Part 6

“Nay! heroes, nay!” the virgin cried, “My service—not my love—I give: For one alone—for none beside: For one alone I love and live.”

YOUTH AND AGE.

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

CHOICE.

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

ANXIETY.

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

INQUIRY.

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

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

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

FROZEN HEART.

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

UNION IN DEATH.

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

To the stars he look’d, and bade them tell her: “Die, sweet maiden! on the week’s last even; Early will I die on Sabbath morning.” As the stars foretold th’ event, it happen’d: On the eve of Saturday the maiden Died—and died the youth on Sunday morning: And they were, fond pair, together buried; And their hands were intertwined together: In those hands they placed the greenest apples: When, behold! ere many moons had shone there, From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree, And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow’d: Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it, As around the straw the silk clings closely.

DEER AND VILA.

A YOUNG deer tracked his way through the green forest, One lonely day—another came in sadness; And the third dawn’d, and brought him sighs and sorrow: Then he address’d him to the forest Vila: “Young deer!” she said, “thou wild one of the forest, Now tell me what great sorrow has oppress’d thee? Why wanderest thou thus in the forest lonely: Lonely one day,—another day in sadness,— And the third day with sighs and anguish groaning?”

And thus the young deer to the Vila answer’d: “O thou sweet sister! Vila of the forest! Me has indeed a heavy grief befallen; For I had once a fawn, mine own beloved, And one sad day she sought the running water: She enter’d it, but came not back to bless me: Then tell me, had she lost her way and wander’d? Was she pursued and captured by the huntsman? Or has she left me?—has she wholly left me?— Loving some other deer—and I forgotten. O! if she has but lost her way, and wanders, Teach her to find it—bring her back to love me. O! if she has been captured by the huntsman, Then may a fate as sad as mine await him. But if she has forsaken me—if, faithless, She loves another deer—and I forgotten— Then may the huntsman speedily o’ertake her.”

VIRGIN AND WIDOW.

OVER Sarajevo flies a falcon, Looking round for cooling shade to cool him. Then he finds a pine on Sarejevo; Under it a well of sparkling water; By the water, Hyacinth, the widow, And the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin. He look’d down—the falcon—and bethought him: “Shall I kiss grave Hyacinth, the widow; Or the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin?” Thinking thus—at last the bird determined— And he whisper’d to himself sedately, “Gold—though long employ’d, is far, far better Than the finest silver freshly melted.” So he kiss’d—kiss’d Hyacinth, the widow. Very wroth wax’d then young Rose, the virgin: “Sarejevo! let a ban be on thee! Cursed be thy strange and evil customs! For thy youths they love the bygone widows, And thy aged men the untried virgins.”

NIGHTINGALES.

ALL the night two nightingales were singing At the window of th’ affianced maiden; And th’ affianced maiden thus addressed them: “Tell me, ye two nightingales, O tell me! Are ye brothers? are ye brothers’ children?”

Thus the nightingales made speedy answer: “Brothers are we not, nor brother’s children: We are friends—friends of the verdant forest. Once we had another friend—another— But that friend is lost to us for ever. We have heard that nuptial bliss awaits him; And we came the youthful bride to look on, And to offer her a golden spindle, With the flax of Egypt bound around it.”

THE RING.

THE streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree; There came a maid that stream to draw—a lovely maid was she; From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly. Young Mirko saw, and offer’d her a golden fruit, and said: “O take this apple, damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!” She took the apple—flung it back—and said, in angry tone, “Neither thine apple, Sir! nor thee—presumptuous boy, be gone!”

The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree; There came a maid that stream to draw—a lovely maid was she; From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly. Young Mirko saw, and proffer’d her a golden brooch, and said: “O take this brooch, thou damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!” She took the brooch, and flung it back, and said, in peevish tone, “I’ll neither have thee nor thy brooch—presumptuous boy, be gone!”

The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree; There came a maid that stream to draw—the loveliest maid was she; From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly. Young Mirko saw, and proffer’d her a golden ring, and said: “O take this ring, my damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!” She took the ring—she slipp’d it on—and said, in sprightliest tone, “I’ll have thee and thy golden ring, and be thy faithful one.”

THE FRATRICIDE.

BETWEEN two mountains sank the sun— Between two maids the enamour’d one. He gave his kiss to one alone; The other maid grew jealous then: “Most faithless thou of faithless men!” She said—and he replied—“Fair maid! I fain would kiss thy cheeks of red, But thou hast got a bickering brother, Who loves to quarrel with another, And I no quarrel seek, my love!”

She hied her to the darksome grove— Silent—she turn’d o’er many a rock, And look’d ’neath many a broken stock; Probed weeds and briars, till she found A poisonous serpent on the ground. She smote it with her golden ring, Tore from its mouth the venomy fang; Its poisonous juice her hands did wring Into a wine cup—and she sprang On swiftest feet to Raduli— Her own—her only brother he— Her hands the fatal cup supplied— He drank the poison—and he died.

Then sped she to the youth—“A kiss— At least one kiss of love for this— For this—for thee—I dress’d the cup With poison—and he drank it up— The brother that thou lov’st not—he I poison’d—for a kiss from thee”—

“Away! away! thou murd’rous maid! Avaunt! avaunt!”—the lover said: “What fame—what courage could confide In thee—a heartless fratricide!”

LOVE.

THE youth he struck on the tambourine, And nought was so bright as its golden sheen; Of the hair of maidens twined together Its strings, which he struck with a falcon’s feather. The maid look’d down from the balcony, And thus to her inner self said she:—

“O heaven! what a noble youth is he! Would’st thou but give this youth to me, I would make of the garden-pinks his bed, I would lay fair roses under his head; And waked by perfume, with what delight Would he kiss the maiden’s forehead white!”

MAPLE TREE.

O THOU brotherly maple tree! Wilt thou be a friend to me? Be a brother, and be a friend! To the green grass thy branches bend, That I may climb to their highest tip! Look o’er the sea, and see the ship, Where my lover sits smiling now; He binds the turban round his brow, And over his shoulders the shawl he flings, Which is full of mine own embroiderings. For three long years my hands inwove Those golden flowers to deck my love: The richest silk of the brightest dyes I work’d for him, and now my eyes Would fain my absent lover see: Assist me, brotherly maple tree! And tell me, if he thinks of me!

SEMENDRIAN BEAUTY.

LOVELY maiden of Semendria! {152} Turn again thy footsteps hither; Let me see thy countenance!

Hail thee, youth! and health be with thee! Hast thou visited the markets? Saw’st thou there a sheet of paper? Like that paper is my forehead. Hast thou ever seen the vineyard, Seen the rosy wine that flows there? Youth! my cheeks that wine resemble. Didst thou ever walk the meadows, Hast thou seen the black sloe-berry? That black sloe my eyes will paint thee: Hast thou wandered near the ocean? Hast thou seen the _pijavitza_? {153} Like it are the maiden’s eye-brows.

SELF-ADMIRATION.

A MAIDEN to the fountain went; I saw her overhang the place— And—she was young and innocent— I heard her say with simple grace, “Indeed she has a pretty face; And if she had a spring-flower wreath, How well ’twould sit upon her brow; And she might hear the shepherd breathe, Yes! thou shalt be my maiden now! The shepherd—’midst his fleecy drove, Goes like a moon the stars above.”

ASSIGNATION.

MAIDEN! let us share each other’s kisses! Tell me, tell me, where shall be our meeting, In thy garden, or in mine, sweet maiden? Under thine, or under my green rose-tree; Thou shalt be a rose, my gentle angel: I to a fond butterfly will change me, Everlastingly o’er thee to flutter— On thy flowers untired I will suspend me, Living blest upon mine own love’s kisses.

FOOLISH VOW.

THE maiden made a foolish vow: “I’ll never wear a flow’ret now;— No flow’ret shall be ever mine— I’ll never drink the proffer’d wine, No wine I’ll drink—no friend I’ll kiss, No, never more—my vow is this.” So rashly, rashly spoke the maid, But soon—ah, soon—repentance said:

“A flowery garland o’er me, How beautiful ’twould be: And wine—it would restore me, My heart’s own gaiety: And love might play before me, If one sweet kiss were free.”

VILAS.

VISHNIA! {157a} lovely vishnia! Lift thy branches higher; For beneath thy branches, Vilas {157b} dance delighted: While Radisha {157c} dashes From the flow’rs the dewdrops. Vilas two conveying, To the third he whispers: “O be mine, sweet Vila! Thou, with mine own mother, In the shade shalt seat thee; Silken vestments spinning, Weaving golden garments.”

LEPOTA. {158}

LEPOTA went forth to the harvest—she held A sickle of silver in fingers of gold: And the sun mounted high o’er the parched harvest field; And the maiden in song all her sympathies told. “I’ll give my white forehead to him who shall bind All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scatter’d behind: I’ll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring; And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade, I will be—and for aye—an affectionate maid.”

And she thought that her words were all wasted in air: But a shepherd—just watching his sheepfold, was there; And he flew, and with sedges he bound all the sheaves; And he made her an arbor of haslewood leaves; And he ran to the spring, and he brought the sweet water; And he look’d on the face of Beauty’s young daughter, And he said, “Lovely maiden, thy promise I claim;” But the cheeks of the maiden were cover’d with shame, And she said to the shepherd, while blushing—“Not so! Go back to thy sheepfold—thou wanderer, go! For if thou didst bind the loose sheaves, thou hast left Thy sheep in the stubble, to wander bereft; And if from the fountain the water thou beared’st, Its freshness and coolness thou equally shared’st; And if thou hast reared up an arbor of shade, For thyself as for me its refreshment was made.”

IMPRECATIONS.

THROUGH the long night a falcon cried, “Awake, awake thee! youth! anon Thy maiden will become a bride: She puts her marriage garments on. Awake! awake thee, youth! and send A marriage blessing to thy friend.”

“What! shall I be a marriage guest? And shall I bid the maid be blest? Hear then my marriage blessing, hear! No son her barren womb shall bear: May every bit of bread she breaks Bring with it wretchedness and woe,— For every drop her thirst that slakes May tears of bitter anguish flow!”

SECRETS DIVULGED.

Two lovers kiss each other in the meadows; They think that no one sees the fond betrayal, But the green meadows see them, and are faithless; To the white flocks incontinent they say all; And the white flocks proclaim it to the shepherd, The shepherd to a high-road traveller brings it; He to a sailor on the restless ocean tells it, The sailor to his spice-ship thoughtless sings it; The spice-ship whispers it upon the waters, The waters rush to tell the maiden’s mother.

And thus impassioned spoke the lovely maiden— “Meadows! of spring-days never see another! Flocks! may the cruel ravenous wolves destroy ye. Thee, shepherd! may the cruel Moslem slaughter. Wanderer! may oft thy slippery footsteps stumble. Thee, sailor! may the ocean billows smother. Ship! may a fire unquenchable consume thee; And sink into the earth, thou treacherous water!”

WISHES.

O THAT I were a little stream, That I might flow to him—to him! How should I dance with joy, when knowing To whom my sparkling wave was flowing! Beneath his window would I glide, And linger there till morning-tide; When first he rouses him to dress In comely garb his manliness,— Then should he weak, or thirsty be, O he might stoop to drink of me! Or baring there his bosom, lave That bosom in my rippling wave. O what a bliss, if I could bear The cooling power of quiet there!

LOVER ASLEEP.

O NIGHTINGALE! thy warblings cease, And let my master sleep in peace: ’Twas I who lull’d him to repose, And I will wake him from his rest; I’ll seek the sweetest flower that grows, And bear it to his presence blest; And gently touch his cheeks, and say, “Awake, my master! for ’tis day.”

EARLY SORROWS

O NIGHTINGALE! sweet bird—they say, That peace abides with thee; But thou hast brought from day to day A triple woe to me. The first, first woe my spirit knew, My first, first woe was this, My mother never train’d me to A lover’s early bliss. My second woe, my second woe, Was that my trusty steed, Whene’er I mounted, seem’d to show Nor eagerness nor speed. My third, third woe—of all the worst, Is that the maid I woo, The maid I lov’d the best—the first, Is angry with me too. Then grave an early grave for me, Yon whiten’d fields among; In breadth two lances let it be, And just four lances long. And o’er my head let roses grow, There plant the red-rose tree; And at my feet a fount shall flow, O scoop that fount for me! So when a youthful swain appears, The roses he shall wreathe; And when an old man bent with years, He’ll drink the stream beneath.

THE YOUNG SHEPHERDS.

THE sheep, beneath old Buda’s wall, Their wonted quiet rest enjoy; But ah! rude stony fragments fall, And many a silk-wool’d sheep destroy; Two youthful shepherds perish there, The golden George, and Mark the fair.

For Mark, O many a friend grew sad, And father, mother wept for him: George—father, friend, nor mother had, For him no tender eye grew dim: Save one—a maiden far away, She wept—and thus I heard her say:

“My golden George—and shall a song, A song of grief be sung for thee— ’Twould go from lip to lip—ere long By careless lips profaned to be; Unhallow’d thoughts might soon defame The purity of woman’s name.

“Or shall I take thy picture fair, And fix that picture in my sleeve? Ah! time will soon the vestment tear, And not a shade, nor fragment leave: I’ll give not him I love so well To what is so corruptible.

“I’ll write thy name within a book; That book will pass from hand to hand, And many an eager eye will look, But ah! how few will understand! And who their holiest thoughts can shroud From the cold insults of the crowd?” {168}

THOUGHTS OF A MOTHER.

Lo! a fir-tree towers o’er Sarajevo, Spreads o’er half the face of Sarajevo— Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo: Brothers and half-sisters there were seated; And the brother cuts a silken garment, Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:

“Brother’s wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet! Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree? Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar, Or art thinking of my absent brother?”

To her brother thus the lady answer’d: “Golden-ring of mine! my husband’s brother! Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming, Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar; Neither was I dreaming of my brother. I was thinking of my only mother, She with sugar and with honey reared me; She for me the red wine pour’d at even, And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin; In the morning milk, with spirit chasten’d, So to give me cheeks of rose and lily; And with gentle messages she waked me, That her child might grow both tall and slender.”

COUNSEL.

“MY Misho! tell me, tell me, pray, Where wert thou wandering yesterday?” ‘I did not ramble—did not roam; A wretched head-ache kept me home.’ “A thousand times I’ve said, I think, No widows love—no water drink! But thou, a thoughtless unbeliever, Wilt water drink, and get a fever; Wilt give to widows thine affection, And find remorse, or find rejection; Now take my counsel,—drink of wine, And be a virgin maiden thine!”

DESOLATION.

GLOOMY night! how full thou art of darkness! Thou, my heart! art fuller yet of sorrow, Sorrow which I bear, but cannot utter! I have now no mother who will hear me, I have now no sister who will soothe me,— Yet I had a friend—but he is absent! Ere he comes, the night will be departed; Ere he wakes, the birds will sing their matins; Ere his kiss, the twilight hour will brighten: Go thy way, my friend! the day is dawning!

APPREHENSION.

“SWEET maiden mine! thou blushing rose! Sweet, blushing roselet mine! For me, what thought of honey flows From those sweet lips of thine?” ‘I dare not speak with thee, my dear, My mother has forbid me.’ “Sweet maid! thy mother is not here.” ‘She saw me once, and chid me. Sir, she is in the garden there, Plucking the evergreen:— O may her heart like mine decay, Like mine decay unseen,— Ere love’s sweet power has pass’d away, As it had never been.’

MILITZA.

LONG and lovely are Militza’s eyebrows, And they overhang her cheeks of roses— Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead. Three long years have I beheld the maiden, Could not look upon her eyes so lovely— On her eyes—nor on her snowy forehead. To our country dance I lured the maiden, Lured Militza,—lured her to our dances, Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.

While they danced upon the greensward, verdant In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather’d, And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning, And the maidens all look’d up to heaven,— All the maidens—all, except Militza. She still look’d on the green grass, untrembling, While the maidens trembled as they whisper’d:

“O Militza! thou our friend and playmate, Art thou overwise—or art thou silly? Thus to look upon the grass beneath us, And not look up to the heaven above us, To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them.”

And Militza gave this quiet answer: “I am neither overwise nor silly. Not the _Vila_, {176} not the cloud-upgatherer; I am yet a maid—and look before me.”

THE CHOICE.

HE slept beneath a poplar tree: And three young maidens cross’d the way; I listened to the lovely three, And heard them to each other say:— “Now what is dearest, love! to thee?” The eldest said—‘Young Ranko’s ring Would be to me the dearest thing.’ “No! not for me,” the second cried; “I’d choose the girdle from his side.” ‘Not I,’ the youngest said—‘In truth, I’ll rather have the sleeping youth. The ring, O sister! will grow dim, The girdle will ere long be broken; But this is an eternal token,— His love for me, and mine for him.’

FOR WHOM?

SWEET fountain, that so freshly flows! And thou, my own carnation-rose, That shinest like a shining gem! And shall I tear thee from thy stem? For whom? my mother? ah! for whom? My mother slumbers in the tomb. For whom? my sister? she has fled, To seek a foreign bridal bed. For whom? my brother? he is far, Far off, in dark and bloody war. For whom, for whom, but thee, my love? But thou art absent far above, Above these three green mountains, Beyond these three fresh fountains!

LIBERTY.

NIGHTINGALE sings sweetly In the verdant forest; In the verdant forest, On the slender branches.

Thither came three sportsmen, Nightingale to shoot at. She implored the sportsmen, “Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!