If mine it were to trill thy liquid note,To every noble knight I'd sing a song,And honour each in turn from my clear throat."Answered the nightingale in silver voice:"List, lustrous peacock in thy blue and gold!If mine it were, that sheeny fan of thine,Its golden feathers all I would pluck out,And decorate these nobles round about."J. W. W.CXIIITHE FIRST TOASTRising at the banquet table,Now acclaim we our first toast,To our God's high honour drink we,Only of His glory think we—No first place to human boast!To celebrate the Lord's great glory—What equal duty to be found?Say, all ye who sit around,Save truly to have earned the dinner!J. W. W.CXIVTHE HODŽA[33]In Mostar was a sheker-meyteph,[34]Thirty young ladies were learning there,Omer-effendia was their hodža,And pretty Maruša their kalfa.[35]One day Maruša opened the Koran:"Tell us now, hodža, tell what is written!'Hodža reads silently, then he speaks loudly:"First page—The hodža is going to marry!"Willeth so Allah, so willeth hodža—thus on page two!And on page three—Whom will he marry, whom will he marry?Thus on page three—He'll marry the pretty Maruša."J. W. W.CXVWOESWoe to the wolf that eats not flesh,Woe to the knight who drinks not wine,Woe to the maid who counteth loveNo gift divine.Woe to legs with a foolish head,And woe to gilt on an unclean bed.Woe to satin on humped shoulders.Woe to the gun in a fearsome hand,Woe to the strong in that village whereBut cowards stand.Woe to the mother-in-law in the house of her son-in-law.Woe to the wolf whom the ravens feed,And to the knight who children doth needHim to defend.Woe to the cock who strutteth on ice,Woe to the nightingale singing in the mill;In such a din, far better to be still!J. W. W.CXVIHARD TO BELIEVEA man ne'er born once told a taleTo seven stout ghosts so hearty and hale;A ship went sailing 'mid greenwood trees,While the burning sun her crew did freeze.A horse danced o'er the billowy sea,From him a duck with hoofs did flee.From an empty cup two knights did quaff,Served by a maid whose head was off.Two wingless geese flew up in the sky,As a legless hero ran hard by;While near him scampered two roasted hares,Hotly pursued by three dogs in pairs.Then to the deaf man the dumb man spoke:"What a monstrous lie! but I hope it's a joke."J. W. W.CXVIITHE CONDITIONSListen, listen man of God,If thou wouldest serve thy God,In thy lifetime do thou good,And revere thine elder brother,So thy younger thee revere.Neither boast when fortune smileth,Nor complain in days of trouble;Grasp not an another's good;For when death befalleth man,Nought he takes from out the world,Save his deeds and crossed white hands—When he goeth to the Judgment,Where king's rank is unaccounted,Rich men can no more be proud,Poor men be no more despised.J. W. W.CXVIIIPRAYER BEFORE GOING TO BEDWith a cross I lay me down,With a cross I get me up,All day long it doth protect,And angels in the night are near;Archangels, they shall ward my death,And God's my guard till all things end.J. W. W.CXIXVISION BEFORE SLEEPTo sleep I laid me down,Making my prayer to God;I called upon His angels;Heaven was unveiled to me;The Seraphim, they worshipped there,And prayed this prayer to Christ our Lord:"While he doth rest, all through his sleep,Frome visions dark do Thou him keep."J. W. W.CXXPRAYER IN THE FIELDWe pray unto the Heavenly Lord,Koledo, Koledo![36]Dew to send upon our fields,Koledo!To give grain to wheat and maize,Koledo, Koledo!To give fruits in all the glades,Koledo!To give colours to the flowers,Koledo, Koledo!To give health to sheep and cattle,Koledo!And pardon, joy and song to all,Koledo, Koledo!J. W. W.CXXIA CHILD IN HEAVENYesternight was born a Child,But it passed from earth at morn,Unbaptized to heaven's door."Open, heavenly watchman, open!""Nay, foolish babe, thou must away!Sinful thou art, away, away!""Foolish I am—but sinful, nay;Born yesternight, I died to-day;In the green forest I was born,Where no sponsor, where no priest;Therefore unbaptized I come!"Then the heavenly watcher answered:"Go thou yet a short way on;Go on, my babe, and thou shalt findThree watersprings; from one to drink,From one to wash, the third a font of blessing.The first shall breast-milk be to thee;The second is thy mother's tears,And from the third thou shalt baptized be,And joyful entrance gain to heaven."J. W. W.CXXIICHRISTMASWhy trembleth so the earth,Set in this sphere of blue?Christ our God was born hereon,He, the Virgin's Holy Son,Christ Who heaven and earth created,And us sinners on the earth.In awe when He shall come to judge,We all shall stand before Him then,Both righteous and unrighteous men.J. W. W.CXXIIICHRIST THINKS OF HIS MOTHEROn angel wing in upward flightRise soul and body of our Lord,When piercing heaven with high gaze,He calleth for one down to go,Down to darksome Golgotha,Where Mary bending near the Cross,Weepeth in bitter agony:"Let herald hasten now to tell herI am risen unto heaven."Great Michael heard, two angels sent,Swift to convey the tidings glad:"O thou of women all most blest,Let not thy heart with fear be filled;From the tomb thy Son is risen,Risen to the Father's throne,Saving men from Death's dominion."J. W. W.CXXIVTHE BLESSED MARY AND JOHN THE BAPTISTThe Blessed Mary sent an angelUnto John the Camel-girdled—"God's wish it is, and my wish too,That thou shouldst now my Son baptize."John went responsive to the river,Down into Jordan with the Christ,And there upon him with his Lord,Open wide the gate of heaven,The roseate sun did light the east,Sign of that Spirit-first of which spake John,Whose purging heat doth purify from sin,And in Jordan's flowing riverMan's sin was taken all away!Our salvation is in heaven!Save, O God, all trusting souls,Save them from the devil's toils.J. W. W.CXXVTHE HOLY MOTHERSadly walked the Holy MotherOn the Holy Mountain.Suddenly espied she somethingBrightly shining in the dust:The Cross, it was, of her own Son.With gentlest hands she caressed it,She did wash it with her tears,And after dried it with her hair.Kneeling then she uttered prayer.Speaking to the Holy Cross:"O sweet Cross, thou Cross of honour,Upon thee my Son has died,Hellish pains on thee He suffered,Hellish pains from those hot nails,To redeem our sinful souls.When He did upon thee bleed,His blood it fell in priceless seed,Whence there sprang all lovely flowers,And angels, coming down to gather,Made them into wreathes and garlandsThat they might adorn all heaven."J. W. W.CXXVIDREAM OF THE HOLY VIRGINThe Holy Virgin dreaming slept,And in her dream a great tree grew,Its branches from her own heart crept,O'er spreading earth, north, south, east, west,And piercing, spire-like, heaven's blue.Sore troubled by her dream she roseAnd sought straightway a saintly brother;"Hear Saint Basil, my brother hear!Let me tell my vision wondrousI dreamed and lo! a great tree grew,Its branches from my own heart crept,O'erspreading earth north, south, east, west,And towering up through heaven's blue.What saith this vision Saint, to you?"Then Basil answered to the Virgin:"O sister dear, thy vision's clear:'A tree did spring from thy warm heart?'To bear the Christ shall be thy part.'Those spreading branches covering all?'Sinners He'll save from evil's thrall.'That height spire-piercing heaven's blue?'To God the Father Christ shall risePassing from earth and fleshly view."J. W. W.CXXVIIMOTHER AT THE TOMB OF HER SONAlas! my son, how fareth it with thee,In thy new dwelling, new and strange and dark?Strange thy dwelling without windows!At daybreak, Vinko, thy sad mother rose,Her earliest thought as but of thee,Her first thought, Vinko; Vinko her first call!Thorns are growing at the house-door,Cuckoos mourn around the house,Downcast thy brothers wait for thee,To talk with thee, to walk with thee—But now that ne'er can be.With head bent down and brow o'ercast,They make their way—for where art thou!In ashes our hearth fire is hidden,And when I saw the sun this morning,I thought: It is the moon,When thy sisters said to me:"Dim thine eyes, it is the sun!""For me no sun," said I to them,"Pale in the dust now is my sun,No light have I above the earth."Down in thy dwelling, oh my son,Say, is it cold, my Sun, my Sun;If it be cold as is my breastIt is too cold, too cold to rest.[37]J. W. W.CXXVIIIMOTHER OVER HER DEAD SONWhere art thou flying? Where, oh where?My falcon?To what silent land and lone?Say, hero mine!Around thy friends and brothers ask me:How shall I answer them!"Where goes Perko? Tell us, Mother!"Woe to me, oh woe to me!If I answered, I might blame thee!How blamethee?Alway thou askedst me: May I go here—or shouldI stay?I knew thy way!But now thou askedst not; nor may I give thee"Yea" or "nay,"—O blank, blank day!Better, child, I went to thee, than to stayAs mother hereHaving lost the light of day!J. W. W.CXXIXMOTHER'S LAMENT FOR HER SONWherefore do I marvel, wherefore need I wonder?Traveller the dearest!That through this lower world already thou hast sped,Ray of light the fleetest!Together we'd a little talk, but we looked for more,Thou my golden store!To the realms of heaven thou from earth art gone,Thou my heaven and earth!Thou thy flight hast taken, sure, to a land of flowers,Dearest of my flowers!Thy journey leadeth up to God, unto the blest in Paradise,Thou my Paradise!Thou shalt behold the Judgment Place,Merciful my son!Soon shalt reach those halls of rest,Thou who gav'st me labour!There shalt find the noble dead,Thou my sweetest life!Greet them all, the rich and poor,Best of all my riches!Salute the noblemen and princes.Thou my prince of princes!J. W. W.CXXXGREATEST GRIEF FOR A BROTHERO'er Neven woods the sun went down,The sun went down behind the forest,As came the heroes off the sea.The young wife counted anxiously,The wife of George the Hospodar,Counted the warriors, found them all,Save her three treasures who were missing.She could not find her HospodarNor the best man at their wedding,And the third treasure was not there;This treasure was her dearest brother.For her brave lord she cuts her tresses,For her best man she wounds her cheeks,And for her brother puts out both her eyes.She cuts her hair, it grows again;She wounds her cheeks, the wounds do heal;But none can heal those hurt blind eyes,Nor yet her heart for her lost brother.J. W. W.CXXXITHE DEATH CHAMBER OF HER FATHER-IN-LAWWhy art thou thus attired?My more than father!Why art thou thus bedight, so knightly armed?My fearless knight!Thou art departing for the city?My shining city!In order there to meet the lords and knights,O my wise lord!Or go'st thou to a marriage feast?My pride, my noble guest!—But why! thine eyes are closed to me!O closed, O closed to me!And—can it be!—thy mouth is bound!This black, black morning!If thou art gone, and com'st not back—How empty is the house!How is it thou couldst leave us so?To us, O woe, O woe!Far, far thy journey, and the end not here!But better is it there!Mother and father, they will greet thee there,Among the Blest!Thy brothers, too, and children in celestial light,—O blessed, blessed sight!Thee will they greet: we in their thoughts shall be,O heavenly harmony!But thou wilt stay, and ne'er return to us,O woe, O woe to us!J. W. W.CXXXIIKOLEDOThe king came to court our Margaret fair,Koledo, Koledo!And mother sang clear to our Margaret fair:Koledo, Koledo!"Oh, Margaret, haste! my daughter dear,Koledo, Koledo!The King, he has come to court you here,Koledo, Koledo!"Then thus sweet Margaret to mother's call:"Koledo, Koledo!I told you, mother mine, I told you,Koledo, Koledo!I want not kings, I want not knights,Koledo, Koledo!'Tis Jesus Himself alone doth bind me,Koledo, Koledo!I've vowed to Him, true shall He find me,Koledo, Koledo!"J. W. W.CXXXIIIA HORSE'S COMPLAINTA horse left his knight on Kossovo,On a dreadsome place on Kossovo.Finding his steed, the knight put question:"O horse of mine, my greatest treasure,Why hast thou left me here so lonely,In this deadsome place on Kossovo?What have I done thus to displease thee?Say, horse of mine, why didst thou leave me?Did press my saddle hard upon thee?Thy jewelled bridle, was it heavy?Or have I ridden thee too far?"To his knight the horse made answer:"Thy saddle pressed not hard upon me,Thy jewelled bridle was not heavy,Nor hast thou ridden me too far.But this it is that doth displease me:So oft thou tarriest at the tavern,While I am tethered at the door.Three maidens fair are dwelling there,Whose beauty makes thee all forgetful,While I am out here cold and fretful;Then angrily I paw the earth,And eat the grass down to its root,And drink the water dry as stone,While thou dost leave me here alone."J. W. W.CXXXIVA DANCE AT VIDINOne day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh, let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy brother, go with him!""My brother! he can stay at home,I do not want to go with him."One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy father, go with him!""Oh, let my father stay at home,I do not want to go with him."One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy darling, go with him!""Oh, come, my sweetheart, come with me!I'll dance the Kolo there with thee!"J. W. W.CXXXVTHE PRICEHow many towns from here to the coast?Seventy-seven sunlit towns,And villages green a thousand!And all of these I'd give for the streetWhere I my sweetheart first did meet,And e'en the street I'd give as the priceTo meet him again—aye, but for a trice!J. W. W.CXXXVIPREFERENCESThree maids were talking on a night,Upon a silvery moonlight night.They walked and talked of many things,They asked what each preferred to have.Two did listen to the eldest:"A castle white is what I'd like."Then two did hear the second say:"'Tis velvet blue with gold I like."Then two listened to the youngest:"A sweetheart true I would prefer.Should the castle all be ruined,My darling would rebuild it up;The velvet would with time wear out,My darling he could buy me more—A sweetheart true is richer store!"J. W. W.CXXXVIIA BRIDE'S DEVOTIONA Bride most fair fed a swan and a lion,A swan and a lion and a falcon grey.To her came merchants from far away:"Sell us, sweet maid, your swan and your lion,This swan and this lion and falcon grey!""Ye men from afar, go away, go away,My godfather cometh to see me wed,And this lion I tend till the time be sped;And for my true friend who best man shall be,This white swan I keep, and for none but he!But this falcon grey ye covet so much,'Tis my true love's own; none shall it touch."J. W. W.CXXXVIIIFIDELITYA youth to God did pray,About his sweetheart dear,That he the gem might beWhich trembled in her ear.He wished to be the beadsReposing on her breast,That he might hear her sayThat she loved him best.The prayer he prayed was heardA pearl beside the shore,His darling picked him up,And on her necklet bore.He listened and he heardHow true her loving heart:She told the other maidsShe ne'er from him would part.J. W. W.CXXXIXA SISTER'S LAMENTSister was I of kingly brothers three,But now my kings are gone from me,Woe, woe, woe!Better kingdoms they are asking,Better work than this world's tasking,And God will grant it, where they go,Better service He'll bestow,But for me, alas! Oh! woe!So kingly brothers ne'er were known,Now my heart breaketh here alone.This world for me too dark is now,And I took dark for it, I trow!Woe, woe, woe!J. W. W.CXLTHE PRAYER OF KARAGEORGE'S LADY[38]Prayed of God the Karageorge's Lady!"Give me, God, to bear a maiden lovely,Patternized by Carapića Vasa,Grant us, O God, to choose name of beauty,Name of beauty, precious gold of mother.When shall come the baby, christen'd Goldie,Swaddling clothes her mother will then make her,Flowing clothes of linen for her infant,All of silk and cloth of gold so beauteous,As she's Goldie let gold bless her slumber.When she's come to her little cradle,Then her mother will make little cradle,Little cradle of gold will she make her,As she's Goldie, let cradle be golden.When Goldie is grown up to be spinner,Spinning-wheel her mother then will make her,Of gold will she make her golden spindle,As she's Goldie let her wheel be golden.When Goldie knows how to embroider,Golden frame her mother will then make her,Of gold will she make her spinning trinket,As she's Goldie, may her work be golden."[39]B. S. S.
He. "And art thou wed, my beloved?My Beloved of long ago?"
She. "I am wed, my Beloved. And I have givenA child to this world of woe.And the name I have given my child is thine:So that, when I call to me my little one,The heaviness of this heart of mineFor a little while may be gone.For I say not ... 'Hither, hither, my son!'But ... 'Hither, my Love, my Beloved.'"
The morning is growing: the cocks are crowing:Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the morning light;Only the moonbeam white.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The breeze is blowing: the cattle are lowing:Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the cattle there;Only the call to prayer.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The Turks are warning to the mosque, 'tis morning!Let me away, love, away!'Tis not the Turks, sweet soul!Only the wolves that howl.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.The white roofs are gleaming: the glad children screaming:Let me away, love, away!'Tis the night-clouds that gleam:The night winds that scream.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.My mother in the gateway calls to me.... "Come straightway"And I must away, love, away!Thy mother's in her bed,Dumb, holy, and dead.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.O. M.
The morning is growing: the cocks are crowing:Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the morning light;Only the moonbeam white.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The breeze is blowing: the cattle are lowing:Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the cattle there;Only the call to prayer.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The Turks are warning to the mosque, 'tis morning!Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the Turks, sweet soul!Only the wolves that howl.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The white roofs are gleaming: the glad children screaming:Let me away, love, away!
'Tis the night-clouds that gleam:The night winds that scream.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
My mother in the gateway calls to me.... "Come straightway"And I must away, love, away!
Thy mother's in her bed,Dumb, holy, and dead.Stay, my white lamb, stay,And sleep on my bosom, sleep.O. M.
All in the spring,When little birds sing,And flowers do talkFrom stalk to stalk;Whispering to a silver shower,A violet did boast to beOf every flower the fairest flowerThat blows by lawn or lea.But a rose that blew therebyAnswer'd her reproachfully,(All in the spring,When little birds sing,And flowers do talkFrom stalk to stalk):"Violet, I marvel meOf fairest flowers by lawn or leaThe fairest thou should'st boast to be;For one small defect I spy,Should make thee speak more modestly:Thy face is fashion'd tenderly,But then it hangs awry."O. M.
The Day of Saint George! and a girl pray'd thus:"O Day of Saint George, when again to usThou returnest, and they carouseHere in my mother's house,May'st thou find me either a corpse or a bride,Either buried or wed;Rather married than dead;But, however, that may betide,And whether a corpse or a spouse,No more in my mother's house."O. M.
He. O maiden, vermeil rose!Unplanted, unsown,Blooming aloneAs the wild-flower blows,With a will of thine own!Neither grafted nor grown,Neither gather'd nor blown,O maiden, O rose!Blooming aloneIn the green garden-closeUnnoticed, unknown,Unpropt, unsupported,Unwater'd, and uncourted,Unwoo'd and unwed,A sweet wild rose,Who knows? Who knows?Might I kiss thee, and court thee?My kiss would not hurt thee!A sweet, sweet rose,In the green garden-close,If a gate were undone,And if I might come to theeAnd meet thee alone?Sue thee, and woo thee,And make thee my own?Clasp thee, and cull thee, what harm would be done?She. Beside thy field my garden blows,Were a gate in the garden left open ... who knows?And I water'd my garden at eventide?(Who knows?)And if somebody silently happen'd to rideThat way? And a horse to the gate should be tied?And if somebody (Who knows who,), unespied,Were to enter my garden to gather a rose?Who knows?... I supposeNo harm need be done. My beloved one,Come lightly, come softly, at set of the sun!Come, and caress me!Kiss me, and press me,Fold me, and hold me!Kiss me with kisses that leave not a trace,But set not the print of thy teeth on my face,Or my mother will see it, and scold me.O. M.
He. O maiden, vermeil rose!Unplanted, unsown,Blooming aloneAs the wild-flower blows,With a will of thine own!Neither grafted nor grown,Neither gather'd nor blown,O maiden, O rose!Blooming aloneIn the green garden-closeUnnoticed, unknown,Unpropt, unsupported,Unwater'd, and uncourted,Unwoo'd and unwed,A sweet wild rose,Who knows? Who knows?Might I kiss thee, and court thee?My kiss would not hurt thee!A sweet, sweet rose,In the green garden-close,If a gate were undone,And if I might come to theeAnd meet thee alone?Sue thee, and woo thee,And make thee my own?Clasp thee, and cull thee, what harm would be done?
She. Beside thy field my garden blows,Were a gate in the garden left open ... who knows?And I water'd my garden at eventide?(Who knows?)And if somebody silently happen'd to rideThat way? And a horse to the gate should be tied?And if somebody (Who knows who,), unespied,Were to enter my garden to gather a rose?Who knows?... I supposeNo harm need be done. My beloved one,Come lightly, come softly, at set of the sun!Come, and caress me!Kiss me, and press me,Fold me, and hold me!Kiss me with kisses that leave not a trace,But set not the print of thy teeth on my face,Or my mother will see it, and scold me.O. M.
I would I were a rivulet,And I know where I would run!To Save, the chilly river,Where the market boats pass on;To see my dear one standBy the rudder; and whether the roseWhich, at parting, I put in his hand,Warm with a kiss in it, blows;Whether it blows or withers:I pluckt it on Saturday;I gave it to him on Sunday;On Monday he went away.O. M.
'Tis the Kolo[31]that dances before the white house,And 'tis Stojan's fair sister, O fair, fair is she!Too fair she is truly, too fair, heaven knows,(God forgive her!) so cruel to be.The fair Vila, whom the wan clouds fondly followO'er the mountain wherever she roam it,Is not fairer nor whiter than she.Her long soft eyelash is the wing of the swallowWhen the dew of the dawn trembles from it,And as dawn-stars her blue eyes to me:Her eyebrows so dark are the slender sea-leeches;Her rich-bloomed cheeks are the ripe river peaches,Her teeth are white pearls from the sea;Her lips are two half-open'd roses;And her breath the south wind, which disclosesThe sweetness that soothes the wild bee.She is tall as the larch, she is slenderAs any green bough the birds move;See her dance—'tis the peacock's full splendour!Hear her talk—'tis the coo of the dove!And, only but let her look tender—'Tis all heaven melting down from above!O. M.
Sleep will not take the place of Love,Nor keep the place from Sorrow.Oh, when the long nights slowly moveTo meet a lonely morrow,The burden of the broken days,The grief that on the bosom weighs,And all the heart oppresses,But lightly lies on restless eyesLove seals no more with kisses.O. M.
Sweet sister of my loved, unloving one,Kiss thy wild brother, kiss him tenderly!Ask him what is it, witless, I have doneThat he should look so coldly upon me?Ah, well ... I know he recks not! Let it be.Yet say ... "There's many a woodland nodding yetFor who needs wood when winter nights be cold."Say ... "Love to give finds ever love to get.There lack not goldsmiths where there lacks not gold.The wood will claim the woodman by-and-by;The gold (be sure!) the goldsmith cannot miss;Each maid to win finds lads to woo: and I...."Well, child, but only tell him, tell him this!Sweet sister, tell him this!O. M.
O maiden, mother's golden treasure!Purest gold of perfect pleasure!Do they beat thee, and ill-treat thee,That I meet thee all alone?Do they beat thee, that I meet theeAll too often, all too late,After nightfall, at the gateOf the garden, all alone?Tell me, tell me, little one,Do they do it? If I knew it,They should rue it! I would comeOftener, later, yet again,(Hail, or snow, or wind, or rain!)Oftener, later! Nor in vain:For if mother, for my sake,Were to drive thee out of home,Just three little steps 'twould take(Think upon it, little one!)—Just three little steps, or four,To my door from mother's door.Love is wise. I say no more.Ponder on it, little one!O. M.
The night is very dark and very lonely:And as dark, and all as lonely, is my heart:And the sorrow that is in it night knows only:For the dawn breaks, and my heart breaks. Far apartFrom my old self seems my new self. And my motherAnd my sister are in heaven,—so they say:And the dear one dearer yet than any otherIs far, far away.The sweet hour of his coming ... night is falling!The hour of our awakening ... bird on bough!The hour of last embraces ... friends are calling"Love, farewell!" ... and every hour is silent now.O. M.
Beneath a milk-white almond tree,Fatima and Mehmed be.The black earth is their bridal bed;The thick-starred sky clear-spreadIs their coverlet all the night,As they lie in each other's arms so white.The grass is full of honey-dew;The crescent moon, that glimmers throughThe unrippled leaves, is faint and new:And the milk-white almond blossomsAll night long fall on their bosoms.O. M.
On the banks of Morava,Sleek black horses danced,"Could not we," one horse did say,"Over this river swim to-day?"But the second cried, "Beware,Deep flows the stream, beware, beware!'Twas by these banks of Morava,At set of sun a knight was drowned,And dawn had broke ere he was found.If mother this poor knight had had,Within a day his fate she'd know,And him to seek next day would go;The third day, finding him, would weep,And who knows how long sad heart keep?"To which a third black horse replied"No mother mourns him as lost son,But mother-in-law the knight has one!She in one year would surely cry:'What has my daughter's husband done?'And in two years find time to goToward the place where he lay low;And when there should have passed years three,His grave, perchance, she then might see—Where long since green grass had grown,The peacock preened himself and flown."J. W. W.
In the green grass a girl fell asleep;When she awoke the grass was red,And her ruddy cheeks were green instead.Before the Kadi the girl sued the grass:Give me, O grass, my color red!"And to the girl the red grass said:"Thy color red, I'll give it thee,When my color green thou dost give me."Then before the Kadi they exchanged colorAnd became bosom-sisters for ever and ever.J. W. W.
To the great sun a radiant maiden cried:"Bright sun, thy beauty cannot equal mine!"Whereon the burning orb complained to God:"Let me bring low her pride, and scorch her face."To which request his mighty Maker said:"The burden that she bears is weight enough;Her father and her mother, both I've taken;One simple, smiling youth alone is left to her;Touch not their joy, let him be fond of her."J. W. W.
To the river ran the mother,To her Mary by the water,Dreaming there, the pretty daughter:"Have you washed the linen, Mary?""Why, mother dear, not yet begun;A naughty youth did come my way,And muddy made the silvery water.""I'll curse him, then; I'll curse him, daughter!Cold be his heart as ice is cold.""As cold as the sun o'er the corn-fields, mother!""May his face be black before all men!""As black as the snow on the mountains, mother!""May he be hanged!—Dost hear, my daughter!""But hanged upon my neck, dear mother!""From grievous wounds he then shall suffer!""Let my own teeth, then, cause them, mother!""May the wild torrent take him, daughter!""And bring him home to me, my mother!"J. W. W.
A yellow orange by the seaVaunted much his beauty,This boast the red, round apple heard,Scolded the orange for his word,"See my superiority!"The apple's boast the meadow heard,The meadow rich beflowered:"Boast not, thou smooth, round apple red,But see how I am carpeted,So green and richly dowered!"The meadow's boast the maiden heard:"Deem'st flowery mead, so great thy worth!Though sweetly thou art sure bedight,Yet still I am the sweetest sight,That can be found in all the earth."These vaunts heard all a daring youth:"This maid, I see she is in truth,She is by far the sweetest flowerThat can be found in all the earth.That orange, I will bring it down,That apple-tree, I'll root it up,That meadow's flowers shall all be mown,And thou, fair maid, shalt be mine own!"J. W. W.
A yellow orange by the seaVaunted much his beauty,This boast the red, round apple heard,Scolded the orange for his word,"See my superiority!"
The apple's boast the meadow heard,The meadow rich beflowered:"Boast not, thou smooth, round apple red,But see how I am carpeted,So green and richly dowered!"
The meadow's boast the maiden heard:"Deem'st flowery mead, so great thy worth!Though sweetly thou art sure bedight,Yet still I am the sweetest sight,That can be found in all the earth."
These vaunts heard all a daring youth:"This maid, I see she is in truth,She is by far the sweetest flowerThat can be found in all the earth.That orange, I will bring it down,That apple-tree, I'll root it up,That meadow's flowers shall all be mown,And thou, fair maid, shalt be mine own!"J. W. W.
"Wait, my girl, I want to talk,Though my talk will wound thee!""Speak, O Youth; I'll listen, speak!Even though thou wound me""Well, I am about to die.""Die! Where will they bury thee?""I pray to rest upon thy breast.""Ah! blind and foolish is thy prayer!That were unseemly cemet'ry.My bosom is no graveyard lone,An apple orchard is my breastWhere fruits do ripen, birds do rest!"J. W. W.
Many youths paid court to Toda,She, the blithesome shepherd girl;So with mirthful laugh she cried:"The youth on whom my apple falls,'Tis henceforth he my heart enthralls."Then Toda threw her apple red,Which fell upon a grey-haired head.Toda had not wished such love,So sent him off to draw her water.She sent him thus unto the river,That no more trouble he might give her!But safely back the old man came,Brought the water, smiled and spake:"O love me, Toda, love me, Toda."Toda did not want to love him,So sent him off to cut down branches,Not caring should they fall upon him;But safely back the old man came,Brought the wood, and smiled and spake:"O love me, Toda, little Toda!"Toda did not want to love him,So sent him to the war to fight,Not caring what might be his plight:But safely back the old man came,Back from the war, and spake the same:"O love me, Toda, Toda, love me!That which must be, let it be."J. W. W.
Under the clouds there's nought to meSo handsome as a falcon bird.A falcon I did wish to be,And my wish by God was heard.High to the clouds I flew,And over the clouds too!Then to a nut-tree I shot down.Under the tree a vila sleeping!Or else some being strange to me!Oh, God Himself, and He alone, can say,But she was fairer than the fairest summer day.J. W. W.
Red Sun! too quickly art thou hasting down;A little while prolong thy stay,Smile from thy evening gate on me,Till I've adorned with roses three—Roses of silk in purest gold—My darling's garment that I hold:The first rose, a rose for my own country dear,The second, a rose for sweet mother,The third, the rose of my own bridal crown.O stay, glad Sun! too quickly art thou going down!J. W. W.
The girl awoke at dawn of day,Aroused by trilling roundelay;"Nightingale, oh, stop thy singing!Stop thy singing, pray!Cease thy songs, and fly awayTo Cattaro, down by the bay.To Cattaro now speed thy flight,To tell the dream I've dreamt this night:I found me in his garden gay,Gathering fair roses;With his eye he followed me,As I passed from tree to tree.I brought him then red roses fair,And tied them in his steed's black hair.Smiling, then a ring he gave me;Ah, a ring so rare!And he kissed me where I stood;A kiss that made to me all good.Smiling, yes, a kiss he gave me!Than golden ring with diamond brightMore precious far in my heart's sight.Stop singing, bird!This is my dream; go, tell him so,Go! wing thy way to Cattaro."J. W. W.
The girl awoke at dawn of day,Aroused by trilling roundelay;"Nightingale, oh, stop thy singing!Stop thy singing, pray!Cease thy songs, and fly awayTo Cattaro, down by the bay.
To Cattaro now speed thy flight,To tell the dream I've dreamt this night:I found me in his garden gay,Gathering fair roses;With his eye he followed me,As I passed from tree to tree.
I brought him then red roses fair,And tied them in his steed's black hair.Smiling, then a ring he gave me;Ah, a ring so rare!And he kissed me where I stood;A kiss that made to me all good.
Smiling, yes, a kiss he gave me!Than golden ring with diamond brightMore precious far in my heart's sight.Stop singing, bird!This is my dream; go, tell him so,Go! wing thy way to Cattaro."J. W. W.
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 longHe does nothing but sit,And says that the frostHe 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!J. W. W.
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 longHe does nothing but sit,And says that the frostHe 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!J. W. W.
How beautiful it is this evening-time!The noblemen, they quaff the cool wine,And to their knee there comes a little stag,With golden peacock proudly on one shoulder,While on the other, perching there as neighbour,Behold a silver-throated nightingale!Upon whom gazing, saith the peacock golden:"How now, my silver-throated friend!If mine it were to trill thy liquid note,To every noble knight I'd sing a song,And honour each in turn from my clear throat."Answered the nightingale in silver voice:"List, lustrous peacock in thy blue and gold!If mine it were, that sheeny fan of thine,Its golden feathers all I would pluck out,And decorate these nobles round about."J. W. W.
Rising at the banquet table,Now acclaim we our first toast,To our God's high honour drink we,Only of His glory think we—No first place to human boast!To celebrate the Lord's great glory—What equal duty to be found?Say, all ye who sit around,Save truly to have earned the dinner!J. W. W.
In Mostar was a sheker-meyteph,[34]Thirty young ladies were learning there,Omer-effendia was their hodža,And pretty Maruša their kalfa.[35]One day Maruša opened the Koran:"Tell us now, hodža, tell what is written!'Hodža reads silently, then he speaks loudly:"First page—The hodža is going to marry!"Willeth so Allah, so willeth hodža—thus on page two!And on page three—Whom will he marry, whom will he marry?Thus on page three—He'll marry the pretty Maruša."J. W. W.
In Mostar was a sheker-meyteph,[34]Thirty young ladies were learning there,Omer-effendia was their hodža,And pretty Maruša their kalfa.[35]
One day Maruša opened the Koran:"Tell us now, hodža, tell what is written!'Hodža reads silently, then he speaks loudly:"First page—The hodža is going to marry!
"Willeth so Allah, so willeth hodža—thus on page two!And on page three—Whom will he marry, whom will he marry?Thus on page three—He'll marry the pretty Maruša."J. W. W.
Woe to the wolf that eats not flesh,Woe to the knight who drinks not wine,Woe to the maid who counteth loveNo gift divine.Woe to legs with a foolish head,And woe to gilt on an unclean bed.Woe to satin on humped shoulders.Woe to the gun in a fearsome hand,Woe to the strong in that village whereBut cowards stand.Woe to the mother-in-law in the house of her son-in-law.Woe to the wolf whom the ravens feed,And to the knight who children doth needHim to defend.Woe to the cock who strutteth on ice,Woe to the nightingale singing in the mill;In such a din, far better to be still!J. W. W.
Woe to the wolf that eats not flesh,Woe to the knight who drinks not wine,Woe to the maid who counteth loveNo gift divine.
Woe to legs with a foolish head,And woe to gilt on an unclean bed.
Woe to satin on humped shoulders.
Woe to the gun in a fearsome hand,Woe to the strong in that village whereBut cowards stand.
Woe to the mother-in-law in the house of her son-in-law.
Woe to the wolf whom the ravens feed,And to the knight who children doth needHim to defend.
Woe to the cock who strutteth on ice,Woe to the nightingale singing in the mill;In such a din, far better to be still!J. W. W.
A man ne'er born once told a taleTo seven stout ghosts so hearty and hale;A ship went sailing 'mid greenwood trees,While the burning sun her crew did freeze.A horse danced o'er the billowy sea,From him a duck with hoofs did flee.From an empty cup two knights did quaff,Served by a maid whose head was off.Two wingless geese flew up in the sky,As a legless hero ran hard by;While near him scampered two roasted hares,Hotly pursued by three dogs in pairs.Then to the deaf man the dumb man spoke:"What a monstrous lie! but I hope it's a joke."J. W. W.
Listen, listen man of God,If thou wouldest serve thy God,In thy lifetime do thou good,And revere thine elder brother,So thy younger thee revere.Neither boast when fortune smileth,Nor complain in days of trouble;Grasp not an another's good;For when death befalleth man,Nought he takes from out the world,Save his deeds and crossed white hands—When he goeth to the Judgment,Where king's rank is unaccounted,Rich men can no more be proud,Poor men be no more despised.J. W. W.
With a cross I lay me down,With a cross I get me up,All day long it doth protect,And angels in the night are near;Archangels, they shall ward my death,And God's my guard till all things end.J. W. W.
To sleep I laid me down,Making my prayer to God;I called upon His angels;Heaven was unveiled to me;The Seraphim, they worshipped there,And prayed this prayer to Christ our Lord:"While he doth rest, all through his sleep,Frome visions dark do Thou him keep."J. W. W.
We pray unto the Heavenly Lord,Koledo, Koledo![36]Dew to send upon our fields,Koledo!To give grain to wheat and maize,Koledo, Koledo!To give fruits in all the glades,Koledo!To give colours to the flowers,Koledo, Koledo!To give health to sheep and cattle,Koledo!And pardon, joy and song to all,Koledo, Koledo!J. W. W.
Yesternight was born a Child,But it passed from earth at morn,Unbaptized to heaven's door."Open, heavenly watchman, open!""Nay, foolish babe, thou must away!Sinful thou art, away, away!""Foolish I am—but sinful, nay;Born yesternight, I died to-day;In the green forest I was born,Where no sponsor, where no priest;Therefore unbaptized I come!"Then the heavenly watcher answered:"Go thou yet a short way on;Go on, my babe, and thou shalt findThree watersprings; from one to drink,From one to wash, the third a font of blessing.The first shall breast-milk be to thee;The second is thy mother's tears,And from the third thou shalt baptized be,And joyful entrance gain to heaven."J. W. W.
Yesternight was born a Child,But it passed from earth at morn,Unbaptized to heaven's door."Open, heavenly watchman, open!""Nay, foolish babe, thou must away!Sinful thou art, away, away!"
"Foolish I am—but sinful, nay;Born yesternight, I died to-day;In the green forest I was born,Where no sponsor, where no priest;Therefore unbaptized I come!"
Then the heavenly watcher answered:"Go thou yet a short way on;Go on, my babe, and thou shalt findThree watersprings; from one to drink,From one to wash, the third a font of blessing.The first shall breast-milk be to thee;The second is thy mother's tears,And from the third thou shalt baptized be,And joyful entrance gain to heaven."J. W. W.
Why trembleth so the earth,Set in this sphere of blue?Christ our God was born hereon,He, the Virgin's Holy Son,Christ Who heaven and earth created,And us sinners on the earth.In awe when He shall come to judge,We all shall stand before Him then,Both righteous and unrighteous men.J. W. W.
On angel wing in upward flightRise soul and body of our Lord,When piercing heaven with high gaze,He calleth for one down to go,Down to darksome Golgotha,Where Mary bending near the Cross,Weepeth in bitter agony:"Let herald hasten now to tell herI am risen unto heaven."Great Michael heard, two angels sent,Swift to convey the tidings glad:"O thou of women all most blest,Let not thy heart with fear be filled;From the tomb thy Son is risen,Risen to the Father's throne,Saving men from Death's dominion."J. W. W.
The Blessed Mary sent an angelUnto John the Camel-girdled—"God's wish it is, and my wish too,That thou shouldst now my Son baptize."John went responsive to the river,Down into Jordan with the Christ,And there upon him with his Lord,Open wide the gate of heaven,The roseate sun did light the east,Sign of that Spirit-first of which spake John,Whose purging heat doth purify from sin,And in Jordan's flowing riverMan's sin was taken all away!Our salvation is in heaven!Save, O God, all trusting souls,Save them from the devil's toils.J. W. W.
Sadly walked the Holy MotherOn the Holy Mountain.Suddenly espied she somethingBrightly shining in the dust:The Cross, it was, of her own Son.With gentlest hands she caressed it,She did wash it with her tears,And after dried it with her hair.Kneeling then she uttered prayer.Speaking to the Holy Cross:"O sweet Cross, thou Cross of honour,Upon thee my Son has died,Hellish pains on thee He suffered,Hellish pains from those hot nails,To redeem our sinful souls.When He did upon thee bleed,His blood it fell in priceless seed,Whence there sprang all lovely flowers,And angels, coming down to gather,Made them into wreathes and garlandsThat they might adorn all heaven."J. W. W.
The Holy Virgin dreaming slept,And in her dream a great tree grew,Its branches from her own heart crept,O'er spreading earth, north, south, east, west,And piercing, spire-like, heaven's blue.Sore troubled by her dream she roseAnd sought straightway a saintly brother;"Hear Saint Basil, my brother hear!Let me tell my vision wondrousI dreamed and lo! a great tree grew,Its branches from my own heart crept,O'erspreading earth north, south, east, west,And towering up through heaven's blue.What saith this vision Saint, to you?"Then Basil answered to the Virgin:"O sister dear, thy vision's clear:'A tree did spring from thy warm heart?'To bear the Christ shall be thy part.'Those spreading branches covering all?'Sinners He'll save from evil's thrall.'That height spire-piercing heaven's blue?'To God the Father Christ shall risePassing from earth and fleshly view."J. W. W.
Alas! my son, how fareth it with thee,In thy new dwelling, new and strange and dark?Strange thy dwelling without windows!At daybreak, Vinko, thy sad mother rose,Her earliest thought as but of thee,Her first thought, Vinko; Vinko her first call!Thorns are growing at the house-door,Cuckoos mourn around the house,Downcast thy brothers wait for thee,To talk with thee, to walk with thee—But now that ne'er can be.With head bent down and brow o'ercast,They make their way—for where art thou!In ashes our hearth fire is hidden,And when I saw the sun this morning,I thought: It is the moon,When thy sisters said to me:"Dim thine eyes, it is the sun!""For me no sun," said I to them,"Pale in the dust now is my sun,No light have I above the earth."Down in thy dwelling, oh my son,Say, is it cold, my Sun, my Sun;If it be cold as is my breastIt is too cold, too cold to rest.[37]J. W. W.
Where art thou flying? Where, oh where?My falcon?To what silent land and lone?Say, hero mine!Around thy friends and brothers ask me:How shall I answer them!"Where goes Perko? Tell us, Mother!"Woe to me, oh woe to me!If I answered, I might blame thee!How blamethee?Alway thou askedst me: May I go here—or shouldI stay?I knew thy way!But now thou askedst not; nor may I give thee"Yea" or "nay,"—O blank, blank day!Better, child, I went to thee, than to stayAs mother hereHaving lost the light of day!J. W. W.
Wherefore do I marvel, wherefore need I wonder?Traveller the dearest!That through this lower world already thou hast sped,Ray of light the fleetest!Together we'd a little talk, but we looked for more,Thou my golden store!To the realms of heaven thou from earth art gone,Thou my heaven and earth!Thou thy flight hast taken, sure, to a land of flowers,Dearest of my flowers!Thy journey leadeth up to God, unto the blest in Paradise,Thou my Paradise!Thou shalt behold the Judgment Place,Merciful my son!Soon shalt reach those halls of rest,Thou who gav'st me labour!There shalt find the noble dead,Thou my sweetest life!Greet them all, the rich and poor,Best of all my riches!Salute the noblemen and princes.Thou my prince of princes!J. W. W.
O'er Neven woods the sun went down,The sun went down behind the forest,As came the heroes off the sea.The young wife counted anxiously,The wife of George the Hospodar,Counted the warriors, found them all,Save her three treasures who were missing.She could not find her HospodarNor the best man at their wedding,And the third treasure was not there;This treasure was her dearest brother.For her brave lord she cuts her tresses,For her best man she wounds her cheeks,And for her brother puts out both her eyes.She cuts her hair, it grows again;She wounds her cheeks, the wounds do heal;But none can heal those hurt blind eyes,Nor yet her heart for her lost brother.J. W. W.
Why art thou thus attired?My more than father!Why art thou thus bedight, so knightly armed?My fearless knight!Thou art departing for the city?My shining city!In order there to meet the lords and knights,O my wise lord!Or go'st thou to a marriage feast?My pride, my noble guest!—But why! thine eyes are closed to me!O closed, O closed to me!And—can it be!—thy mouth is bound!This black, black morning!If thou art gone, and com'st not back—How empty is the house!How is it thou couldst leave us so?To us, O woe, O woe!Far, far thy journey, and the end not here!But better is it there!Mother and father, they will greet thee there,Among the Blest!Thy brothers, too, and children in celestial light,—O blessed, blessed sight!Thee will they greet: we in their thoughts shall be,O heavenly harmony!But thou wilt stay, and ne'er return to us,O woe, O woe to us!J. W. W.
The king came to court our Margaret fair,Koledo, Koledo!And mother sang clear to our Margaret fair:Koledo, Koledo!"Oh, Margaret, haste! my daughter dear,Koledo, Koledo!The King, he has come to court you here,Koledo, Koledo!"Then thus sweet Margaret to mother's call:"Koledo, Koledo!I told you, mother mine, I told you,Koledo, Koledo!I want not kings, I want not knights,Koledo, Koledo!'Tis Jesus Himself alone doth bind me,Koledo, Koledo!I've vowed to Him, true shall He find me,Koledo, Koledo!"J. W. W.
A horse left his knight on Kossovo,On a dreadsome place on Kossovo.Finding his steed, the knight put question:"O horse of mine, my greatest treasure,Why hast thou left me here so lonely,In this deadsome place on Kossovo?What have I done thus to displease thee?Say, horse of mine, why didst thou leave me?Did press my saddle hard upon thee?Thy jewelled bridle, was it heavy?Or have I ridden thee too far?"To his knight the horse made answer:"Thy saddle pressed not hard upon me,Thy jewelled bridle was not heavy,Nor hast thou ridden me too far.But this it is that doth displease me:So oft thou tarriest at the tavern,While I am tethered at the door.Three maidens fair are dwelling there,Whose beauty makes thee all forgetful,While I am out here cold and fretful;Then angrily I paw the earth,And eat the grass down to its root,And drink the water dry as stone,While thou dost leave me here alone."J. W. W.
One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh, let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy brother, go with him!""My brother! he can stay at home,I do not want to go with him."One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy father, go with him!""Oh, let my father stay at home,I do not want to go with him."One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy darling, go with him!""Oh, come, my sweetheart, come with me!I'll dance the Kolo there with thee!"J. W. W.
One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh, let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy brother, go with him!""My brother! he can stay at home,I do not want to go with him."
One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy father, go with him!""Oh, let my father stay at home,I do not want to go with him."
One day at Vidin they did dance the Kolo:"Oh! let me, mother, go and see!""There is thy darling, go with him!""Oh, come, my sweetheart, come with me!I'll dance the Kolo there with thee!"J. W. W.
How many towns from here to the coast?Seventy-seven sunlit towns,And villages green a thousand!And all of these I'd give for the streetWhere I my sweetheart first did meet,And e'en the street I'd give as the priceTo meet him again—aye, but for a trice!J. W. W.
Three maids were talking on a night,Upon a silvery moonlight night.They walked and talked of many things,They asked what each preferred to have.Two did listen to the eldest:"A castle white is what I'd like."Then two did hear the second say:"'Tis velvet blue with gold I like."Then two listened to the youngest:"A sweetheart true I would prefer.Should the castle all be ruined,My darling would rebuild it up;The velvet would with time wear out,My darling he could buy me more—A sweetheart true is richer store!"J. W. W.
A Bride most fair fed a swan and a lion,A swan and a lion and a falcon grey.To her came merchants from far away:"Sell us, sweet maid, your swan and your lion,This swan and this lion and falcon grey!""Ye men from afar, go away, go away,My godfather cometh to see me wed,And this lion I tend till the time be sped;And for my true friend who best man shall be,This white swan I keep, and for none but he!But this falcon grey ye covet so much,'Tis my true love's own; none shall it touch."J. W. W.
A youth to God did pray,About his sweetheart dear,That he the gem might beWhich trembled in her ear.He wished to be the beadsReposing on her breast,That he might hear her sayThat she loved him best.The prayer he prayed was heardA pearl beside the shore,His darling picked him up,And on her necklet bore.He listened and he heardHow true her loving heart:She told the other maidsShe ne'er from him would part.J. W. W.
A youth to God did pray,About his sweetheart dear,That he the gem might beWhich trembled in her ear.
He wished to be the beadsReposing on her breast,That he might hear her sayThat she loved him best.
The prayer he prayed was heardA pearl beside the shore,His darling picked him up,And on her necklet bore.
He listened and he heardHow true her loving heart:She told the other maidsShe ne'er from him would part.J. W. W.
Sister was I of kingly brothers three,But now my kings are gone from me,Woe, woe, woe!Better kingdoms they are asking,Better work than this world's tasking,And God will grant it, where they go,Better service He'll bestow,But for me, alas! Oh! woe!So kingly brothers ne'er were known,Now my heart breaketh here alone.This world for me too dark is now,And I took dark for it, I trow!Woe, woe, woe!J. W. W.
Sister was I of kingly brothers three,But now my kings are gone from me,Woe, woe, woe!
Better kingdoms they are asking,Better work than this world's tasking,And God will grant it, where they go,Better service He'll bestow,But for me, alas! Oh! woe!
So kingly brothers ne'er were known,Now my heart breaketh here alone.This world for me too dark is now,And I took dark for it, I trow!Woe, woe, woe!J. W. W.