Part 4

When the lady heard her lord’s commandments, Down she sat all sorrowful and gloomy; To herself she thought, and said in silence, —“And shall I attempt it?—I, poor cuckoo! Shall I kill my brother—kill with poison!— ’Twere a monstrous crime before high heaven, ’Twere a sin and shame before my people. Great and small would point their fingers at me, Saying,—‘That is the unhappy woman, That is she who kill’d her husband’s brother!’ But if I refuse to poison Bogdan, Never will my husband come to bless me!” Thus she thought, until a thought relieved her; She descended to the castle’s cavern, Took the consecrated cup of blessing. ’Twas a cup of beaten gold her father Had bestow’d upon his daughter’s nuptials; Full of golden wine she fill’d the vessel, And she bore it to her brother Bogdan. Low to earth she bow’d herself before him, And she kiss’d his hands and garments meekly.

“Lo! I bring to thee this cup, my brother! This gold cup, with golden wine o’erflowing. Give me for my cup a horse and falcon.” Bogdan heard the lady speak complacent, And most cheerfully gave steed and falcon.

Meanwhile through the day was Dmitar wandering In the mountain-forest; nought he found there; But chance brought him at the fall of evening To a green lake far within the forest, Where a golden-pinion’d duck was swimming. Dmitar loosen’d then his grey-winged falcon, Bade him seize the golden-pinion’d swimmer. Faster than the hunter’s eye could follow, Lo! the duck had seized the grey-wing’d falcon, And against his sides had crush’d his pinion. Soon as Dmitar Jakshich saw, he stripp’d him— Stripp’d him swiftly of his hunting garments; Speedily into the lake he plunged him, And he bore his falcon from its waters. Then with pitying voice he ask’d his falcon: “Hast thou courage yet, my faithful falcon! Now thy wings are from thy body riven?”

Whispering, said the falcon to his master: “I without my pinions nought resemble, But a brother riven from a brother.” Then the thought pierced through the breast of Dmitar, That his wife was charged to kill his brother. Swift he threw him on his mighty courser— Swift he hurried to Bijōgrad’s {62} fortress, Praying that his brother had not perished.

He had hardly reach’d the bridge of Chekmel, {63} When he spurr’d his raven steed so fiercely, That the impetuous courser’s feet sank under, And were crushed and broken on the pavement. In his deep perplexity and trouble, Dmitar took the saddle off his courser, Flung it on the courser’s nether haunches, And he fled alone to Belgrad’s fortress. First he sought, impatient, for his lady— “Angelia! thou my bride all faithful! Tell me, tell me, hast thou kill’d my brother?” Sweet indeed was Angelia’s answer: “No! indeed, I have not killed thy brother; To thy brother have I reconciled thee.”

THE BUILDING OF SKADRA. {64a}

BROTHERS three combined to build a fortress, Brothers three, the brothers Mrljavchēvich, Kral {64b} Vukāshin was the eldest brother; And the second was Uglēsha-Voivode; {64c} And the third, the youngest brother, Goiko. Pull three years they labour’d at the fortress, Skadra’s fortress on Bojana’s river; Full three years three hundred workmen labour’d. Vain th’ attempt to fix the wall’s foundation. Vainer still to elevate the fortress: Whatsoe’er at eve had raised the workmen Did the Vila raze ere dawn of morning.

When the fourth year had begun its labours, Lo! the Vila from the forest-mountain Call’d—“Thou King Vukashin! vain thine efforts!— Vain thine efforts—all thy treasures wasting! Never, never wilt thou build the fortress, If thou find not two same-titled beings, If thou find not Stojan and Stojana: {65} And these two—these two young twins so loving, They must be immured in the foundation. Thus alone will the foundations serve thee: Thus alone can ye erect your fortress.”

When Vukashin heard the Vila’s language, Soon he call’d to Dēssimir, his servant: “Listen, Dessimir, my trusty servant! Thou hast been my trusty servant ever; Thou shalt be my son from this day onward. Fasten thou my coursers to my chariot: Load it with six lasts of golden treasures: Travel through the whole wide world, and bring me, Bring me back those two same-titled beings: Bring me back that pair of twins so loving: Bring me hither Stojan and Stojana: Steal them, if with gold thou canst not buy them. Bring them here to Scadra or Bojana: We’ll inter them in the wall’s foundation: So the wall’s foundations will be strengthened: So we shall build up our Scadra’s fortress.”

Dessimir obey’d his master’s mandate; Fasten’d, straight, the horses to the chariot; Fill’d it with six lasts of golden treasures; Through the whole wide world the trusty servant Wander’d—asking for these same-named beings— For the twins—for Stojan and Stojana: Full three years he sought them,—sought them vainly: Nowhere could he find these same-named beings: Nowhere found he Stojan and Stojana. Then he hasten’d homewards to his master; Gave the king his horses and his chariot; Gave him his six lasts of golden treasures: “Here, my sov’reign, are thy steeds and chariot: Here thou hast thy lasts of golden treasures: Nowhere could I find those same-named beings: Nowhere found I Stojan and Stojana.”

When Vukashin had dismiss’d his servant, Straight he call’d his builder, master Rado. Rado call’d on his three hundred workmen; And they built up Scadra on Bojana; But, at even did the Vila raze it: Vainly did they raise the wall’s foundation; Vainly seek to build up Scadra’s fortress. And the Vila, from the mountain-forest, Cried, “Vukashin, listen! listen to me! Thou dost spill thy wealth, and waste thy labour: Vainly seek’st to fix the wall’s foundations; Vainly seek’st to elevate the fortress. Listen now to me! Ye are three brothers: Each a faithful wife at home possesses:— Her who comes to-morrow to Bojana, Her who brings the rations to the workmen— Her immure within the wall’s foundations:— So shall the foundations fix them firmly: So shalt thou erect Bojana’s fortress.”

When the king Vukashin heard the Vila, Both his brothers speedily he summon’d: “Hear my words, now hear my words, my brothers! From the forest-hill the Vila told me, That we should no longer waste our treasures In the vain attempt to raise the fortress On a shifting, insecure foundation. Said the Vila of the forest-mountain, ‘Each of you a faithful wife possesses; Each a faithful bride that keeps your dwellings: Her who to the fortress comes to-morrow, Her who brings their rations to the workmen— Her immure within the wall’s foundations; So will the foundations bear the fortress: So Bojana’s fortress be erected.’ Now then, brothers! in God’s holy presence Let each swear to keep the awful secret; Leave to chance whose fate ’twill be to-morrow First to wend her way to Skadra’s river.” And each brother swore, in God’s high presence, From his wife to keep the awful secret.

When the night had on the earth descended, Each one hasten’d to his own white dwelling; Each one shared the sweet repast of evening; Each one sought his bed of quiet slumber.

Lo! there happen’d then a wond’rous marvel! First, Vukashin on his oath he trampled, Whisp’ring to his wife the awful secret: “Shelter thee! my faithful wife! be shelter’d! Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana! Bring not to the workmen food to-morrow! Else, my fair! thy early life ’twill cost thee: And beneath the walls they will immure thee!”

On his oath, too, did Uglesha trample! And he gave his wife this early warning: “Be not thou betray’d, sweet love! to danger! Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana! Carry not their rations to the workmen! Else in earliest youth thy friend might lose thee: Thou might’st be immured in the foundation!”

Faithful to his oath, young Goiko whisper’d Not a breath to warn his lovely consort.

When the morning dawn’d upon the morrow, All the brothers roused them at the day-break, And each sped, as wont, to the Bojana.

Now, behold! two young and noble women; They—half-sisters—they, the eldest sisters— One is bringing up her snow-bleach’d linen, Yet once more in summer sun to bleach it. See! she comes on to the bleaching meadows; There she stops—she comes not one step farther. Lo! the second, with a red-clay pitcher; Lo! she comes—she fills it at the streamlet; There she talks with other women—lingers— Yes! she lingers—comes not one step farther.

Goiko’s youthful wife at home is tarrying, For she has an infant in the cradle Not a full moon old, the little nursling: But the moment of repast approaches; And her aged mother then bestirs her; Fain would call the serving maid, and bid her Take the noon-tide meal to the Bojana. “Nay, not so!” said the young wife of Goiko; “Stay, sit down in peace, I pray thee, mother! Rock the little infant in his cradle: I myself will bear the food to Scadra. In the sight of God it were a scandal, An affront and shame among all people, If, of three, no one were found to bear it.”

So she staid at home, the aged mother, And she rock’d the nursling in the cradle. Then arose the youthful wife of Goiko; Gave them the repast, and bade them forward. Call’d around her all the serving maidens; When they reach’d Bojana’s flowing river, They were seen by Mrljavchevich Goiko, On his youthful wife, heart-rent, he threw him; Flung his strong right arm around her body; Kiss’d a thousand times her snowy forehead: Burning tears stream’d swiftly from his eyelids, As he spoke, in melancholy language:

“O my wife, my own! my full heart’s-sorrow! Didst thou never dream that thou must perish? Why hast thou our little one abandoned? Who will bathe our little one, thou absent? Who will bare the breast to feed the nursling?” More, and more, and more, he fain would utter; But the king allow’d it not. Vukashin, By her white hand seizes her, and summons, Master Rado,—he the master-builder; And he summons his three hundred workmen.

But the young-espoused one smiles, and deems it All a laughing jest,—no fear o’ercame her. Gathering round her, the three hundred workmen Pile the stones and pile the beams about her. They have now immured her to the girdle.

Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher; Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared her, And she shriek’d aloud in her despairing; In her woe implored her husband’s brothers:

“Can ye think of God?—have ye no pity? Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?” But in vain, in vain were her entreaties; And her brothers left her thus imploring.

Shame and fear succeeded then to censure, And she piteously invoked her husband: “Can it, can it be, my lord and husband, That so young, thou, reckless, would’st immure me? Let us go and seek my aged mother: Let us go—my mother she is wealthy: She will buy a slave,—a man or woman, To be buried in the walls’ foundations.”

When the mother-wife—the wife and mother, Found her earnest plaints and prayers neglected, She address’d herself to Neimar {74} Rado: “In God’s name, my brother, Neimar Rado, Leave a window for this snowy bosom, Let this snowy bosom heave it freely; When my voiceless Jovo shall come near me, When he comes, O let him drain my bosom!” Rado bade the workmen all obey her, Leave a window for that snowy bosom, Let that snowy bosom heave it freely When her voiceless Jovo shall come near her, When he comes, he’ll drink from out her bosom.

Once again she cried to Neimar Rado, “Neimar Rado! in God’s name, my brother! Leave for these mine eyes a little window, That these eyes may see our own white dwelling, When my Jovo shall be brought towards me, When my Jovo shall be carried homeward.” Rado bade the workmen all obey her, Leave for those bright eyes a little window, That her eyes may see her own white dwelling, When they bring her infant Jovo to her, When they take the infant Jovo homeward.

So they built the heavy wall about her, And then brought the infant in his cradle, Which a long, long while his mother suckled. Then her voice grew feeble—then was silent: Still the stream flow’d forth and nursed the infant: Full a year he hung upon her bosom; Still the stream flow’d forth—and still it floweth. {75a} Women, when the life-stream dries within them, Thither come—the place retains its virtue— Thither come, to still their crying infants. {75b}

BATTLE OF KOSSOVA.

FROM Jerusalem, the holy city, Lo! there flew a gray and royal falcon; With him came a little flitting swallow. No! it was no gray and royal falcon; ’Twas Elias! ’twas the holy prophet; And he brought no little flitting swallow, But a letter from God’s holy mother To the Emperor, from Polje Kossova; {76} At the Emperor’s feet he drops the letter: And the letter thus address’d the Emperor!

“Tzar Lasar! thou tzar of noble lineage! Tell me now, what kingdom hast thou chosen? Wilt thou have heaven’s kingdom for thy portion, Or an earthly kingdom? If an earthly, Saddle thy good steed—and gird him tightly; Let thy heroes buckle on their sabres, Smite the Turkish legions like a tempest, And these legions all will fly before thee. But if thou wilt have heaven’s kingdom rather, Speedily erect upon Kossova, Speedily erect a church—of marble; Not of marble, but of silk and scarlet; {77} That the army, to its vespers going, May from sin be purged—for death be ready: For thy warriors all are doom’d to stumble; Thou, too, prince, wilt perish with thy army!”

When the Tzar Lasar had read the writing, Many were his thoughts and long his musings. “Lord my God! what—which shall be my portion, Which my choice of these two proffer’d kingdoms? Shall I choose heaven’s kingdom? shall I rather Choose an earthly one?—for what is earthly Is all fleeting, vain, and unsubstantial; Heavenly things are lasting, firm, eternal.” So the Tzar preferr’d a heavenly kingdom Rather than an earthly.—On Kossova Straight he builds a church, but not of marble; Not of marble, but of silk and scarlet: Then he calls the patriarch of Servia, Calls around him all the twelve archbishops, Bids them make the holy supper ready, Purify the warriors from their errors, And for death’s last conflict make them ready.

So the warriors were prepared for battle, And the Turkish hosts approach’d Kossova. Bogdan leads hit valiant heroes forward, With his sons—nine sons—the Jugovichi, Sharp and keen—nine gray and noble falcons. Each led on nine thousand Servian warriors; And the aged Jug led twenty thousand.

With the Turks began the bloody battle. Seven pashas were overcome and scattered, But the eighth pasha came onwards boldly. And the aged Jug Bogdan has fallen— Fallen with his sons—nine Jugovichi, Nine gray noble falcons—all have fallen; And the host has fallen with its leaders!

Forward press the Mrljashevich warriors, Ban Uglesha and the Voivode Goiko; And with them the monarch Tzar Vukashin: Each one leads full thirty thousand warriors. With the Turks begins the bloody battle; Eight pashas are soon o’erwhelm’d and perish, But the ninth pasha comes boldly onwards— Brothers Mrljashevich twain have fallen, Ban Uglesha and the Voivode Goiko, With a grievous wound sinks down Vukashin, He is trodden on by Turkish horses, And the warriors perish with their leaders.

Now the ducal Stephan presses forward: Strong and mighty is the ducal army; Strong and powerful; sixty thousand warriors. And the battle with the Turks is raging; Nine pashas are soon o’erwhelm’d and perish; But the tenth pasha comes boldly onward; And the ducal Stephan is o’erpower’d, And his warriors perish with their leader.

Then Lasar, the noble lord of Servia; Seeks Kossova with his mighty army; Seven and seventy thousand Servian warriors. How the infidels retire before him, Dare not look upon his awful visage! Now indeed begins the glorious battle. He had triumph’d then,—had triumph’d proudly, But that Vuk—the curse of God be on him! He betray’d his father at Kossova.

So the Turks the Servian monarch vanquish’d, So Lasar he fell, the Tzar of Servia— With Lasar fell all the Servian army. But they have been honour’d, and are holy, In the keeping of the God of heaven.

THE HOLY NICHOLAS.

GOD of mercy! what a wond’rous wonder! Such a wonder ne’er before was witness’d. In Saint Paul’s—within the holy cloister, Gather’d round a golden table, seated In three ranks, the saints are all collected; O’er them sits the thunderer Elias; {81a} In the midst are Sava and Maria; At the ends are Petka and Nedelia; And their health the holy Nicholas pledges, Pledges them their health to Jesus’ glory. {81b} But behold, behold the saint!—he slumbers; From his hand the cup of wine has fallen, Fallen from it on the golden table: Yet the wine’s unspilt,—the cup unbroken. Then laugh’d out the thunderer Elias: “O my brother! O thou holy Nicholas: Often drank we cooling wine together; But it was our duty not to slumber, Not to drop the cup—And tell me, brother, Why to-day does slumber’s power subdue thee?”

Him thus answer’d Nicholas the holy: “Jest not thus with me, thou sainted thunderer! For I fell asleep, and dreamt three hundred, Dreamt three hundred friars had embark’d them In one vessel on the azure ocean; Bearing offerings to the holy mountain, Offerings,—golden wax, and snowy incense. From the clouds there broke a furious tempest, Lash’d the blue waves of the trembling ocean, Scooping watery graves for all the friars. Then I heard their blended voices call me, ‘Help, O God! and help, O holy Nicholas! Would that thou, where’er thou art, wert with us!’ So I hurried down to help the suppliants— So I saved the whole three hundred friars— So I shipped them full of joy and courage; Brought their offerings to the holy mountain, Brought their golden wax, their snowy incense;— And meanwhile I seem’d in gentle slumber, And my cup fell on the golden table.”

ERDELSKA’S BANITZA.

Lo! Erdelska’s lady {84a} reared a fir-tree, And invoked the fir-tree—thus invok’d it: “Grow thou, fir-tree, to the height of heaven! To the green grass bend thy spreading branches; Let me mount upon thy branches, fir-tree! From those branches see the white-wall’d Buda, And in Buda see the Budan Jovan. Does he bear himself as once he bore him; Does the feather wave upon his Kalpak; {84b} Does his steed still bear his high head proudly?” Thus she spoke and thought that no one heard her; But the Ban of Transylvania heard her, Even her lord, the Ban, and thus address’d her: “Now, by heaven, thou Erdelskan Banitza; Why is Buda fairer than Erdelska? Why is Jovan nobler than thy husband?” Thus replied the Erdelskan Banitza: “Buda is not fairer than Erdelska, Jovan is not nobler than my husband. But my first, my earliest joy, was Jovan; My first joy—a cup with flowers full laden, Second joy—a cup with wine o’erflowing, My third joy—a cup fill’d up with wormwood.”

THE MOORISH KING’S DAUGHTER.

ONCE the mother of the princely Marko Thus address’d her son:—“Now, Marko, tell me Why hast thou so many a shrine erected? Is it for thy sins in lowly penance? Is it that thy wealth is overflowing?”

Then the noble prince address’d his mother: “Now, by Heav’n, I’ll tell thee! Erst I travell’d, Aged mother! in the Moorish country: To the water-cisterns sped me early, To refresh my Sharaz:—round the cisterns Were a dozen Moorish men assembled: Through the Moors I fain would reach the water— Reach the water to refresh my Sharaz: But the dozen Moorish men opposed me, And we there began a bloody struggle— There my trusty club aloft I lifted: One of the black Moors with earth I levell’d: One I struck to earth,—eleven assail’d me: Two I struck to earth,—and ten attack’d me: Three I struck to earth,—and nine engaged me: Four I struck to earth,—and twice four smote me: Five I struck to earth, and strove with seven: Six I struck to earth, and faced as many: But the six o’erpower’d the weary Marko; And they bound my hands, and bore me swiftly, Bore me swiftly to the Moorish palace; And the monarch sent me to a prison.

“Seven long years I dwelt within my dungeon: Nothing knew I of the summer’s dawning; Nothing knew I of returning winter; Nothing knew I, mother, but that snow-balls, Snow-balls oft were thrown into my prison— Thrown into my prison by the maidens: So I knew it was the winter season. Sometimes maidens flung me Basil-garlands, So I knew it was the dawn of summer. When the eighth year broke upon thy Marko, It was not my dungeon that distress’d me: ’Twas the sorrow of a Moorish maiden, And she was the Moorish monarch’s daughter. When the morn return’d, and when the ev’ning, To my dungeon-window came she greeting:— “Nay! thou shalt not perish in thy prison, Thou poor Marko! give me but thy promise That thou wilt espouse the Moorish maiden, When the maiden has unlock’d thy prison— When she has released thy faithful Sharaz. I will bring a heap of golden ducats: All the ducats thou canst wish for, Marko.”

“When I heard her in my misery, mother! From my head I took my cap, and laid it On my knees,—and twice I swore upon it: ‘By my faith! I’ll never leave thee, maiden! By my faith! I never will betray thee! E’en the golden sun is sometimes treach’rous— Shines not out in winter as in summer— But my word, my faith, shall be unchanging!”

And the maiden drank the dear delusion: She believed the oath that I had sworn her; And when ev’ning’s fall the earth had shaded, She flung ope the portals of my dungeon: From my prison-house she brought me, mother, Brought me to my proud and prancing Sharaz: For herself she brought a steed yet nobler: Both were loaded well with bags of ducats: And she brought my bright and faithful sabre. On our steeds we sprung, and swiftly sped us, In the darkness, from that Moorish country.

“But at last the twilight dawn’d upon us, And I flung me on the ground to slumber: And the Moorish maiden laid her near me: And she threw her ebon arms around me: But, as daylight came, and I, O mother! Saw how black her face, her teeth how ivory, Such a fright, and such a shuddering seized me, That I drew the sabre from its scabbard, Plunged it deeply through her silken girdle; Through and through the bloody sabre smote her. “Then I sprung upon the back of Sharaz, And I heard the maiden’s lips address me: ‘Thou in God my brother! thou, O Marko! Leave me not!—thus wretched do not leave me!”

“Therefore, mother! do I lowly penance: Thus, my mother! have I gold o’erflowing: Therefore seek I righteous deeds unceasing.”

MARKO AND THE TURKS.