Part 4

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

Fairest youths are here--but not the fairest! Could I hear him now, or could I see him,-- Could I know if he be sick, or faithless! Were he sick, my ears would rather hear it, Than that he had loved another maiden. Sickness may depart, and time restore him,-- If enamour'd,--never! never! never!

S. J. B.

LXXI

FOND WIFE

O! If I were a mountain streamlet, I know where I would flow I'd spring into the crystal Sava, Where the gay vessels go, That I might look upon my lover-- For fain my heart would know If, when he holds the helm, he ever Looks on my rose, and thinks Of her who gave it;--if the nosegay I made of sweetest pinks Is faded yet, and if he wear it. On Saturday I cull To give him for a Sabbath present All that is beautiful.

S. J. B.

LXXII

UNHAPPY BRIDE

The maiden gave the ring she wore To him who gave it her before: "O take the ring--for thou and thine Are hated,--not by me--but mine-- Father and mother will not hear thee Brother and sister both forswear thee Yet, think not, youth,--I think not ill Of her who needs must love thee still! I am a poor unhappy maid, Whose path the darkest clouds o'ershade, I sowed sweet basil, and there grew On that same spot the bitterest rue And wormwood, that unholy flower, I now alone my marriage dower; The only flower which they shall wear Who to the maiden's marriage comes, When for my marriage altar there The guests shall find the maiden's tomb."

S. J. B.

LXXIII

LAST PETITION

Upon her mother's bosom lay Young 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 all My playmates to my funeral; And let the friends I loved receive The little gifts that I shall leave; Then let me sleep in peace beneath.--

There's one, my mother, I should grieve To be divided from in death. Then call around me priests divine, And pious pilgrims, mother mine! The forehead of thy dying daughter Steep in the rose's fragrant water. And, mother, let my forehead be Dried with the rose-leaves from the tree; And pillow not thy daughter's head, O mother! with the common dead; But let me have a quiet tomb Adjacent to my Mirjo's home, And near my Mirjo's nightly bed; So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwell With her he loved and loved so well."

S. J. B.

LXXIV

LOVE FOR A BROTHER

The sun sank down behind the gold-flower'd hill; The warriors from the fight approach the shore: There stood young George's wife, serene and still: She counted all the heroes o'er and o'er, And found not those she loved--though they were three:-- Her husband, George; her marriage friend, another Who late had led the marriage revelry; The third, her best-loved, her only brother.

Her husband he was dead; she rent her hair For him--Her friend was gone,--for him she tore Her cheeks--Her only brother was not there: For him she pluck'd her eye-balls from their bed. Her hair grew forth as lovely as before; Upon her cheeks her former beauties spread; But nothing could her perish'd sight restore: Nought heals the heart that mourns a brother dead.

S. J. B.

LXXV

REBUKE

"Maiden! hast thou seen my steed?" "Faithless one! not I, indeed! But I heard that thou hadst tied him To the mountain-maple tree; When a stranger pass'd beside him, Full of scorn and rage was he: With his hoofs the ground he beat; Of his master's guilt he knew. Not one maiden did he cheat. No; that master cheated two: One has borne a wretched child; One with grief and shame is wild."

S. J. B.

LXXVI

MAN'S FAITH

Say! dost thou remember when under the vine, Thy tears fell in streams on the breast of thy maid; When thy heart burst in joy as I own'd thee for mine? Alas! for the maiden whose peace is betray'd By the tears and the vows of a falsehood like thine! As the changeable sky--now o'erclouded, now bright, Is the faith of thy race--their language to-day, "I will wed thee to-morrow, my love and my light!" To-morrow--"Let's wait till the harvest's away." The harvest is ended, the winter is nigh And another maid dwells in their hearts and their eye.

S. J. B.

LXXVII

MAIDEN'S AFFECTION

"Black is the night--an outcast lad Is wandering in our village, mother! Thy daughter's heart is very sad, Sad even to death! He has no home: O give him ours, he has no other, And bid the lad no longer roam!" "Nay! daughter, let this outcast stray, He is a proud and city youth; Will ask for wine at break of day, And costly meats at eve, forsooth, And for his city-tutor'd head Will want a soft and stately bed."

"O mother! In God's name divine, Give the poor lad a shelter now: My eyes shall serve instead of wine, For costly meats my maiden brow. My neck shall be his honey comb. His bed the dewy grass shall be, And heaven his stately canopy. His head shall rest upon my arm. O mother! give the youth a home, And shelter, shelter him from harm."

S. J. B.

LXXVIII

MARRIAGE SONGS

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 guide To 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 now Thy mother she will weep--wilt fill Her sorrowing eyes with tears, for thou Wilt leave thy cherish'd home ere long: And when thy young companions go To the fresh stream, amidst the throng She'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 bound Maiden! thy auburn ringlets round: O no! it is no leaf, that we Have 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 only One, 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.

LXXIX

HEROES SERVE

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.

LXXX

YOUTH AND AGE

Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving. Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead: "Forehead! if I thought an old man's kisses Would be stamp'd upon thee, I would hasten To the forest, and would gather wormwood Into boiling water press its bitters: With it steep my forehead ev'ry morning, That the old man's kiss might taste of wormwood. But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me, I would hurry to the verdant garden: I would gather all its sweetest roses, Would condense their fragrance,--and at morning, Every morning, would perfume my forehead So the youth's sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance, And his heart be gladden'd with the odour. Better dwell with youth upon the mountains, Than with age in luxury's richest palace: Better sleep with youth on naked granite, Than with eld on silks howe'er voluptuous."

S. J. B.

LXXXI

CHOICE

In my court the morning's twilight found me; At the chase the early sun while rising, I upon the mountain--and behind it, On that mountain, 'neath a dark-green pine tree Lo! I saw a lovely maiden sleeping; On a clover-sheaf her head was pillow'd; On her bosom lay two snowy dovelets; In her lap there was a dappled fawnkin. There I tarried till the fall of ev'ning: Bound my steed at night around the pine-tree: Bound my falcon to the pine-tree branches: Gave the sheaf of clover to my courser: Gave the two white dovelets to my falcon: Gave the dappled fawn to my good greyhound: And, for me,--I took the lovely maiden.

S. J. B.

LXXXII

ANXIETY

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

S. J. B.

LXXXIII

INQUIRY

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

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

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

S. J. B.

LXXXIV

FROZEN HEART

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

S. J. B.

LXXXV

UNION IN DEATH

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

To the stars he look'd, and bade them tell her: "Die, sweet maiden! on the week's last even; Early will I die on Sabbath morning."

As the stars foretold the event, it happen'd; On the eve of Saturday the maiden Died--and died the youth on Sunday morning: And they were, fond pair, together buried; And their hands were intertwined together: In those hands they placed the greenest apples; When behold! ere many moons had shone there, From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree, And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow'd: Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it, As around the straw the silk clings closely.

S. J. B.

LXXXVI

LOVE AND SLEEP[30]

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.

LXXXVII

LOVE CONFERS NOBILITY

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 above The royal brow, and a kingly mind The quail is little, little, my love, But she leaves the hunter behind.

O. M.

LXXXVIII

A SOUL'S SWEETNESS

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 me More sweet than amber honey to the bee That builds in the oaken hole, And sucks the essential summer of the year To 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 dower Of the building bee, From any hollow tower In oaken bole: But if, on this poor breast thou dost discover Fragrance 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.

LXXXIX

REMINISCENCES

He. "And art thou wed, my beloved? My Beloved of long ago?"

She. "I am wed, my Beloved. And I have given A 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 mine For a little while may be gone. For I say not ... 'Hither, hither, my son!' But ... 'Hither, my Love, my Beloved.'"

XC

SLEEP AND DEATH

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.

XCI

IMPERFECTION

All in the spring, When little birds sing, And flowers do talk From stalk to stalk; Whispering to a silver shower, A violet did boast to be Of every flower the fairest flower That blows by lawn or lea. But a rose that blew thereby Answer'd her reproachfully, (All in the spring, When little birds sing, And flowers do talk From stalk to stalk): "Violet, I marvel me Of fairest flowers by lawn or lea The 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.

XCII

EMANCIPATION

The Day of Saint George! and a girl pray'd thus: "O Day of Saint George, when again to us Thou returnest, and they carouse Here 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.

XCIII

PLUCKING A FLOWER

He. O maiden, vermeil rose! Unplanted, unsown, Blooming alone As the wild-flower blows, With a will of thine own! Neither grafted nor grown, Neither gather'd nor blown, O maiden, O rose! Blooming alone In the green garden-close Unnoticed, 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 thee And 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 ride That 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 suppose No 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.

XCIV

A WISH

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 stand By the rudder; and whether the rose Which, 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.

XCV

A 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 follow O'er the mountain wherever she roam it, Is not fairer nor whiter than she. Her long soft eyelash is the wing of the swallow When 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 discloses The sweetness that soothes the wild bee. She is tall as the larch, she is slender As 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.

XCVI

SLEEPLESSNESS

Sleep will not take the place of Love, Nor keep the place from Sorrow. Oh, when the long nights slowly move To 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 eyes Love seals no more with kisses.

O. M.

XCVII

A MESSAGE

Sweet sister of my loved, unloving one, Kiss thy wild brother, kiss him tenderly! Ask him what is it, witless, I have done That 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 yet For 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.

XCVIII

TRANSPLANTING A FLOWER