{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39028/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39028","id":"gutenberg_39028","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39028","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads, Serbian","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Folk songs, Serbian","Serbian poetry -- History and criticism","Serbian poetry -- Translations into English"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1827 Baldwin, Cradock and Joy edition by David\nPrice, email ccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                          \u041d\u0410\u0420\u041e\u0414\u041d\u0415 \u0421\u0420\u041f\u0421\u041a\u0415 \u041f\u0408\u0415\u0421\u041c\u0415.\n\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                         SERVIAN POPULAR POETRY,\n\n                              TRANSLATED BY\n\n                              JOHN BOWRING.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n   [Picture: Serbian italic text, possibly \u0413\u043e\u0448\u043f\u0435, \u0431\u0440\u0430\u0442\u0456\u0430, \u0434\u0430 \u0432\u0430\u043c \u0440\u0446\u0458\u0435\u0447\n                                 \u041a\u0430\u0436\u0435\u0446!]\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                         PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR:\n           SOLD BY BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY, PATERNOSTER-ROW:\n                AND ROWLAND HUNTER, ST. PAUL\u2019S CHURCHYARD.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                  1827.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.\n\n\n\n\nTO\nDR. STEPH. VUK KARADJICH.\n\n\n   MY friend! it is thou, it is thou\n      Who hast usher\u2019d these gems into day;\n   \u2019Tis my pride and my privilege now\n      To honour\u2014I fain would repay\n   Thy toils, and would bind round thy brow\n      The laurels that grow o\u2019er thy lay.\n\n   We knew that the sun-light shone fair\n      On thy Servia;\u2014we knew \u2019twas a clime\n   Of mountains and streams, where the air\n      Was fragrant,\u2014though history and time\n   Had rear\u2019d not their pyramids there:\n      But we knew not the spirit sublime\n\n   Of music, and pathos, and song,\n      Look\u2019d down from the towers of Belgrad,\n   Had dwelt in the M\u014drava long,\n   In the garb of Trebunia was clad;\n      We welcome thee now to the throng\n   Of _our_ muses, rejoicing and glad.\n\n   Unborrow\u2019d the light thou hast shed,\n      Though mild as the light of the moon:\n   Thy flowers, from thine own native bed,\n      Thou hast gather\u2019d and given: Not soon\n   Shall they fade; and thy music shall spread,\n      And voices unnumber\u2019d attune.\n\n   My song will but fall on thine ear,\n      As a voice that appeals to the grave:\n   In vain I invite thee to hear:\n      Go, happy enthusiast! and save\n   From time\u2019s storm the memorials so dear,\n      Which had else been o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d in its wave.\n\n   Thy tenement is but of clay;\n      Thou art frailer than most of us be:\n   Yet a sunshine has lighted thy way,\n      Whose effluence is sunshine to me:\u2014\n   And \u2019tis sweet o\u2019er thy Servia to stray,\n      And to listen, pale minstrel! to thee.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nIN the middle of the seventh century, a number of Slavonian tribes\nstretched themselves along the Sava and the Danube, down to the Black\nSea, and founded, at different times, no less than six separate kingdoms,\nthose of Bulgaria, Croatia, Servia, Bosnia, Slavonia, and Dalmatia; under\nthe name _Srb_, the four last of these nations must be considered as\ncomprised.  Their earlier history it is not easy to trace.  Slavonian\nwriters are disposed to represent the Maestid\u00e6, who made an incursion\ninto Italy during the age of Claudius Tacitus (A.D. 276), as synonymous\nwith the Sarmat\u00e6; and Kopitar (a high authority) has gathered much\nevidence to prove that the dialect spoken in the district to the east of\nSparta is of Slavonic origin.  Leake has remarked, that many of the names\nof places in the Morea are Slavonian,\u2014Kastanika, Sitina, Gorica, and\nothers.  In the neighbourhood of Sparta is a town called \u03a3\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1\u03c6\u03bf\u03c7\u03c9\u03c1\u1f76, and\nit is notorious, that the language of several of the islands of the\nGrecian Archipelago, Hydra for example, is Slavonic.  The original\nmeaning of the word _Srb_, it is not easy to fix.  Some derive it from\n_Srp_, a _sickle_, _others from Sibir_, _Sever_, _the north_; others from\n_Sarmat_, or _Sarmatian_; some from the Latin _Servus_; but Dobrowsky\nsays, \u201cSignificatum radicis _Srb_, consultis etiam dialectis omnibus,\nnondum licuit eruere.\u201d {0a}  In the year 640, the Servians built, with\nthe permission of Heraclius, the city of Servica, on the banks of the\nDanube.  Little can be traced of their history till, under Vlastimir, at\nthe end of the ninth century, they were the tributaries of the Greeks.\nAt this period, they appear to have been engaged in wars with the\nBulgarians, whom they subdued.  At the beginning of the 11th century,\nVladimir assumed the title of king of Servia.  Afterwards, during the\nreign of Tzedomil, the Servians acknowledged the Roman authority, and\nleagued themselves with its emperors against Comnenus the Grecian\nmonarch, in consequence of which Comnenus marched upon Servia (in 1151),\nsubdued its inhabitants, and led their leader Tzedomil into captivity.\nThe submission of the latter obtained his release; but the Servians,\nimpatient of foreign control, made another attempt to free themselves,\nbut were defeated on the banks of the Morava, by Isaac Angelos, in 1192,\nwhen Stephen Nemana was proclaimed monarch, with the title of _Despot_.\nHis successor, Stephen Nemanich, was driven from his throne by the\nHungarians, and his brother Vuk Nemanich was proclaimed king or _Kral_ of\nServia, under Hungarian authority.  He reigned for a very short period,\nand the regal power again reverted to Stephen.  At this period, however,\nseparate from, and almost independent of monarchical authority, a number\nof dukes, princes, and _Bans_, exercised a sway in Servia; Bosnia, then\ncalled Rama, South Bosnia or Herzegovina, and Rascia, that part of\nsouthern Servia, through which the river Raska flows, were frequently\ndetached from, and as frequently re-united to Servia proper.  Milutin\nUrosh, who reigned from 1275 to 1321, was subdued by Charles the First of\nHungaria.  Soon after arose the monarch who is one of the most\nillustrious names in Servian song and Servian story, Dushan Silni (Dushan\nthe mighty), who carried on several successful campaigns against the\nGreeks, and recovered many of the lost provinces of his country.  He took\nthe title of Tzar, {0b} and was succeeded by that ill-fated Lazar, whose\ndefeat by the sultan Murad (Amurath), on the field of Kosova (June 15,\n1389), is the subject of so many of the melancholy ballads of the\nServians.  Murad was stabbed by the Servian Molosh Obilich, and Lazar was\nexecuted in the Mussulmans\u2019 camp.  Murad\u2019s brother (Bajazet), divided\nServia between the two sons of Lazar, who did homage and paid heavy\ntribute.  Since then, no dawn of liberty has shone upon Servia.  Reduced\nto be the bloody theatre of the fierce wars which have been carried on\nbetween the Turks and Hungarians, every struggle for freedom\u2014each feebler\nthan the former one, has only served to deteriorate her condition, and to\ndestroy her hopes.  In 1459, Servia was treated solely as a conquered\nprovince,\u2014her most respectable families banished or destroyed, while,\nfrom time to time, vast numbers of Servians emigrated into Hungary.  In\n1481, prince Pavo Brankovich made an irruption into Servia, and after\ndefeating the Turks in several battles, headed 50,000 Servians, who fixed\nthemselves as colonists under the protection of Hungary.  In 1689, many\nthousand Servians flocked to the army of Leopold the First.  The\nfollowing year, the patriarch Tzernovich led into Sirmia and Slavonia\nnearly sixty thousand Servian families.  By the treaty of Passarovich, in\n1718, the greater part of Servia was transferred to the Austrians.  It\nreverted back to the Porte in 1739.  In 1759, a vast number of Servians\nemigrated into Russia, and peopled Newservia, but they have since been\ncompletely blended with the Russians, whose language they soon adopted.\nAt the beginning of the present century, Servia was again released from\nthe Turkish sway, and under the auspices of the Austrian emperor, is now\ngoverned by a _Knes_, or prince, whose name is Milosh Obrenowich. {0c}\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThere are four provinces or governments (Sandshaks), Semendria, Perserin,\nVeltshterin, and Aladshahissar, consisting of nearly a million of\nServians, subjected to Turkish authority.  The greater part of these are\nChristians of the Greek Church.  The number of Servians who recognise the\n_Greek Church_ is estimated by Schaffarik at 2,526,000. {0d}\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe various idioms of the Slavonian language may, without exception, be\ntraced up to one single stem, the old or church Slavonic.  From this one\nsource, two great streams flow forth; the northern, comprehending the\nBohemian, Polish, and Russian; and the southern, composed of the\nHungarian, Bulgarian, and Servian tongues.  The latter branches were much\nless extensively employed than the former.  About a million and a half of\nmen speak the Hungarian; not more than half a million the Bulgarian,\nwhich in Macedonia has been superseded by the Romaic, the Albanian, and\nthe Turkish; while the Servian idiom, the most cultivated, the most\ninteresting, and the most widely spread of all the southern Slavonian\ndialects, is the language of about five millions, of whom about two\nmillions are Mahommedans. {0e}\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe vicinity of Greece and Italy modified and mellowed the language of\nServia, which is, in fact, the Russian hellenized, deprived of its\nhardiness and its consonant terminations, and softened down into a\nperfect instrument for poetry and music. {0f}  Of the descendants from\nthe ancient Slavonic, it is more closely allied to the Russian and\nWindish idioms, than to the Bohemian or Polish.  Vuk Karadjich divides it\ninto three distinct dialects, the _Herzegovinian_, or that spoken in\nBosnia, Montenegro, Dalmatia, and Croatia; the _Sirmian_, which is used\nin Sirmia and Slavonian and the _Resavian_.  No doubt the Servian\nlanguage has been considerably influenced by the Turkish, but though it\nhas been enriched by oriental words, it has not adopted an oriental\nconstruction.  Schaffarik, in describing the different Slavonic tongues,\nsays, fancifully but truly, that \u201cServian song resembles the tune of the\nviolin; Old Slavonian, that of the organ; Polish, that of the guitar.\nThe Old Slavonian in its psalms, sounds like the loud rush of the\nmountain stream; the Polish, like the bubbling and sparkling of a\nfountain; and the Servian like the quiet murmuring of a streamlet in the\nvalley.\u201d\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe Servian alphabet consists of only twenty-eight letters, which is\ntwenty less than the old Slavonic, and seven less than the Russian.  The\nletters \u042a (dj), \u0402 (tj), and \u040f the soft g of the Italians, are unknown to\nthe Russians, and the Servians have added two letters to their alphabet,\nby combining the \u042c of the Russians with \u0410 and \u041d, making \u0409 and \u040a, which\nare equivalent to the Italian gl and gn, the Spanish ll and \u00f1, and the\nPortuguese lh and nh.  They have wholly dismissed the \u0411, which so\nconstantly and so uselessly occurs in the church Slavonic and Russian.\n\nNo traces of Servian literature go beyond the thirteenth century. {0g}\nThe Hexaemeron of Basil, the Bulgarian exarch, written in 1263, and the\nEpistle of Damian, in 1324, are both in the old church Slavonian tongue.\nThe first Servian literary record is the _Rodoslov_ of Daniel, archbishop\nof Servia, which is a chronicle of the four kings who were his\ncontemporaries (from 1272 to 1336), beginning with Urosh.  This book is a\nvaluable register of the laws enacted during his life, and throws much\nlight on early Servian history.  An almanack, entitled _Ljetopis_, of\nthis period, also exists; and of a somewhat later period, the\n_Tzarostavnik_, or _Register of Princes_, by an unknown author.  Dushan,\nwith whose name the Servians associate all that is glorious, caused a\nbook of laws to be written for the use of his kingdom, which breathe a\nmilder and kinder spirit than would be expected in an age and among a\npeople so little instructed.  They contain some remarkable provisions in\nfavour of travellers and strangers; and not only compel hospitality, but\nprotect property, by making the host responsible for its security.  The\nbattle of Kosova introduced a long night of darkness and desolation into\nServia; and though a few religious books were published soon after the\ninvention of printing, no one work of the slightest interest appeared\ntill the end of the 17th century, when George Brankovich, {0h} the last\nof the Servian _despots_, wrote a history of Servia, bringing it down to\nthe time of Leopold the First.  In 1758, Demetrius Theodosijev\nestablished a Servian press.  In 1796, the Austrian government granted a\nmonopoly of all Servian literature to the university of Ofen, by\nsuppressing all printing-presses elsewhere.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThough it is not my intention to write a general history of the\nliterature of Servia, in introducing one interesting branch of it to the\nEnglish reader, I cannot but slightly refer to the essential services it\nhas received from a few distinguished writers.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n_John Raich_ was born in Karlovitz in 1726, and died in 1801.  He\nreceived his elementary education from the Jesuits in Komorn, removed to\nthe evangelical school at Oedenburg, and completed his studies at Kiev.\nHe afterwards visited the famous convent of Chilendar (on Mount Athos),\nwhich was built and endowed by Shupan Nemana, who died there as a monk,\nhaving taken the name of Simeon.  Raich was ultimately chosen\narchimandrite of the convent of Kovil, in Chaskisten bataillon.  His\nprincipal work, printed at Vienna (1792\u20135), is his history of the\nSlavonian people. {0i}  He also wrote a history of Servia, Rasza, Bosnia,\nand Rama (Vienna, 1793); a tragedy on the death of the Tzar Urosh (Ofen,\n1798); and many theological treatises.  He uses the church Slavonian\ndialect, but his style is full of Servian and Russian phraseology, which\nhe perhaps adopted as likely to recommend his productions.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n_Dosithei Obradovich_, who was born in 1739, and died in 1811, was the\nfirst who ventured to apply the popular language to the purposes of\nliterature.  His birth-place was Chakovo in the _Banat_ of Temeshvar, and\nat the age of fourteen he became a monk in the Opovo convent.  Here he\nwas too restless to remain, and having determined to see foreign\ncountries, he travelled for a quarter of a century, and visited Greece,\nAlbania, Italy, Turkey, Russia, Germany, France, and England.  The love\nof home had mastered the desire of change, and he returned to Servia,\nwhen he was made a senator at Belgrad, and appointed to superintend the\neducation of the children of Tzerny George.  He published at Leipzig, in\n1783, an auto-biography, entitled \u201c_Tzivot i prikliuchenjia D.\nObranovicza_,\u201d besides sundry poems and fables, and moral treatises.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n_Demetrius Davidovich_ has greatly assisted in elevating the language of\nthe Servian people to the best purposes of literary instruction.  He is\n(I believe at this time) the secretary to Milosh, the hospodar of Servia.\nFor many years he edited a Servian newspaper at Vienna, and has annually\npublished a Servian almanack (_Zabavnik_), in which are many interesting\nparticulars respecting the literary and political history of his country.\nThe indisposition on the part of the superintendents of schools in\nServia, to employ the popular tongue as the instrument of education, has\nbeen long the ban of civilization, and the barrier to national\nimprovement.  But of late the influence of those who have endeavoured to\nmake literature subserve the interests and the happiness of the many\nrather than the few, has led to the dismissal of Slavonian, and the\nsubstitution of Servian books.  A controversy, with much controversial\nbitterness, is at the present moment carried on in Servia (where, as\nelsewhere, to be dignified is by some thought better than to be useful,\nand to please a few pedants is deemed more worthy of ambition than to\ninstruct a whole people), between the advocates of the antiquated\nSlavonic, and those whose simple and intelligible maxim is, \u201cwrite as you\nspeak, if you would be understood;\u201d and of the latter every year adds\ngreatly to the numbers.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nBut of all the writers of Servia, he from whom the volumes emanate whence\nthese translations are taken, is beyond comparison the most attractive\nand the most popular.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n_Stephanovich Karadjich Vuk_ was born on the 26th October, O. S., in the\nyear 1787, at _Trshich_, an obscure village in Turkish Servia (Iadar),\nnear the town of Losnitza and the river Drina, at a short distance from\nthe Austrian and Hungarian frontier, where, however, the Servian language\nis spoken with far more purity than in the larger towns.  In his early\nyouth he passed the borders, and received his education at the Gymnasium\nof the dissidents from the Greek church at Karlovitz.  There his school\ninstruction began and ended; but having visited Vienna, intercourse there\nwith intelligent and instructed men led to the development of the natural\npowers of his mind, and directed his inquiries to the hidden stores of\npopular literature which his country possessed.  A feeble and crippled\nframe unfitted him for bodily labour, and all his thoughts and all his\nardour attached themselves to intellectual exertions.  He began his\nliterary career at Vienna, and published in 1814 his Servian Grammar, and\na century of Servian songs; but the embarrassments of the censorship\ninduced him to seek a freer field for the publication of his works, and\nhe removed to Leipzig, where the edition, in three volumes, of his\npopular Servian poetry, appeared in 1823\u20134.  He soon obtained high\nreputation there, and received the diploma of doctor in philosophy, and\nwas elected to many literary distinctions.  The emperor Nicholas, in that\nspirit so honourable to many of the autocrats of Russia, has conferred on\nhim a yearly pension of 100 ducats; and he now pursues his interesting\ninquiries, and from time to time exerts that creating and regenerating\npower which has called the poetry of Servia into existence, and\nestablished for it a permanent reputation. {0j}\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe Servians must be reckoned among those races who vibrated between the\nnorth and the east; possessing to-day, dispossessed to-morrow; now fixed,\nand now wandering: having their head-quarters in Sarmatia for many\ngenerations, in Macedonia for following ones, and settling in Servia at\nlast.  But to trace their history, as to trace their course, is\nimpossible.  At last the eye fixes them between the Sava and the Danube,\nand Belgrade grows up as the central point round which the power of\nServia gathers itself together, and stretches itself along the right bank\nof the former river, southwards to the range of mountains which spread to\nthe Adriatic and to the verge of Montengro.  Looking yet closer, we\nobserve the influence of the Venetians and the Hungarians on the\ncharacter and the literature of the Servians.  We track their connexion\nnow as allies, and now as masters; once the receivers of tribute from,\nand anon as tributaries to, the Grecian empire; and in more modern times\nthe slaves of the Turkish yoke.  Every species of vicissitude marks the\nServian annals,\u2014annals represented only by those poetical productions of\nwhich these are specimens.  The question of their veracity is a far more\ninteresting one than that of their antiquity.  Few of them narrate events\nprevious to the invasion of Europe by the Turks in 1355, but some refer\nto facts coeval with the Mussulman empire in Adrianople.  More numerous\nare the records of the struggle between the Moslem and the Christian\nparties at a later period; and last of all, they represent the quiet and\nfriendly intercourse between the two religions, if not blended in social\naffections, at least associated in constant communion. {0k}\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe earliest poetry of the Servians has a heathenish character; {0l} that\nwhich follows is leagued with Christian legends.  But holy deeds are\nalways made the condition of salvation.  The whole nation, to use the\nidea of G\u00f6the, is imaged in poetical superstition.  Events are brought\nabout by the agency of angels, but the footsteps of Satan can be nowhere\ntraced;\u2014the dead are often summoned from their tombs;\u2014awful warnings,\nprophecies, and birds of evil omen, bear terror to the minds of the most\ncourageous.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nOver all is spread the influence of a remarkable and, no doubt, antique\nmythology.  An omnipresent spirit\u2014airy and fanciful\u2014making its dwelling\nin solitudes\u2014and ruling over mountains and forests\u2014a being called the\n_Vila_, is heard to issue its irresistible mandates, and pour forth its\nprophetic inspiration: sometimes in a form of female beauty\u2014sometimes a\nwilder Diana\u2014now a goddess gathering or dispersing the clouds, and now an\nowl among ruins and ivy.  The Vila, always capricious, and frequently\nmalevolent, is a most important actor in all the popular poetry of\nServia.  The _Trica polonica_ is sacred to her.  She is equally renowned\nfor the beauty of her person and the swiftness of her step:\u2014\u201cFair as the\nmountain Vila,\u201d is the highest compliment to a Servian lady\u2014\u201cSwift as the\nVila,\u201d is the most eloquent eulogium on a Servian steed.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nOf the amatory poems of the Servians, G\u00f6the justly remarks, that, when\nviewed all together, they cannot but be deemed of singular beauty; they\nexhibit the expressions of passionate, overflowing, and contented\naffection; they are full of shrewdness and spirit; delight and surprise\nare admirably pourtrayed; and there is, in all, a marvellous sagacity in\nsubduing difficulties and in obtaining an end; a natural, but at the same\ntime vigorous and energetic tone; sympathies and sensibilities, without\nwordy exaggeration, but which, notwithstanding, are decorated with\npoetical imagery and imaginative beauty; a correct picture of Servian\nlife and manners,\u2014everything, in short, which gives to passion the force\nof truth, and to external scenery the character of reality.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe poetry of Servia was wholly traditional, until within a very few\nyears.  It had never found a pen to record it, but has been preserved by\nthe people, and principally by those of the lower classes, who had been\naccustomed to listen and to sing these interesting compositions to the\nsound of a simple three-stringed instrument, called a _Gusle_; and it is\nmentioned by G\u00f6the, that when some Servians who had visited Vienna were\nrequested to write down the songs they had sung, they expressed the\ngreatest surprise that such simple poetry and music as theirs should\npossess any interest for intelligent and cultivated minds.  They\napprehended, they said, that the artless compositions of their country\nwould be the subject of scorn or ridicule to those whose poetry was so\npolished and so sublime.  And this feeling must have been ministered to\nby the employment, even in Servia, of a language no longer spoken, for\nthe productions of literature, though it is certain the natural\naffections, the everyday thoughts and associations could not find fit\nexpression in the old church dialect:\n\n               \u201cThe talk\n   Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk\n   Of the mind\u2019s business, is the undoubted stalk\n   \u201c_True song_\u201d doth grow on.\u201d\n\nThe collection of popular songs, _Narodne __srpske pjesme_, from which\nmost of those which occupy this volume are taken, was made by Vuk, and\ncommitted to paper either from early recollections, or from the\nrepetition of Servian minstrels.  These, he informs us, and his statement\nis corroborated by every intelligent traveller, form a very small portion\nof the treasure of song which exists unrecorded among the peasantry.  How\nso much of beautiful anonymous poetry should have been created in so\nperfect a form, is a subject well worthy of inquiry.  Among a people who\nlook to music and song as a source of enjoyment, the habit of\nimprovisation grows up imperceptibly, and engages all the fertilities of\nimagination in its exercise.  The thought which first finds vent in a\npoetical form, if worth preservation, is polished and perfected as it\npasses from lip to lip, till it receives the stamp of popular approval,\nand becomes as it were a national possession.  There is no text-book, no\nauthentic record, to which it can be referred, whose authority should\ninterfere with its improvement.  The poetry of a people is a common\ninheritance, which one generation transfers sanctioned and amended to\nanother.  Political adversity, too, strengthens the attachment of a\nnation to the records of its ancient prosperous days.  The harps may be\nhung on the willows for a while, during the storm and the struggle, but\nwhen the tumult is over, they will be strung again to repeat the old\nsongs, and recall the time gone by.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nThe historical ballads, which are in lines composed of five trochaics,\nare always sung with the accompaniment of the _Gusle_.  At the end of\nevery verse, the singer drops his voice, and mutters a short cadence.\nThe emphatic passages are chanted in a louder tone.  \u201cI cannot describe,\u201d\nsays Wessely, \u201cthe pathos with which these songs are sometimes sung.  I\nhave witnessed crowds surrounding a blind old singer, and every cheek was\nwet with tears\u2014it was not the music, it was the words which affected\nthem.\u201d  As this simple instrument, the Gusle, is never used but to\naccompany the poetry of the Servians, and as it is difficult to find a\nServian who does not play upon it, the universality of their popular\nballads may be well imagined.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nIndependently of the measure of ten syllables, universally used in the\nballads of the Servians, they have verses of seven syllables, consisting\nof two trochaics and one dactyl:\n\n   W\u012dlt tho\u016d l\u014dve thy\u0306 M\u012bl\u012dtz\u0103?\n\nOf eight syllables, consisting of four trochaics: as,\n\n   H\u0101st\u0103n \u014dnw\u0103rd t\u014d th\u011b w\u0113dd\u012dng.\n\nAnd of one trochaic between two dactyls:\n\n   M\u0113rr\u012dly\u0306, d\u0101nc\u012dng, m\u0113rr\u012dly\u0306.\n\nOf ten syllables, two trochaics and two dactyls:\n\n   M\u014dr\u0103v\u0103\u2019s b\u0101nks \u0103re tr\u014dd by\u0306 th\u011b m\u0101id\u0115n.\n\nOf twelve syllables, composed of two trochaics and one iambic:\n\n   G\u014d th\u011bn, K\u016bm, th\u014fu l\u014dv\u2019d \u014fne, w\u0101its sh\u011b f\u014fr th\u0113e.\n\nAnd of thirteen syllables, namely, four trochaics, a dactyl, and a\nclosing trochaic:\n\n   L\u014dok \u0103ro\u016bnd, th\u014fu l\u014dv\u011bly Cr\u0113t\u0103, sm\u012bl\u012dngly l\u014fok r\u014dund.\n\nThe translations which have appeared in Germany under the name of Talvj\nare the work of an amiable woman (Theresa von Jacob), who having passed\nthe earlier part of her life in Russia, and possessing a mind cultivated\nby literature, and captivated by the natural beauties of Servian poetry,\nhas most successfully devoted herself to their diffusion.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nProfessor Eugenius Wessely, of Vinkovcze in Slavonia, has also published\na small volume of Translations from the Nuptial Songs of the Servians;\n{0m} the renderings have the merit of perfect fidelity, and his\nintroduction contains many interesting illustrations of Servian manners.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nIn the following translations I have, in all the narrative poetry,\npreserved the original measure.  _Rhyme_ is seldom used by the Servians.\nIt is found in some of the shorter lyrical pieces, in the rendering of\nwhich I have allowed myself some latitude of expression.  But the wish,\nabove all things, to preserve most faithfully the character of the\noriginal, has prevented my introducing many very obvious decorations, and\nmy veiling many equally obvious defects.  To fidelity, at least, this\nvolume may lay an honest claim.  I have endeavoured to avail myself of\nall the authors who have written on the subject, particularly of the\nvaluable criticisms of Dr. Kopitar in the Vienna _Iahrbuch der\nLitteratur_, of the works of G\u00f6the, Grimm, and Vater.  The notes attached\nto Talvj\u2019s translation I have employed, without any special reference to\nthem.\n\n\n\n\nHISTORICAL, TRADITIONAL, AND RELIGIOUS BALLADS.\n\n\nABDUCTION OF THE BEAUTIFUL ICONIA.\n\n\n   GOLDEN wine drinks Theodore of Stalach, {3}\n   In his Castle Stalach, on Morava;\n   Pours him out the wine his aged mother.\n   While the wine-fumes to his head were rising,\n   Thus his mother spoke unto the hero:\n\n      \u201cSon of mine! thou Theodore of Stalach!\n   Tell me, wherefore hast thou not espoused thee?\n   Thou art in thy youthful days of beauty;\n   In thy dwelling now thine aged mother\n   Fain would see thy children play around her.\u201d\n\n   And he answer\u2019d\u2014Theodore of Stalach\u2014\n   \u201cGod is witness, O my aged mother!\n   I have roamed through many a land and city,\n   But I never found the sought-for maiden;\n   Or, when found the maiden, found I never\n   Friendly feelings in thy mind towards her;\n   And where thou hast shown thy friendly feeling,\n   There I found the maiden false and faithless.\n   But, as yesterday, at hour of sunset,\n   I was wandering near Resava\u2019s river,\n   Lo! I glanced on thirty lovely maidens\n   On its banks their yarn and linen bleaching:\n   \u2019Midst them was the beauteous Iconia,\n   Fairest daughter of the Prince Milutin,\n   He the princely sovereign of Resava.\n   She, indeed, would be a bride to cherish;\n   She, indeed, were worthy of thy friendship:\n   But that maiden is betrothed already;\n   She is promised unto George Ir\u0113n\u0113\u2014\n   To Irene, for Sredoi, his kinsman.\n   But I\u2019ll win that maiden\u2014I will win her,\n   Or will perish in the deed, my mother!\u201d\n\n   But his mother counsell\u2019d him and warn\u2019d him\u2014\n   \u201cSay not so, my son! the maid is promised;\n   \u2019Tis no jest! she is of monarchs\u2019 kindred.\u201d\n\n   But the hero cared not for his mother:\n   Loud he called to D\u014dbrivi, his servant\u2014\n   \u201cDobrivi! come hither, trusty servant!\n   Bring my brown steed forth, and make him ready\u2014\n   Make him ready with the silver saddle;\n   Rein him with the gold-embroider\u2019d bridle.\u201d\n   When the steed was ready, forth he hasten\u2019d,\n   Flung him on his back, and spurr\u2019d him onward\n   To the gentle river of Morava,\n   Flowing through Resava\u2019s quiet levels.\n\n   And he reach\u2019d Resava\u2019s gentle river:\n   There again he saw the thirty maidens\u2014\n   There he saw the beauteous Iconia.\n   Then the hero feign\u2019d a sudden sickness;\n   Ask\u2019d for help; and sped her courteous greeting\u2014\n   \u201cGod above be with thee, lovely maiden!\u201d\n   And the loveliest to his words made answer,\n   \u201cAnd with thee be bliss, thou stranger-warrior!\u201d\n\n   \u201cLovely maiden! for the love of heaven,\n   Wilt thou give one cup of cooling water?\n   For a fiery fever glows within me;\n   From my steed I dare not rise, fair maiden!\n   For my steed, he hath a trick of evil\u2014\n   Twice he will not let his rider mount him.\u201d\n\n   Warm and earnest was the maiden\u2019s pity,\n   And, with gentle voice, she thus address\u2019d him:\n   \u201cNay! not so\u2014not so, thou unknown warrior!\n   Harsh and heavy is Resava\u2019s water;\n   Harsh and heavy e\u2019en for healthful warriors;\n   How much worse for fever-sickening tired ones!\n   Wait, and I a cup of wine will bring thee.\u201d\n\n   Swiftly tripp\u2019d the maiden to her dwelling;\n   With a golden cup of wine return\u2019d she,\n   Which she reach\u2019d to Theodore of Stalach.\n   Out he stretch\u2019d his hand; but not the wine cup,\n   But the maiden\u2019s hand, he seized, and flung her,\n   Flung her on his chesnut steed behind him;\n   Thrice he girt her with his leathern girdle,\n   And the fourth time with his sword-belt bound her;\n   And he bore her to his own white {7} dwelling.\n\n\n\nTHE STEPSISTERS.\n\n\n   NEAR each other grew two verdant larches,\n   And, between, a high and slender fir-tree:\n   Not two larches were they\u2014not two larches,\n   Not a high and slender fir between them\u2014\n   They were brothers, children of one mother.\n   One was Paul; the other brother, Radul.\n   And, between them, J\u0113litza, their sister.\n   Cordial was the love her brothers bore her;\n   Many a token of affection gave her,\n   Many a splendid gift and many a trifle,\n   And at last a knife, in silver hafted,\n   And adorn\u2019d with gold, they gave their sister.\n\n   When the youthful wife of Paul had heard it,\n   Jealousy swell\u2019d up within her bosom:\n   And she call\u2019d, enraged, to Radul\u2019s lady:\n   \u201cSister mine! thou in the Lord my sister, {9}\n   Dost thou know some plant of demon-virtue,\n   Which may bring our sister to perdition?\u201d\n   Radul\u2019s wife her sister swiftly answered\u2014\n   \u201cIn the name of God, what mean\u2019st thou sister?\n   Of such cursed weeds I know not.\u2014Did I,\n   Never would I tell thee of them, never;\n   For my brothers love me; yes! they love me\u2014\n   To their love full many a gift bears witness.\u201d\n\n   When Paul\u2019s youthful wife had heard her sister,\n   To the steed she hastened in the meadow,\n   Gave the steed a mortal wound, and hurried\n   To her husband, whom she thus accosted:\u2014\n   \u201cEvil is the love thou bear\u2019st thy sister,\n   And thy gifts are worse than wasted to her;\n   She has stabb\u2019d thy courser in the meadow.\u201d\n\n   Paul inquired of Jelitza, his sister,\n   \u201cWhy this deed, as God shall recompense thee!\u201d\n\n   High and loudly then the maid protested,\n   \u201cBy my life, it was not I, my brother;\n   By my life, and by thy life, I swear it!\u201d\n   And the brother doubted not his sister.\n   Which when Paul\u2019s young wife perceived, at even\n   To the garden secretly she hasten\u2019d,\n   Wrung the neck of Paul\u2019s grey noble falcon,\u2014\n   To her husband sped she then and told him:\n   \u201cEvil is the love thou bear\u2019st thy sister,\n   And thy gifts to her are worse than wasted;\n   Lo! she has destroy\u2019d thy favourite falcon.\u201d\n\n   Paul inquired of Jelitza his sister,\n   \u201cTell me why, and so may God reward thee!\u201d\n\n   But his sister swore both high and loudly,\n   \u201c\u2019Twas not I, upon my life, my brother;\n   On my life and thine, I did not do it!\u201d\n   And the brother still believed his sister.\n   When the youthful bride of Paul discover\u2019d\n   This, she slunk at evening,\u2014evening\u2019s meal-time,\n   Stole the golden knife, and with it murder\u2019d,\n   Murder\u2019d her poor infant in the cradle!\n   And when morning\u2019s dawning brought the morning,\n   She aroused her husband by her screaming\n   Shrieking woe; she tore her cheeks, exclaiming:\n   \u201cEvil is the love thou bear\u2019st thy sister,\n   And thy gifts to her are worse than wasted;\n   She has stabb\u2019d our infant in the cradle!\n   Will thine incredulity now doubt me?\n   Lo! the knife is in thy sister\u2019s girdle.\u201d\n\n   Up sprang Paul, like one possess\u2019d by madness;\n   To the upper floor he hasten\u2019d wildly;\n   There his sister on her mats was sleeping,\n   And the golden knife beneath her pillow.\n   Swift he seized the golden knife,\u2014and drew it\u2014\n   Drew it, panting, from its silver scabbard;\u2014\n   It was damp with blood\u2014\u2019twas red and gory!\n\n   When the noble Paul saw this, he seized her,\u2014\n   Seized her by her own white hand, and cursed her:\n   \u201cLet the curse of God be on thee, sister!\n   Thou didst murder, too, my favourite courser;\n   Thou didst murder, too, my noble falcon;\n   But thou should\u2019st have spared the helpless baby.\u201d\n\n   Higher yet his sister swore, and louder\u2014\n   \u201c\u2019Twas not I, upon my life, my brother;\n   On my life, and on thy life, I swear it!\n   But if thou wilt disregard my swearing,\n   Take me to the open fields\u2014the desert;\n   Bind thy sister to the tails of horses;\n   Let four horses tear my limbs asunder.\u201d\n   But the brother trusted not his sister:\n   Furiously he seized her white hand\u2014bore her\n   To the distant fields\u2014the open desert:\n   To the tails of four fierce steeds he bound her,\n   And he drove them forth across the desert;\u2014\n   But, where\u2019er a drop of blood fell from her,\n   There a flower sprung up,\u2014a fragrant flow\u2019ret;\n   Where her body fell when dead and mangled,\n   There a church arose from out the desert.\n\n   Little time was spent, ere fatal sickness\n   Fell upon Paul\u2019s youthful wife;\u2014the sickness\n   Nine long years lay on her,\u2014heavy sickness!\n   \u2019Midst her bones the matted dog-grass sprouted,\n   And amidst it nestled angry serpents,\n   Which, though hidden, drank her eyelight\u2019s brightness.\n   Then she mourn\u2019d her misery\u2014mourn\u2019d despairing;\n   Thus she spoke unto her lord and husband:\n   \u201cO convey me, Paul, my lord and husband!\n   To thy sister\u2019s church convey me swiftly;\n   For that church, perchance, may heal and save me.\u201d\n\n   So, when Paul had heard his wife\u2019s petition,\n   To his sister\u2019s church he swiftly bore her.\n   Hardly had they reach\u2019d the church\u2019s portal,\n   When a most mysterious voice address\u2019d them:\n   \u201cCome not here, young woman! come not hither!\n   For this church can neither heal nor save thee.\u201d\n   Bitter was her anguish when she heard it;\n   And her lord the woman thus entreated:\n   \u201cIn the name of God! my lord! my husband!\n   Never, never bear me to our dwelling.\n   Bind me to the wild steeds\u2019 tails, and drive them;\n   Drive them to the immeasurable desert;\n   Let them tear my wretched limbs asunder.\u201d\n\n   Paul then listened to his wife\u2019s entreaties:\n   To the tails of four wild steeds he bound her;\n   Drove them forth across the mighty desert.\n   Wheresoe\u2019er a drop of blood fell from her,\n   There sprang up the rankest thorns and nettles.\n   Where her body fell, when dead, the waters\n   Rush\u2019d and form\u2019d a lake both still and stagnant.\n   O\u2019er the lake there swam a small black courser:\n   By his side a golden cradle floated:\n   On the cradle sat a young grey falcon:\n   In the cradle, slumbering, lay an infant:\n   On its throat the white hand of its mother:\n   And that hand a golden knife was holding.\n\n\n\nTHE BROTHERS.\n\n\n   Two young boys a happy mother nurtured;\n   Nurtured them through years of dearth and sorrow;\n   Ever toiling at her restless spindle.\n   Sweetest names she gave her hopeful children;\n   One was named Predr\u0101g, {15a}\u2014Nen\u0101d {15b} the other.\n   When Predrag could spring upon his courser,\n   Rein his courser, and his weapon brandish,\n   Lo! he left his home and aged mother,\n   To the mountain fled, and join\u2019d the bandits:\n   And Nenad alone was left to cheer her.\n   Of his brother\u2019s fate he nothing guess\u2019d at;\n   But, as soon as he could mount his courser,\n   Rein his courser, and his weapon brandish,\n   He too left his home, and aged mother,\n   To the mountains fled, and join\u2019d the bandits.\n\n   Three long years he dwelt among the bandits:\n   He was full of wisdom and discretion;\n   And in every fray him fortune favour\u2019d:\n   He became the leader of the bandits.\n   Full three years he bore him as their leader;\n   Then did mother-longings move his spirit,\n   And he thus address\u2019d his fellow-robbers:\n\n   \u201cComrades mine! mine own beloved comrades!\n   I have heartfelt longings for my mother.\n   Let us, comrades! now divide our treasures,\n   And let each go home and seek his mother.\u201d\n   Willingly they listened to his counsel;\n   And, as each received his destined portion,\n   Many a loud oath swore they in their gladness:\n   By their brothers swore they, and their sisters.\n   And Nenad, their leader, piled his treasure,\n   And again address\u2019d his fellow-robbers:\n\n   \u201cComrades mine! mine own beloved comrades!\n   I no brother have\u2014no sister have I;\n   But I swear by the eternal heaven,\n   Be my right hand smitten by the palsy,\n   Let my good steed\u2019s mane be shrunk and shrivell\u2019d,\n   My sharp sabre rust within its scabbard,\n   If I add one para to my treasure!\u201d\n\n   So the robbers all their gold partition\u2019d.\n   Sprung Nenad upon his own good courser,\n   And he hasten\u2019d to his aged mother.\n\n   Cordial was the greeting, great the gladness;\n   Hospitality made cheerful welcome:\n   And, while seated at the feast together,\n   Nenad whisper\u2019d to his aged mother:\n   \u201cMother mine! thou venerable woman!\n   If it be no shame before the people,\n   If it be no sin in God\u2019s high presence,\n   I will ask one question, O my mother!\n   Tell me why thou gav\u2019st me not a brother?\n   Tell me why I had no little sister?\n   When we each received our treasure-portion,\n   Each in earnest and in eager language\n   By his brother swore, or by his sister;\n   I could only swear by my good weapon,\n   By myself, and by the steed I mounted.\u201d\n\n   Then his mother laugh\u2019d, and laughing answer\u2019d,\n   \u201cThou, my son, dost talk a little wildly;\n   For, indeed, a brother have I given thee;\n   Long before thy birth Predrag had being:\n   Only yesterday the sad news reach\u2019d me,\n   That he is become a highway robber,\n   In the verdant forest Garevitza,\n   Where he is the leader of the bandits.\u201d\n   Then Nenad his mother answer\u2019d quickly,\n   \u201cMother dear!  O thou most honour\u2019d woman!\n   Now thou must another dress prepare me,\n   Skirted-short, and forest-green the colour,\n   That the forest trees I may resemble.\n   I will go, and I will see my brother,\n   So my inner longings may be silenced.\u201d\n\n   Then his aged mother made him answer:\n   \u201cPlay not, son Nenad, with words so idle;\n   So thou wilt be sacrificed.\u201d\u2014But, reckless,\n   Little cared Nenad for mother-counsels;\n   But he did whate\u2019er his spirit prompted.\n   He was clad in new short-skirted vestment\n   Of green cloth, the green that dyes the forests;\n   So a forest tree Nenad resembled.\n   Then he sprung upon his faithful courser;\n   On they sped, to seek his distant brother,\n   And to still his spirit\u2019s inward longings.\n\n   And he spoke not\u2014no! his lips were silent;\n   Spoke not to his steed, nor to his falcon.\n   When he reach\u2019d the forest Garevitza,\n   Loud he cried, as cries the grizzled falcon,\n   \u201cGarevitza! verdant mountain forest!\n   Dost thou then possess a youthful hero?\n   Dost thou hide Predrag, my only brother?\n   Are there other heroes in thy thickets?\n   Are there fellow-comrades of my brother?\u201d\n   Near at hand, beneath a shading fir-tree,\n   Sat Predrag, the golden wine enjoying.\n\n   When he heard that voice within the forest,\n   Thus he call\u2019d upon his bandit-comrades:\n   \u201cNow, ye comrades mine! beloved brothers!\n   Hide ye in your ambuscades, and listen\n   To that voice,\u2014the voice of unknown warrior;\n   Smite him not; but take his treasures from him,\n   And then bring him to your chief in safety.\n   Woe to him who does not thus obey me!\u201d\n\n   So they issued forth, just thirty bandits,\n   In three companies; in each ten bandits:\u2014\n   By the first ten, lo! he pass\u2019d unheeded;\n   No one moved to interrupt his progress;\n   No one bade him halt, or bade his courser:\n   Each one bent his bow and held his arrow;\n   And Nenad, with courtesy address\u2019d them:\n   \u201cDraw not! draw not! brothers of the forest!\n   God preserve you from the impassion\u2019d longing\n   That impels me now to seek my brother\n   O\u2019er the weary world, a tired one, wandering.\u201d\n   So in peace and undisturb\u2019d he passes;\n   To the next embattled ten advances.\n   All their bows are bent, their arrows ready;\n   And Nenad thus speaks, and passes forward:\n   \u201cDraw not! draw not! brothers of the forest!\n   God preserve you from the impassion\u2019d longing\n   That impels me now to seek my brother\n   O\u2019er the weary world, a tired one, wandering.\u201d\n   So in peace and undisturb\u2019d he passes;\n   To the next embattled ten advances,\n   With their bows all bent, their arrows ready.\n   Then impatient rage the youth possesses,\n   And he rushes on the thirty heroes.\n   Ten his trusty sabre soon has vanquish\u2019d,\n   Ten his steed into the dust has trampled,\n   And the third ten drives he to the forest,\n   To the forest by the frigid water.\n   Then Predrag, the bandit chieftain, heard it.\n   \u201cHelp us, now, Predrag! our valiant leader!\n   For there is a brave and unknown warrior:\n   He has overwhelm\u2019d thy valiant comrades.\u201d\n   Swiftly sprung Predrag upon his feet, and\n   Seized his bow, and seized his arrows swiftly;\n   To the ambuscade he straightway hastens:\n   Draws his arrow,\u2014makes his bow-string ready:\u2014\n   Oh! sad destiny! ill-fated arrow!\n   Wing\u2019d by fate, the hero\u2019s heart it pierces!\n   Like a falcon springs Nenad, loud screaming.\n   Loudly scream\u2019d he to his starting courser:\n   \u201cWoe! woe! woe! thou hero of the forest!\n   Brother! brother! woe! the Lord will smite thee!\n   Thy right hand shall be struck dead with palsy;\n   That right hand which sped the arrow forward!\n   Thy right eye shall leap forth from thy forehead;\n   That right eye which saw my heart blood sprinkled!\n   Let the impassion\u2019d longings for a brother\n   Trouble thee as they a brother troubled!\n   O\u2019er the weary world, a lone one, wandering,\n   Now has stumbled on his own perdition!\u201d\n\n   When Predrag had heard these words unwonted,\n   Lo! he sprung up from the pine, inquiring,\n   \u201cWho art thou, and who thy fathers, hero?\u201d\n   Then the wounded youth thus feebly answer\u2019d:\n   \u201cAsk\u2019st thou who I am, and who my fathers?\n   Wilt thou own me? wilt thou claim my kindred?\n   I am young Nenad\u2014a hapless hero!\n   I had once one venerable mother,\n   And one brother, too, Predrag\u2014one brother:\n   He my elder and my only brother,\n   Whom to seek through all the world I wander\n   Forth, to still my soul\u2019s impassion\u2019d longings;\n   But to-day \u2019tis ended\u2014and I perish!\u201d\n\n   When Predrag thus heard his brother\u2019s language,\n   Misery-stricken pull\u2019d he forth the arrow;\n   Bent him o\u2019er the young and wounded hero;\n   Took him from his horse, and gently seated\n   Nenad on the grass:\u2014\u201cAnd is it, brother!\n   Is it thou, indeed?\u2014Thine elder brother,\n   Thy Predrag, am I:\u2014but sure not mortal\n   Are thy wounds:\u2014O let me tear asunder\u2014\n   Let me tear thy shirt\u2014and let me bind them!\n   Let me bind thy wounds\u2014O let me heal them!\u201d\n\n   Then to him the wounded youth:\u2014\u201dThank heaven!\n   Thou, thou art Predrag\u2014thou art my brother\u2014\n   And my eyes may dwell upon thy visage!\n   God hath still\u2019d my soul\u2019s impassion\u2019d longings:\n   I shall die\u2014I know the wounds are mortal:\n   But to thee my blood shall be forgiven!\u201d\n\n   So he cried,\u2014and soon he sunk in slumber\u2014\n   And despair possess\u2019d his brother\u2019s spirit.\n   \u201cO Nenad! Nenad! my light\u2014my sunshine!\n   Early and serene was thy uprising;\n   Early, too, and clouded thy downsitting,\n   O thou sweetest flow\u2019ret of my garden!\n   Early was thy opening, beauteous flow\u2019ret;\n   Earlier, earlier far, alas! thy fading!\u201d\n\n   Then he took a dagger from his girdle:\n   Deep he plunged the dagger in his bosom,\n   And sank down in death beside his brother.\n\n\n\nDUKA LEKA.\n\n\n   YESTERDAY was married Duka Leka:\n   Comes to-day a mandate from the emperor:\n   \u201cDuka! on\u2014on, Leka! to the army.\u201d\n   Duka\u2019s steed caparisons he quickly;\u2014\n   His love holds him by the bridle, weeping:\u2014\n   \u201cWoe is me!\u2014woe\u2019s me! thou voivode {25} Leka!\n   Goest thou with thy noble steed to battle,\n   Leav\u2019st alone thy young bride inexperienced?\u201d\n   \u2018With thy mother, and with mine I leave thee.\u2019\n   \u201cWoe is me! woe\u2019s me! thou voivode Leka!\u2014\n   Thee away\u2014and what avail two mothers?\u201d\n\n   Duka Leka arms him for the battle:\n   His young bride stands by his courser, weeping:\u2014\n   \u201cWoe is me! woe\u2019s me! thou voivode Leka!\n   Goest thou with thy noble steed to battle?\n   And with whom dost leave thy bride untutor\u2019d?\u201d\n   \u2018With thy father, and with mine I leave thee.\u2019\n   \u201cWoe, my Duka! woe! thou voivode Leka!\u2014\n   Thee away\u2014and what avail two fathers?\u201d\n\n   Duka Leka girds him for the battle;\n   Weeping holds his wife his horse\u2019s bridle:\u2014\n   \u201cWoe is me! woe, Duka!\u2014voivode Leka!\n   Dost equip thy good steed for the battle?\n   Who shall care about the unpractised loved one?\u201d\n\n   \u2018To thy brother, and to mine, I leave thee.\u2019\n   \u201cWoe! O Duka, woe! thou voivode Leka!\n   Thee away\u2014and what avail two brothers?\u201d\n\n\n\nAJKUNA\u2019S MARRIAGE.\n\n\n   NEVER, since the world had its beginning,\n   Never did a lovelier flow\u2019ret blossom\n   Than the flow\u2019ret we ourselves saw blooming\n   In the white court of the Bey Liub\u014dvich.\n   High above the level Nevesin\u0304a {27}\n   Tower\u2019d the fascinating maid Ajkuna;\n   She, the Bey Liub\u014dvich\u2019s lovely sister.\n\n      She was lovely\u2014nothing e\u2019er was lovelier;\n   She was tall and slender as the pine tree;\n   White her cheeks, but tinged with rosy blushes,\n   As if morning\u2019s beam had shone upon them,\n   Till that beam had reach\u2019d its high meridian;\n   And her eyes, they were two precious jewels;\n   And her eyebrows, leeches from the ocean;\n   And her eyelids, they were wings of swallows;\n   Silken tufts the maiden\u2019s flaxen ringlets;\n   And her sweet mouth was a sugar casket;\n   And her teeth were pearls array\u2019d in order;\n   White her bosom, like two snowy dovelets;\n   And her voice was like the dovelet\u2019s cooing;\n   And her smiles were like the glowing sunshine;\n   And the fame, the story of her beauty\n   Spread through Bosnia and through Herzgovina. {28}\n   Many a suitor on the maiden waited:\n   Two were unremitting in their service;\n   One, the old gray-headed Mustaph Aga\u2014\n   He of Uraine, from the Novi fortress; {29a}\n   And the other, Suko of Ubdinia. {29b}\n   Both together met the self-same evening,\n   When they came to court the lovely maiden.\n   Thousand golden coins the old man proffer\u2019d,\n   And, besides, a golden drinking vessel:\n   Round the vessel twined a mighty serpent,\n   From whose forehead shone so bright a diamond,\n   That at midnight, just as well as noonday,\n   By its light you might indulge your feastings.\n   Suko offered but a dozen ducats;\n   All the youth possessed, except his sabre\u2014\n   His good sabre, and his steed so trusty.\n   Suko dwelt upon the country\u2019s border,\n   As the falcon dwells among the breezes.\n   Then his brother thus address\u2019d Ajkuna:\n   \u201cLo! Ajkuna, my beloved sister!\n   When my mother bore thee, she betrothed thee\u2014\n   She betrothed thee to another lover.\n   Many a lover, maiden! now would woo thee;\n   But the best of all those wooing lovers\n   Are those twain to-day that seek thy presence.\n   One the venerable Mustaph Aga;\n   He that comes from Uraine out of Novi.\n   Countless are the old Mustapha\u2019s treasures:\n   He will clothe thee all in silk and satin,\n   Will with honey and with sugar feed thee.\n   Suko of Ubdinia is the other:\n   But this Suko nothing more possesses\n   Than his trusty steed and his good sabre.\n   Now, then, choose, Ajkuna; choose, my sister;\n   Say to which of these I shall betrothe thee.\u201d\n\n   Thus his sister answer gave her brother:\n   \u201cThine shall be the choice, my brother! only;\n   Him alone I\u2019ll wed whom thou wilt give me;\n   But I\u2019d rather choose a youthful lover,\n   Howsoever small that youth\u2019s possessions,\n   Than be wedded to old age, though wealthy.\n   Wealth\u2014it is not gold\u2014it is not silver;\n   Wealth\u2014is to possess what most we cherish.\u201d\n   Little did he listen to his sister,\n   For he gave the maid to Mustaph Aga;\n   To that old white-bearded man he gave her.\n   He with speed to his own court departed,\n   Brought the bridal guests, to lead the maiden\n   To his dwelling; and among them Suko\n   Lifted o\u2019er the rest the bridal banner;\n   And they hasten\u2019d to the maiden\u2019s dwelling.\n\n   At the dwelling of the lovely maiden,\n   Three white days the bridal crowd had linger\u2019d,\u2014\n   When the fourth day dawn\u2019d, at early morning,\n   Forth they led the maiden from her dwelling;\n   And ere yet far off they had proceeded,\n   Ere they reach\u2019d the flat and open country,\n   Turn\u2019d the lovely maiden to the leader,\n   And into his ear these words she whisper\u2019d:\n   \u201cTell me now, my golden ring, my brother! {32}\n   Who is chosen for the maiden\u2019s bridegroom?\u201d\n   Softly did the marriage-leader answer:\n   \u201cSweetest sister! fairest maid, Ajkuna!\n   Look to right, and look to left, about thee;\n   Dost thou see that old man in the distance,\n   Who like an effendi sits so proudly\n   In the farthest palanquin of scarlet,\n   Whose white beard o\u2019ercovers all his bosom?\n   Lo! it is the aged Mustaph Aga;\n   He it is who\u2019s chosen for thy bridegroom.\u201d\n\n   And the maiden look\u2019d around the circle\n   And within her sad heart sighing deeply,\n   Once again she ask\u2019d the marriage-leader:\n   \u201cWho is he upon that white horse seated,\n   He who bears so high aloft the banner,\n   On whose chin that sable beard is growing?\u201d\n   And the leader answers thus the maiden:\n   \u201cHe\u2019s the hero Suko of Urbinia;\n   He who for thee with thy brother struggled,\u2014\n   Struggled well indeed, but could not win thee.\u201d\n   When the lovely maiden heard the leader,\n   On the black, black earth, anon she fainted:\n   All to raise her, hastening, gather round her,\n   And the last of all came Mustaph Aga;\n   None could lift her from the ground, till Suko\n   Sticks into the earth his waving banner,\n   Stretches out his right hand to the maiden.\n   See her, see her! from the ground upspringing,\n   Swift she vaults upon his steed behind him;\n   Rapidly he guides the courser onwards,\n   Swift they speed across the open desert,\n   Swift as ever star across the heavens.\n\n   When the old man saw it, Mustaph Aga,\n   Loud he screamed with voice of troubled anger:\n   \u201cLook to this, ye bidden to the wedding!\n   He, the robber! bears away my maiden:\n   See her, see her borne away for ever.\u201d\n   But one answer met the old man\u2019s wailings:\n   \u201cLet the hawk bear off the quail in safety,\u2014\n   Bear in safety\u2014she was born to wed him;\n   Thou, retire thee to thy own white dwelling!\n   Blossoms not for thee so fair a maiden!\u201d\n\n\n\nILLNESS OF PRINCE MUJO.\n\n\n   To the baths the noble Turks are going;\n   From the baths are coming Turkish ladies.\n   Lo! before the Turks Prince Mujo marches;\n   Mahmoud Pasha\u2019s bride before the ladies.\n   O how wond\u2019rous fair is princely Mujo!\n   Fairer yet the bride of Mahmoud Pasha!\n   How magnificent their flowing dresses!\n   There the Tzar\u2019s son, princely Mujo sicken\u2019d,\n   Smitten by the bride of Mahmoud Pasha.\n   Ill he wended to his own white dwelling,\n   Threw him down upon his silken pillow.\n   All the ladies to the Prince\u2019s mother,\n   All in order to the Tzaress crowded;\n   All, except the bride of Mahmoud Pasha.\n\n   Then the Mother-tzaress thus address\u2019d her:\n   \u201cNoble woman! bride of Mahmoud Pasha!\n   Think\u2019st thou then thyself of higher lineage?\n   In death-sickness is my Mujo lying:\n   All the ladies of the court have sought him:\n   Thou, and thou alone, of all, art absent!\u201d\n\n   When the bride of Mahmoud Pasha heard it,\n   Soon she girt her raiments\u2014in her sleevelets\n   She prepared medicaments the choicest;\n   Rosy-sweets, wrapp\u2019d up in golden vestments;\n   Yellow honey-comb in silver dishes,\n   And spring-cherries all preserv\u2019d in honey;\n   Peaches with the earliest dew-drops gather\u2019d;\n   Figs of Ocean, and the grapes of Mostar: {36a}\n   These she hid beneath her richest garments,\n   And she hasten\u2019d to the Prince\u2019s dwelling.\n\n   All unask\u2019d and unobserved she enter\u2019d:\n   No sal\u0101m {36b} she gave\u2014but hurried forward\n   To the balcony, where, sick and sorrowing,\n   Lay Prince Mujo:\u2014at his head she fix\u2019d her;\n   With her gold-wrought kerchief from his forehead\n   Lo! she wiped the hot, the feverish dew-drop,\n   And thus spoke she to the Empress-mother:\n\n   \u201cSuch a sickness as has seized the hero,\n   May it seize upon my only brother!\n   May it seize me, bride of Mahmoud Pasha!\n   \u2019Tis not sickness\u2014it is love hath seized him!\u201d\n\n   When the princely Mujo heard this language,\n   From his slumb\u2019ring bed he sprung swift-footed,\n   Hurried to the chamber door and closed it.\n   Three white days he kiss\u2019d the bride unceasing;\n   When the fourth day dawn\u2019d, did Mahmoud Pasha\n   Send a beautifully-written letter\n   To the Tzar; and this the letter\u2019s language:\n\n   \u201cSultan!\u201d said he, \u201cnoble Tzar and master!\n   Lo! a golden duck its flight has taken,\n   And has wander\u2019d, monarch! to thy dwelling.\n   Three white days with thee that duck hath lingered;\n   Give it back\u2014as thou on God dependest.\u201d\n\n   Then the Tzar made answer to the Pasha:\n   \u201cNay! by God! my servant, Mahmoud Pasha!\n   I have caught a wild and untamed falcon;\n   What he seizes never will he loosen.\u201d {38}\n\n\n\nFINDING OF THE HEAD OF LAZAR.\n\n\n   WHEN Laz\u0101r\u2019s head, from his body sever\u2019d,\n   Lay upon the battle-field Kossova,\n   \u2019Twas not found by any of the Servians:\n   But a Turkish boy\u2014a young Turk found it.\n   \u2019Twas a Turk,\u2014a Turk in slavery nurtured;\n   But he was the child of Servian mother;\n   And thus spake the Turkish boy who found it:\n\n   \u201cHear, ye Moslems! hear, my Turkish brethren!\n   This was once the head of high-rank\u2019d Servian; {39}\n   And, by God! it were a shame and scandal\n   If profaned by eagles or by ravens,\n   If \u2019twere trod upon by man or courser.\u201d\n   So he took the head of th\u2019 holy emp\u2019ror,\n   Wrapt it carefully within his mantle,\n   Bore it to a neighbouring water-fountain,\n   And he threw it in the crystal water.\n\n   There long time it lay, all unmolested:\n   Happy time! it lay for forty summers.\n   On Kossova lay the headless body;\n   But the eagles touch\u2019d it not, nor ravens,\n   Nor the foot of man, nor hoof of courser;\n   Therefore let the God of peace be worshipp\u2019d!\n\n   Lo! a caravan of youthful travellers,\n   From the city white, the lovely Skoplja, {40a}\n   Leading on; both Grecians and Bulgarians\n   Travellers they, bound to Vid\u012bn and Nissa: {40b}\n   And they make their halting on Kossova,\n   On Kossova take their meal as wonted;\n   And, when thirsty, ere the meal was over,\n   Lo! they light the splinters of the fir-tree;\n   Made a torch to light them as they wander,\n   Seeking all around a water fountain.\n   Lo! a strange and wond\u2019rous fate awaits them!\n   Swift they speed them to the crystal water.\n\n   Then exclaim\u2019d one of the youthful travellers\u2014\n   \u201cLo! the moon is on the waters shining!\u201d\n   And another traveller thus retorted\u2014\n   \u201cBrother! it is not the moon that shineth.\u201d\n   But the third is silent\u2014no word utters\u2014\n   Turns him to the east\u2014the sun\u2019s uprising\u2014\n   Then he speaks, and prays to God the righteous;\n   Prays to God and to the holy Nicholas\u2014\n   \u201cHelp me, God! and thou, O father Nicholas!\u201d\n   And he sought again the fountain-water;\n   Drew the holy head from out the water\u2014\n   Holy head of holy Servian monarch;\n   Threw it on the verdant turf, and pouring\n   Water, swiftly fill\u2019d the travelling vessel.\n\n   They had quench\u2019d their thirst, and all were seated\u2014\n   Seated round the head, and look\u2019d about them.\n   On the verdant turf it lies no longer;\n   O\u2019er the field the head is slowly moving\u2014\n   Holy head seeks out the holy body;\n   Joins it, where that body lay untainted.\n\n   When the dawning of the morn had broken,\n   To the aged priests the youths reported\u2014\n   To the aged priests, the wond\u2019rous story.\n   Lo! a crowd of priests are hastening thither\u2014\n   Crowds of ancient priests\u2014above three hundred,\n   And twelve high and dignified archbishops,\n   And four patriarchs, the most exalted:\n   Him of Pechki, {42a} and the Tzarigrader {42b}\n   Of Jerusalem, and Vassilj\u0113nski.\n   All were habited in priestly vestments;\n   Camilanks their holy heads enshrouded;\n   In their hands they held old sacred writings\u2014\n   And they pour\u2019d their fervent prayers to heaven,\n   And performed their holiest solemn vigils\n   Through three days, and through three nights of darkness;\n   Nor for rest they stopp\u2019d, nor for refreshment,\n   Nor for sleep, nor any interruption:\n   And they ask\u2019d the holy dead, unceasing,\n   Where his grave should be\u2014his corpse be buried;\n   In Op\u014dvo, or in Krushed\u014dli,\n   Or in J\u0101ssak, or in Beshen\u014dvi,\n   Or Rac\u014dvatz, or in Shisat\u014dvatz,\n   Or in Jivski, or in Kurejdini, {43}\n   Or in distant Macedonia rather.\n   But Lazar will choose no foreign cloister;\n   He will lie among his own loved kindred,\n   In his own, his beauteous Ravan\u012btza, {44}\n   On the mountain forest, broad Kushaja,\n   In the convent he himself erected;\n   In his days of life and youthful glory,\n   He erected for his soul\u2019s salvation;\n   With his bread and with his gold he raised it;\n   Not with tears nor wealth from poor men wrested.\n\n\n\nJELITZA AND HER BROTHERS.\n\n\n   NINE fair sons possess\u2019d a happy mother;\n   And the tenth, the loveliest and the latest,\n   Was Jelitza,\u2014a beloved daughter.\n   They had grown together up to manhood,\n   Till the sons were ripe for bridal altars,\n   And the maid was ready for betrothing.\n   Many a lover ask\u2019d the maid in marriage;\n   First a _Ban_; {45} a chieftain was the other;\n   And the third, a neighbour from her village.\n   So her mother for the neighbour pleaded;\n   For the far-off-dwelling ban her brothers.\n   Thus they urged it to their lovely sister:\n   \u201cGo, we pray thee, our beloved sister,\n   With the ban across the distant waters:\n   Go! thy brothers oft will hasten to thee;\n   Every month of every year will seek thee;\n   Every week of every month will seek thee.\u201d\n   So the maiden listened to her brothers,\n   With the ban she cross\u2019d the distant waters:\n   But, behold! O melancholy marvel!\n   God sent down the plague, and all the brothers,\n   All the nine, were swept away, and lonely\n   Stood their miserable sonless mother.\n\n   Three long years had pass\u2019d away unheeded;\n   Often had Jelitza sighed in silence:\n   \u201cHeaven of mercy! \u2019tis indeed a marvel!\n   Have I sinn\u2019d against them?\u2014that my brothers,\n   Spite of all their vows, come never near me.\u201d\n   Then did her stepsisters scorn and jeer her:\n   \u201cCast away! thy brothers must despise thee!\n   Never have they come to greet their sister.\u201d\n\n   Bitter was the sorrow of Jelitza,\n   Bitter from the morning to the evening,\n   Till the God of heaven took pity on her,\n   And he summon\u2019d two celestial angels:\n   \u201cHasten down to earth,\u201d he said, \u201cmy angels!\n   To the white grave, where Jov\u0101n is sleeping,\u2014\n   Young Jovan, the maiden\u2019s youngest brother.\n   Breathe your spirit into him; and fashion\n   From the white grave-stone a steed to bear him:\n   From the mouldering earth his food prepare him:\n   Let him take his grave-shroud for a present!\n   Then equip and send him to his sister.\u201d\n\n   Swiftly hasten\u2019d God\u2019s celestial angels\n   To the white grave where Jovan was sleeping.\n   From the white grave-stone a steed they fashion\u2019d;\n   Into his dead corpse they breathed their spirit;\n   From the ready earth the bread they moulded;\n   For a present his grave-shroud they folded;\n   And equipp\u2019d, and bade him seek his sister.\n\n   Swiftly rode Jovan to greet his sister.\n   Long before he had approach\u2019d her dwelling,\n   Far, far off his sister saw and hail\u2019d him;\n   Hastened to him\u2014threw her on his bosom,\n   Loosed his vest, and stamp\u2019d his cheeks with kisses.\n   Then she sobb\u2019d with bitterness and anguish,\n   Then she wept, and thus address\u2019d her brother:\n   \u201cO! Jovan! to me\u2014to me, a maiden,\n   Thou, and all my brothers, all, ye promised\n   Oft and oft to seek your distant sister:\n   Every month in every year to seek her,\u2014\n   Every week in every month to seek her.\n   Three long years have sped away unheeded,\n   And ye have not sought me.\u201d\u2014For a moment\n   She was silent; and then said, \u201cMy brother!\n   Thou art deadly pale! why look so deadly\n   Pale, as if in death thou hadst been sleeping?\u201d\n   But Jovan thus check\u2019d his sister: \u201cSilence,\n   Silence, sister! as in God thou trustest;\n   For a heavy sorrow has o\u2019erta\u2019en me.\n   When eight brothers had prepared their nuptials,\n   Eight stepsisters ready to espouse them,\n   Hardly was the marriage service ended\n   Ere we built us eight white dwellings, sister!\n   Therefore do I look so dark, Jelitza.\u201d\n\n   Three white days had pass\u2019d away unheeded,\n   And the maid equipped her for a journey.\n   Many a costly present she provided\n   For her brothers and her bridal sisters:\n   For her brothers, fairest silken vestments;\n   For her bridal-sisters, rings and jewels.\n   But Jovan would fain detain her\u2014\u201cGo not,\n   Go not now, I pray thee\u2014my Jelitza!\n   Wait until thy brothers come and greet thee.\u201d\n   But she would not listen to her brother:\n   She prepared the costliest, fairest presents.\n   So the young Jovan began his journey,\n   And his sister travell\u2019d patient by him.\n\n   So as they approach\u2019d their mother\u2019s dwelling,\n   Near the house a tall white church was standing,\n   Young Jovan he whisper\u2019d to his sister\u2014\n   \u201cStop, I pray thee, my beloved sister!\n   Let me enter the white church an instant.\n   When my middle brother here was married,\n   Lo! I lost a golden ring, my sister!\n   Let me go an instant\u2014I shall find it.\u201d\n\n   Jovan went\u2014into his grave he glided\u2014\n   And Jelitza stood\u2014she stood impatient\u2014\n   Wondering\u2014wondering\u2014but in vain she waited.\n   Then she left the spot to seek her brother.\n   Many and many a grave was in the church-yard\n   Newly made\u2014Jovan was nowhere\u2014Sighing,\n   On she hasten\u2019d\u2014hastened to the city,\n   Saw her mother\u2019s dwelling, and press\u2019d forward\n   Eager to that old white dwelling.\n\n                        Listen\n   To that cuckoo\u2019s cry within the dwelling!\n   Lo! it was not the gray cuckoo\u2019s crying\u2014\n   \u2019Twas her aged, her gray-headed mother.\n   To the door Jelitza press\u2019d\u2014outstretching\n   Her white neck, she call\u2019d\u2014\u201cMake ope, my mother!\n   Hasten to make ope the door, my mother!\u201d\n   But her mother to her cries made answer:\n   \u201cPlague of God! avaunt! my sons have perish\u2019d\u2014\n   All\u2014all nine have perish\u2019d\u2014Wilt thou also\n   Take their aged mother!\u201d  Then Jelitza\n   Shriek\u2019d, \u201cO open\u2014open, dearest mother!\n   I am not God\u2019s plague\u2014I am thy daughter,\n   Thine own daughter\u2014thy Jelitza, mother!\u201d\n   Then the mother push\u2019d the door wide open,\n   And she scream\u2019d aloud, and groan\u2019d, and flung her\n   Old arms round her daughter\u2014All was silent\u2014\n   Stiff and dead they fell to earth together.\n\n\n\nHASSAN AGA\u2019S WIFE\u2019S LAMENT.\n\n\n   WHAT\u2019S so white upon yon verdant forest?\n   Is it snow, or is it swans assembled?\n   Were it snow, it surely had been melted;\n   Were it swans, long since they had departed.\n   Lo! it is not swans, it is not snow there:\n   \u2019Tis the tent of Aga, Hassan Aga;\n   He is lying there severely wounded,\n   And his mother seeks him, and his sister;\n   But for very shame his wife is absent.\n\n   When the misery of his wounds was soften\u2019d,\n   Hassan thus his faithful wife commanded:\n   \u201cIn my house thou shalt abide no longer\u2014\n   Thou shalt dwell no more among my kindred.\u201d\n   When his wife had heard this gloomy language,\n   Stiff she stood, and full of bitter sorrow.\n\n   When the horses, stamping, shook the portal,\n   Fled the faithful wife of Hassan Aga\u2014\n   Fain would throw her from the castle window.\n   Anxious two beloved daughters follow\u2019d,\n   Crying after her in tearful anguish\u2014\n   \u201cThese are not our father Hassan\u2019s coursers;\n   \u2019Tis our uncle Pintor\u014dvich coming.\u201d\n\n   Then approached the wife of Hassan Aga\u2014\n   Threw her arms, in misery, round her brother\u2014\n   \u201cSee the sorrow, brother, of thy sister:\n   He would tear me from my helpless children.\u201d\n\n   He was silent\u2014but from out his pocket,\n   Safely wrapp\u2019d in silk of deepest scarlet,\n   Letters of divorce he drew, and bid her\n   Seek again her mother\u2019s ancient dwelling\u2014\n   Free to win and free to wed another.\n\n   When she saw the letter of divorcement,\n   Kisses on her young boy\u2019s forehead, kisses\n   On her girls\u2019 red cheeks she press\u2019d\u2014the nursling\u2014\n   For there was a nursling in the cradle\u2014\n   Could she tear her, wretched, from her infant?\n   But her brother seized her hand, and led her\u2014\n   Led her swiftly to the agile courser;\n   And he hastened with the sorrowing woman\n   To the ancient dwelling of her fathers.\n\n   Short the time was\u2014not seven days had glided\u2014\n   Short indeed the time\u2014and many a noble\n   Had our lady\u2014though in widow\u2019s garments\u2014\n   Had our lady ask\u2019d in holy marriage.\n\n   And the noblest was Imoski\u2019s Cadi;\n   And our lady, weeping, pray\u2019d her brother:\n   \u201cI exhort thee, on thy life exhort thee,\n   Give me not, oh, give me not in marriage!\n   For the sight of my poor orphan\u2019d children\n   Sure would break the spirit of thy sister!\u201d\n\n   Little cared her brother for her sorrows;\n   He had sworn she should espouse the Cadi.\n   But his sister pray\u2019d him thus unceasing:\n   \u201cSend at least one letter, O my brother!\n   With this language to Imoski\u2019s Cadi:\n   \u2018Friendly greetings speeds the youthful woman;\n   But entreats thee, by these words entreats thee,\n   When the _Suates_ {55} shall conduct thee hither,\n   Thou a long and flowing veil wilt bring me,\n   That, in passing Hassan\u2019s lonely dwelling,\n   I may hide me from my hapless orphans.\u2019\u201d\n\n   Hardly had the Cadi read the letter,\n   Than he gather\u2019d his Suates together,\n   Arm\u2019d himself, and hasten\u2019d t\u2019wards the lady,\n   Home to bring her as his bridal treasure.\n\n   Happily he reach\u2019d the princely dwelling,\n   Happily were all returning homeward,\n   When toward Hassan\u2019s house they were approaching,\n   Her two daughters saw her from the window,\n   Her two sons rush\u2019d on her from the portal:\n   And they cried, \u201cCome hither!  O come hither!\n   Take thy night\u2019s repast with thine own children!\u201d\n\n   Sorrowfully Hassan\u2019s consort heard them;\n   To the Sarisvat she thus address\u2019d her:\n   \u201cLet the Suates stay, and let the horses\n   Tarry here at this beloved portal,\n   While I make a present to the children.\u201d\n\n   As they stopp\u2019d at the beloved portal,\n   Presents gave she unto all the children.\n   To the boys, boots all with gold embroider\u2019d;\n   To the girls, long and resplendent dresses;\n   And to the poor baby in the cradle,\n   For the time to come; a little garment.\n\n   Near them sat their father, Hassan Aga,\n   And he call\u2019d in sorrow to his children:\n   \u201cCome to me, poor children! to your father;\n   For your mother\u2019s breast is turn\u2019d to iron,\n   Closed against you, harden\u2019d \u2019gainst all pity.\u201d\n\n   When these words were heard by Hassan\u2019s consort,\n   On the ground she fell, all pale and trembling,\n   Till her spirit burst her heavy bosom\n   At the glances of her orphan children. {57}\n\n\n\nJAKSHICH\u2019S PARTITIONING. {58}\n\n\n   HARK! the moon is to the day-star calling:\n   \u201cMorning star! say, where hast thou been wandering;\n   Tell me where thou hast so long been lingering;\n   Where hast white days three so wasted,\u2014tell me?\u201d\n   To the moon, anon, the day-star answer\u2019d:\n   \u201cI have wander\u2019d, moon! and I have linger\u2019d,\n   Lingered o\u2019er Belgrad\u2019s white towers, and wondered\n   At the marvellous things which I have witness\u2019d:\n   How two brothers have their wealth partitioned,\n   Jakshich Dmitar and Jakshich Bogdana.\n   They had thus arranged the shares allotted,\n   Well their father\u2019s substance had divided:\n   Dmitar took Wallachia {59a} for his portion,\n   Took Wallachia and entire Moldavia; {59b}\n   Banat also, to the river Danube.\n   Bogdan took the level plains of Sermia,\n   And the even country of the Sava;\n   Servia, too, as far as Ujitz\u2019s fortress.\n   Dmitar took the lower fortress\u2019d cities,\n   And Neboisha\u2019s tower upon the Danube;\n   Bogdan took the upper fortress\u2019d cities,\n   And the church-possessing town, Rujitza.\n   Then a strife arose about a trifle,\u2014\n   Such a trifle; but a feud soon follow\u2019d,\u2014\n   A black courser and a grey-wing\u2019d falcon!\n   Dmitar claims the steed, as elder brother\n   Claims the steed, and claims the grey-wing\u2019d falcon.\n   Bogdan will not yield or horse or falcon.\n   When the morning of the morrow waken\u2019d,\n   Dmitar flung him on the sable courser,\n   Took upon his hand the grey-wing\u2019d falcon,\n   Went to hunt into the mountain-forest;\n   And he call\u2019d his wife, fair Angel\u012ba:\n   \u201cAngelia! thou my faithful lady!\n   Kill with poison thou my brother Bogdan;\n   But if thou refuse to kill my brother,\n   Tarry thou in my white court no longer.\u201d\n\n   When the lady heard her lord\u2019s commandments,\n   Down she sat all sorrowful and gloomy;\n   To herself she thought, and said in silence,\n   \u2014\u201cAnd shall I attempt it?\u2014I, poor cuckoo!\n   Shall I kill my brother\u2014kill with poison!\u2014\n   \u2019Twere a monstrous crime before high heaven,\n   \u2019Twere a sin and shame before my people.\n   Great and small would point their fingers at me,\n   Saying,\u2014\u2018That is the unhappy woman,\n   That is she who kill\u2019d her husband\u2019s brother!\u2019\n   But if I refuse to poison Bogdan,\n   Never will my husband come to bless me!\u201d\n   Thus she thought, until a thought relieved her;\n   She descended to the castle\u2019s cavern,\n   Took the consecrated cup of blessing.\n   \u2019Twas a cup of beaten gold her father\n   Had bestow\u2019d upon his daughter\u2019s nuptials;\n   Full of golden wine she fill\u2019d the vessel,\n   And she bore it to her brother Bogdan.\n   Low to earth she bow\u2019d herself before him,\n   And she kiss\u2019d his hands and garments meekly.\n\n   \u201cLo! I bring to thee this cup, my brother!\n   This gold cup, with golden wine o\u2019erflowing.\n   Give me for my cup a horse and falcon.\u201d\n   Bogdan heard the lady speak complacent,\n   And most cheerfully gave steed and falcon.\n\n   Meanwhile through the day was Dmitar wandering\n   In the mountain-forest; nought he found there;\n   But chance brought him at the fall of evening\n   To a green lake far within the forest,\n   Where a golden-pinion\u2019d duck was swimming.\n   Dmitar loosen\u2019d then his grey-winged falcon,\n   Bade him seize the golden-pinion\u2019d swimmer.\n   Faster than the hunter\u2019s eye could follow,\n   Lo! the duck had seized the grey-wing\u2019d falcon,\n   And against his sides had crush\u2019d his pinion.\n   Soon as Dmitar Jakshich saw, he stripp\u2019d him\u2014\n   Stripp\u2019d him swiftly of his hunting garments;\n   Speedily into the lake he plunged him,\n   And he bore his falcon from its waters.\n   Then with pitying voice he ask\u2019d his falcon:\n   \u201cHast thou courage yet, my faithful falcon!\n   Now thy wings are from thy body riven?\u201d\n\n   Whispering, said the falcon to his master:\n   \u201cI without my pinions nought resemble,\n   But a brother riven from a brother.\u201d\n   Then the thought pierced through the breast of Dmitar,\n   That his wife was charged to kill his brother.\n   Swift he threw him on his mighty courser\u2014\n   Swift he hurried to Bij\u014dgrad\u2019s {62} fortress,\n   Praying that his brother had not perished.\n\n   He had hardly reach\u2019d the bridge of Chekmel, {63}\n   When he spurr\u2019d his raven steed so fiercely,\n   That the impetuous courser\u2019s feet sank under,\n   And were crushed and broken on the pavement.\n   In his deep perplexity and trouble,\n   Dmitar took the saddle off his courser,\n   Flung it on the courser\u2019s nether haunches,\n   And he fled alone to Belgrad\u2019s fortress.\n   First he sought, impatient, for his lady\u2014\n   \u201cAngelia! thou my bride all faithful!\n   Tell me, tell me, hast thou kill\u2019d my brother?\u201d\n   Sweet indeed was Angelia\u2019s answer:\n   \u201cNo! indeed, I have not killed thy brother;\n   To thy brother have I reconciled thee.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE BUILDING OF SKADRA. {64a}\n\n\n   BROTHERS three combined to build a fortress,\n   Brothers three, the brothers Mrljavch\u0113vich,\n   Kral {64b} Vuk\u0101shin was the eldest brother;\n   And the second was Ugl\u0113sha-Voivode; {64c}\n   And the third, the youngest brother, Goiko.\n   Pull three years they labour\u2019d at the fortress,\n   Skadra\u2019s fortress on Bojana\u2019s river;\n   Full three years three hundred workmen labour\u2019d.\n   Vain th\u2019 attempt to fix the wall\u2019s foundation.\n   Vainer still to elevate the fortress:\n   Whatsoe\u2019er at eve had raised the workmen\n   Did the Vila raze ere dawn of morning.\n\n   When the fourth year had begun its labours,\n   Lo! the Vila from the forest-mountain\n   Call\u2019d\u2014\u201cThou King Vukashin! vain thine efforts!\u2014\n   Vain thine efforts\u2014all thy treasures wasting!\n   Never, never wilt thou build the fortress,\n   If thou find not two same-titled beings,\n   If thou find not Stojan and Stojana: {65}\n   And these two\u2014these two young twins so loving,\n   They must be immured in the foundation.\n   Thus alone will the foundations serve thee:\n   Thus alone can ye erect your fortress.\u201d\n\n   When Vukashin heard the Vila\u2019s language,\n   Soon he call\u2019d to D\u0113ssimir, his servant:\n   \u201cListen, Dessimir, my trusty servant!\n   Thou hast been my trusty servant ever;\n   Thou shalt be my son from this day onward.\n   Fasten thou my coursers to my chariot:\n   Load it with six lasts of golden treasures:\n   Travel through the whole wide world, and bring me,\n   Bring me back those two same-titled beings:\n   Bring me back that pair of twins so loving:\n   Bring me hither Stojan and Stojana:\n   Steal them, if with gold thou canst not buy them.\n   Bring them here to Scadra or Bojana:\n   We\u2019ll inter them in the wall\u2019s foundation:\n   So the wall\u2019s foundations will be strengthened:\n   So we shall build up our Scadra\u2019s fortress.\u201d\n\n   Dessimir obey\u2019d his master\u2019s mandate;\n   Fasten\u2019d, straight, the horses to the chariot;\n   Fill\u2019d it with six lasts of golden treasures;\n   Through the whole wide world the trusty servant\n   Wander\u2019d\u2014asking for these same-named beings\u2014\n   For the twins\u2014for Stojan and Stojana:\n   Full three years he sought them,\u2014sought them vainly:\n   Nowhere could he find these same-named beings:\n   Nowhere found he Stojan and Stojana.\n   Then he hasten\u2019d homewards to his master;\n   Gave the king his horses and his chariot;\n   Gave him his six lasts of golden treasures:\n   \u201cHere, my sov\u2019reign, are thy steeds and chariot:\n   Here thou hast thy lasts of golden treasures:\n   Nowhere could I find those same-named beings:\n   Nowhere found I Stojan and Stojana.\u201d\n\n   When Vukashin had dismiss\u2019d his servant,\n   Straight he call\u2019d his builder, master Rado.\n   Rado call\u2019d on his three hundred workmen;\n   And they built up Scadra on Bojana;\n   But, at even did the Vila raze it:\n   Vainly did they raise the wall\u2019s foundation;\n   Vainly seek to build up Scadra\u2019s fortress.\n   And the Vila, from the mountain-forest,\n   Cried, \u201cVukashin, listen! listen to me!\n   Thou dost spill thy wealth, and waste thy labour:\n   Vainly seek\u2019st to fix the wall\u2019s foundations;\n   Vainly seek\u2019st to elevate the fortress.\n   Listen now to me!  Ye are three brothers:\n   Each a faithful wife at home possesses:\u2014\n   Her who comes to-morrow to Bojana,\n   Her who brings the rations to the workmen\u2014\n   Her immure within the wall\u2019s foundations:\u2014\n   So shall the foundations fix them firmly:\n   So shalt thou erect Bojana\u2019s fortress.\u201d\n\n   When the king Vukashin heard the Vila,\n   Both his brothers speedily he summon\u2019d:\n   \u201cHear my words, now hear my words, my brothers!\n   From the forest-hill the Vila told me,\n   That we should no longer waste our treasures\n   In the vain attempt to raise the fortress\n   On a shifting, insecure foundation.\n   Said the Vila of the forest-mountain,\n   \u2018Each of you a faithful wife possesses;\n   Each a faithful bride that keeps your dwellings:\n   Her who to the fortress comes to-morrow,\n   Her who brings their rations to the workmen\u2014\n   Her immure within the wall\u2019s foundations;\n   So will the foundations bear the fortress:\n   So Bojana\u2019s fortress be erected.\u2019\n   Now then, brothers! in God\u2019s holy presence\n   Let each swear to keep the awful secret;\n   Leave to chance whose fate \u2019twill be to-morrow\n   First to wend her way to Skadra\u2019s river.\u201d\n   And each brother swore, in God\u2019s high presence,\n   From his wife to keep the awful secret.\n\n   When the night had on the earth descended,\n   Each one hasten\u2019d to his own white dwelling;\n   Each one shared the sweet repast of evening;\n   Each one sought his bed of quiet slumber.\n\n   Lo! there happen\u2019d then a wond\u2019rous marvel!\n   First, Vukashin on his oath he trampled,\n   Whisp\u2019ring to his wife the awful secret:\n   \u201cShelter thee! my faithful wife! be shelter\u2019d!\n   Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana!\n   Bring not to the workmen food to-morrow!\n   Else, my fair! thy early life \u2019twill cost thee:\n   And beneath the walls they will immure thee!\u201d\n\n   On his oath, too, did Uglesha trample!\n   And he gave his wife this early warning:\n   \u201cBe not thou betray\u2019d, sweet love! to danger!\n   Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana!\n   Carry not their rations to the workmen!\n   Else in earliest youth thy friend might lose thee:\n   Thou might\u2019st be immured in the foundation!\u201d\n\n   Faithful to his oath, young Goiko whisper\u2019d\n   Not a breath to warn his lovely consort.\n\n   When the morning dawn\u2019d upon the morrow,\n   All the brothers roused them at the day-break,\n   And each sped, as wont, to the Bojana.\n\n   Now, behold! two young and noble women;\n   They\u2014half-sisters\u2014they, the eldest sisters\u2014\n   One is bringing up her snow-bleach\u2019d linen,\n   Yet once more in summer sun to bleach it.\n   See! she comes on to the bleaching meadows;\n   There she stops\u2014she comes not one step farther.\n   Lo! the second, with a red-clay pitcher;\n   Lo! she comes\u2014she fills it at the streamlet;\n   There she talks with other women\u2014lingers\u2014\n   Yes! she lingers\u2014comes not one step farther.\n\n   Goiko\u2019s youthful wife at home is tarrying,\n   For she has an infant in the cradle\n   Not a full moon old, the little nursling:\n   But the moment of repast approaches;\n   And her aged mother then bestirs her;\n   Fain would call the serving maid, and bid her\n   Take the noon-tide meal to the Bojana.\n   \u201cNay, not so!\u201d said the young wife of Goiko;\n   \u201cStay, sit down in peace, I pray thee, mother!\n   Rock the little infant in his cradle:\n   I myself will bear the food to Scadra.\n   In the sight of God it were a scandal,\n   An affront and shame among all people,\n   If, of three, no one were found to bear it.\u201d\n\n   So she staid at home, the aged mother,\n   And she rock\u2019d the nursling in the cradle.\n   Then arose the youthful wife of Goiko;\n   Gave them the repast, and bade them forward.\n   Call\u2019d around her all the serving maidens;\n   When they reach\u2019d Bojana\u2019s flowing river,\n   They were seen by Mrljavchevich Goiko,\n   On his youthful wife, heart-rent, he threw him;\n   Flung his strong right arm around her body;\n   Kiss\u2019d a thousand times her snowy forehead:\n   Burning tears stream\u2019d swiftly from his eyelids,\n   As he spoke, in melancholy language:\n\n   \u201cO my wife, my own! my full heart\u2019s-sorrow!\n   Didst thou never dream that thou must perish?\n   Why hast thou our little one abandoned?\n   Who will bathe our little one, thou absent?\n   Who will bare the breast to feed the nursling?\u201d\n   More, and more, and more, he fain would utter;\n   But the king allow\u2019d it not.  Vukashin,\n   By her white hand seizes her, and summons,\n   Master Rado,\u2014he the master-builder;\n   And he summons his three hundred workmen.\n\n   But the young-espoused one smiles, and deems it\n   All a laughing jest,\u2014no fear o\u2019ercame her.\n   Gathering round her, the three hundred workmen\n   Pile the stones and pile the beams about her.\n   They have now immured her to the girdle.\n\n   Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher;\n   Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared her,\n   And she shriek\u2019d aloud in her despairing;\n   In her woe implored her husband\u2019s brothers:\n\n   \u201cCan ye think of God?\u2014have ye no pity?\n   Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?\u201d\n   But in vain, in vain were her entreaties;\n   And her brothers left her thus imploring.\n\n   Shame and fear succeeded then to censure,\n   And she piteously invoked her husband:\n   \u201cCan it, can it be, my lord and husband,\n   That so young, thou, reckless, would\u2019st immure me?\n   Let us go and seek my aged mother:\n   Let us go\u2014my mother she is wealthy:\n   She will buy a slave,\u2014a man or woman,\n   To be buried in the walls\u2019 foundations.\u201d\n\n   When the mother-wife\u2014the wife and mother,\n   Found her earnest plaints and prayers neglected,\n   She address\u2019d herself to Neimar {74} Rado:\n   \u201cIn God\u2019s name, my brother, Neimar Rado,\n   Leave a window for this snowy bosom,\n   Let this snowy bosom heave it freely;\n   When my voiceless Jovo shall come near me,\n   When he comes, O let him drain my bosom!\u201d\n   Rado bade the workmen all obey her,\n   Leave a window for that snowy bosom,\n   Let that snowy bosom heave it freely\n   When her voiceless Jovo shall come near her,\n   When he comes, he\u2019ll drink from out her bosom.\n\n   Once again she cried to Neimar Rado,\n   \u201cNeimar Rado! in God\u2019s name, my brother!\n   Leave for these mine eyes a little window,\n   That these eyes may see our own white dwelling,\n   When my Jovo shall be brought towards me,\n   When my Jovo shall be carried homeward.\u201d\n   Rado bade the workmen all obey her,\n   Leave for those bright eyes a little window,\n   That her eyes may see her own white dwelling,\n   When they bring her infant Jovo to her,\n   When they take the infant Jovo homeward.\n\n   So they built the heavy wall about her,\n   And then brought the infant in his cradle,\n   Which a long, long while his mother suckled.\n   Then her voice grew feeble\u2014then was silent:\n   Still the stream flow\u2019d forth and nursed the infant:\n   Full a year he hung upon her bosom;\n   Still the stream flow\u2019d forth\u2014and still it floweth. {75a}\n   Women, when the life-stream dries within them,\n   Thither come\u2014the place retains its virtue\u2014\n   Thither come, to still their crying infants. {75b}\n\n\n\nBATTLE OF KOSSOVA.\n\n\n   FROM Jerusalem, the holy city,\n   Lo! there flew a gray and royal falcon;\n   With him came a little flitting swallow.\n   No! it was no gray and royal falcon;\n   \u2019Twas Elias! \u2019twas the holy prophet;\n   And he brought no little flitting swallow,\n   But a letter from God\u2019s holy mother\n   To the Emperor, from Polje Kossova; {76}\n   At the Emperor\u2019s feet he drops the letter:\n   And the letter thus address\u2019d the Emperor!\n\n   \u201cTzar Lasar! thou tzar of noble lineage!\n   Tell me now, what kingdom hast thou chosen?\n   Wilt thou have heaven\u2019s kingdom for thy portion,\n   Or an earthly kingdom?  If an earthly,\n   Saddle thy good steed\u2014and gird him tightly;\n   Let thy heroes buckle on their sabres,\n   Smite the Turkish legions like a tempest,\n   And these legions all will fly before thee.\n   But if thou wilt have heaven\u2019s kingdom rather,\n   Speedily erect upon Kossova,\n   Speedily erect a church\u2014of marble;\n   Not of marble, but of silk and scarlet; {77}\n   That the army, to its vespers going,\n   May from sin be purged\u2014for death be ready:\n   For thy warriors all are doom\u2019d to stumble;\n   Thou, too, prince, wilt perish with thy army!\u201d\n\n      When the Tzar Lasar had read the writing,\n   Many were his thoughts and long his musings.\n   \u201cLord my God! what\u2014which shall be my portion,\n   Which my choice of these two proffer\u2019d kingdoms?\n   Shall I choose heaven\u2019s kingdom? shall I rather\n   Choose an earthly one?\u2014for what is earthly\n   Is all fleeting, vain, and unsubstantial;\n   Heavenly things are lasting, firm, eternal.\u201d\n   So the Tzar preferr\u2019d a heavenly kingdom\n   Rather than an earthly.\u2014On Kossova\n   Straight he builds a church, but not of marble;\n   Not of marble, but of silk and scarlet:\n   Then he calls the patriarch of Servia,\n   Calls around him all the twelve archbishops,\n   Bids them make the holy supper ready,\n   Purify the warriors from their errors,\n   And for death\u2019s last conflict make them ready.\n\n   So the warriors were prepared for battle,\n   And the Turkish hosts approach\u2019d Kossova.\n   Bogdan leads hit valiant heroes forward,\n   With his sons\u2014nine sons\u2014the Jugovichi,\n   Sharp and keen\u2014nine gray and noble falcons.\n   Each led on nine thousand Servian warriors;\n   And the aged Jug led twenty thousand.\n\n   With the Turks began the bloody battle.\n   Seven pashas were overcome and scattered,\n   But the eighth pasha came onwards boldly.\n   And the aged Jug Bogdan has fallen\u2014\n   Fallen with his sons\u2014nine Jugovichi,\n   Nine gray noble falcons\u2014all have fallen;\n   And the host has fallen with its leaders!\n\n   Forward press the Mrljashevich warriors,\n   Ban Uglesha and the Voivode Goiko;\n   And with them the monarch Tzar Vukashin:\n   Each one leads full thirty thousand warriors.\n   With the Turks begins the bloody battle;\n   Eight pashas are soon o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d and perish,\n   But the ninth pasha comes boldly onwards\u2014\n   Brothers Mrljashevich twain have fallen,\n   Ban Uglesha and the Voivode Goiko,\n   With a grievous wound sinks down Vukashin,\n   He is trodden on by Turkish horses,\n   And the warriors perish with their leaders.\n\n   Now the ducal Stephan presses forward:\n   Strong and mighty is the ducal army;\n   Strong and powerful; sixty thousand warriors.\n   And the battle with the Turks is raging;\n   Nine pashas are soon o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d and perish;\n   But the tenth pasha comes boldly onward;\n   And the ducal Stephan is o\u2019erpower\u2019d,\n   And his warriors perish with their leader.\n\n   Then Lasar, the noble lord of Servia;\n   Seeks Kossova with his mighty army;\n   Seven and seventy thousand Servian warriors.\n   How the infidels retire before him,\n   Dare not look upon his awful visage!\n   Now indeed begins the glorious battle.\n   He had triumph\u2019d then,\u2014had triumph\u2019d proudly,\n   But that Vuk\u2014the curse of God be on him!\n   He betray\u2019d his father at Kossova.\n\n   So the Turks the Servian monarch vanquish\u2019d,\n   So Lasar he fell, the Tzar of Servia\u2014\n   With Lasar fell all the Servian army.\n   But they have been honour\u2019d, and are holy,\n   In the keeping of the God of heaven.\n\n\n\nTHE HOLY NICHOLAS.\n\n\n   GOD of mercy! what a wond\u2019rous wonder!\n   Such a wonder ne\u2019er before was witness\u2019d.\n   In Saint Paul\u2019s\u2014within the holy cloister,\n   Gather\u2019d round a golden table, seated\n   In three ranks, the saints are all collected;\n   O\u2019er them sits the thunderer Elias; {81a}\n   In the midst are Sava and Maria;\n   At the ends are Petka and Nedelia;\n   And their health the holy Nicholas pledges,\n   Pledges them their health to Jesus\u2019 glory. {81b}\n   But behold, behold the saint!\u2014he slumbers;\n   From his hand the cup of wine has fallen,\n   Fallen from it on the golden table:\n   Yet the wine\u2019s unspilt,\u2014the cup unbroken.\n   Then laugh\u2019d out the thunderer Elias:\n   \u201cO my brother!  O thou holy Nicholas:\n   Often drank we cooling wine together;\n   But it was our duty not to slumber,\n   Not to drop the cup\u2014And tell me, brother,\n   Why to-day does slumber\u2019s power subdue thee?\u201d\n\n   Him thus answer\u2019d Nicholas the holy:\n   \u201cJest not thus with me, thou sainted thunderer!\n   For I fell asleep, and dreamt three hundred,\n   Dreamt three hundred friars had embark\u2019d them\n   In one vessel on the azure ocean;\n   Bearing offerings to the holy mountain,\n   Offerings,\u2014golden wax, and snowy incense.\n   From the clouds there broke a furious tempest,\n   Lash\u2019d the blue waves of the trembling ocean,\n   Scooping watery graves for all the friars.\n   Then I heard their blended voices call me,\n   \u2018Help, O God! and help, O holy Nicholas!\n   Would that thou, where\u2019er thou art, wert with us!\u2019\n   So I hurried down to help the suppliants\u2014\n   So I saved the whole three hundred friars\u2014\n   So I shipped them full of joy and courage;\n   Brought their offerings to the holy mountain,\n   Brought their golden wax, their snowy incense;\u2014\n   And meanwhile I seem\u2019d in gentle slumber,\n   And my cup fell on the golden table.\u201d\n\n\n\nERDELSKA\u2019S BANITZA.\n\n\n   Lo!  Erdelska\u2019s lady {84a} reared a fir-tree,\n   And invoked the fir-tree\u2014thus invok\u2019d it:\n   \u201cGrow thou, fir-tree, to the height of heaven!\n   To the green grass bend thy spreading branches;\n   Let me mount upon thy branches, fir-tree!\n   From those branches see the white-wall\u2019d Buda,\n   And in Buda see the Budan Jovan.\n   Does he bear himself as once he bore him;\n   Does the feather wave upon his Kalpak; {84b}\n   Does his steed still bear his high head proudly?\u201d\n   Thus she spoke and thought that no one heard her;\n   But the Ban of Transylvania heard her,\n   Even her lord, the Ban, and thus address\u2019d her:\n   \u201cNow, by heaven, thou Erdelskan Banitza;\n   Why is Buda fairer than Erdelska?\n   Why is Jovan nobler than thy husband?\u201d\n   Thus replied the Erdelskan Banitza:\n   \u201cBuda is not fairer than Erdelska,\n   Jovan is not nobler than my husband.\n   But my first, my earliest joy, was Jovan;\n   My first joy\u2014a cup with flowers full laden,\n   Second joy\u2014a cup with wine o\u2019erflowing,\n   My third joy\u2014a cup fill\u2019d up with wormwood.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE MOORISH KING\u2019S DAUGHTER.\n\n\n   ONCE the mother of the princely Marko\n   Thus address\u2019d her son:\u2014\u201cNow, Marko, tell me\n   Why hast thou so many a shrine erected?\n   Is it for thy sins in lowly penance?\n   Is it that thy wealth is overflowing?\u201d\n\n   Then the noble prince address\u2019d his mother:\n   \u201cNow, by Heav\u2019n, I\u2019ll tell thee!  Erst I travell\u2019d,\n   Aged mother! in the Moorish country:\n   To the water-cisterns sped me early,\n   To refresh my Sharaz:\u2014round the cisterns\n   Were a dozen Moorish men assembled:\n   Through the Moors I fain would reach the water\u2014\n   Reach the water to refresh my Sharaz:\n   But the dozen Moorish men opposed me,\n   And we there began a bloody struggle\u2014\n   There my trusty club aloft I lifted:\n   One of the black Moors with earth I levell\u2019d:\n   One I struck to earth,\u2014eleven assail\u2019d me:\n   Two I struck to earth,\u2014and ten attack\u2019d me:\n   Three I struck to earth,\u2014and nine engaged me:\n   Four I struck to earth,\u2014and twice four smote me:\n   Five I struck to earth, and strove with seven:\n   Six I struck to earth, and faced as many:\n   But the six o\u2019erpower\u2019d the weary Marko;\n   And they bound my hands, and bore me swiftly,\n   Bore me swiftly to the Moorish palace;\n   And the monarch sent me to a prison.\n\n   \u201cSeven long years I dwelt within my dungeon:\n   Nothing knew I of the summer\u2019s dawning;\n   Nothing knew I of returning winter;\n   Nothing knew I, mother, but that snow-balls,\n   Snow-balls oft were thrown into my prison\u2014\n   Thrown into my prison by the maidens:\n   So I knew it was the winter season.\n   Sometimes maidens flung me Basil-garlands,\n   So I knew it was the dawn of summer.\n   When the eighth year broke upon thy Marko,\n   It was not my dungeon that distress\u2019d me:\n   \u2019Twas the sorrow of a Moorish maiden,\n   And she was the Moorish monarch\u2019s daughter.\n   When the morn return\u2019d, and when the ev\u2019ning,\n   To my dungeon-window came she greeting:\u2014\n   \u201cNay! thou shalt not perish in thy prison,\n   Thou poor Marko! give me but thy promise\n   That thou wilt espouse the Moorish maiden,\n   When the maiden has unlock\u2019d thy prison\u2014\n   When she has released thy faithful Sharaz.\n   I will bring a heap of golden ducats:\n   All the ducats thou canst wish for, Marko.\u201d\n\n   \u201cWhen I heard her in my misery, mother!\n   From my head I took my cap, and laid it\n   On my knees,\u2014and twice I swore upon it:\n   \u2018By my faith!  I\u2019ll never leave thee, maiden!\n   By my faith!  I never will betray thee!\n   E\u2019en the golden sun is sometimes treach\u2019rous\u2014\n   Shines not out in winter as in summer\u2014\n   But my word, my faith, shall be unchanging!\u201d\n\n   And the maiden drank the dear delusion:\n   She believed the oath that I had sworn her;\n   And when ev\u2019ning\u2019s fall the earth had shaded,\n   She flung ope the portals of my dungeon:\n   From my prison-house she brought me, mother,\n   Brought me to my proud and prancing Sharaz:\n   For herself she brought a steed yet nobler:\n   Both were loaded well with bags of ducats:\n   And she brought my bright and faithful sabre.\n   On our steeds we sprung, and swiftly sped us,\n   In the darkness, from that Moorish country.\n\n   \u201cBut at last the twilight dawn\u2019d upon us,\n   And I flung me on the ground to slumber:\n   And the Moorish maiden laid her near me:\n   And she threw her ebon arms around me:\n   But, as daylight came, and I, O mother!\n   Saw how black her face, her teeth how ivory,\n   Such a fright, and such a shuddering seized me,\n   That I drew the sabre from its scabbard,\n   Plunged it deeply through her silken girdle;\n   Through and through the bloody sabre smote her.\n   \u201cThen I sprung upon the back of Sharaz,\n   And I heard the maiden\u2019s lips address me:\n   \u2018Thou in God my brother! thou, O Marko!\n   Leave me not!\u2014thus wretched do not leave me!\u201d\n\n   \u201cTherefore, mother! do I lowly penance:\n   Thus, my mother! have I gold o\u2019erflowing:\n   Therefore seek I righteous deeds unceasing.\u201d\n\n\n\nMARKO AND THE TURKS.\n\n\n   VISIR Amurath is gone a-hunting;\n   Hunting in the leafy mountain-forest:\n   With him hunt twelve warriors, Turkish heroes:\n   With the heroes hunts the noble Marko:\n   White days three they hunted in the mountain;\n   Nothing found they in the mountain-forest.\n   But, behold! while in the forest hunting,\n   They a lake, a green-faced lake, discover,\n   Where a flock of gold-winged ducks are swimming.\n\n   There the proud Visir lets loose his falcon,\n   Bids him pounce upon a gold-wing\u2019d swimmer;\n   But the falcon turned his glances upwards,\n   And he mounted to the clouds of heaven.\n   To the proud Visir said princely Marko:\n   \u201cVisir Amurath! is it allowed me\n   To let loose my own, my favourite falcon?\n   He a gold-wing\u2019d duck shall doubtless bring thee.\u201d\n   And the Moslem swiftly answer\u2019d Marko:\n   \u201c\u2019Tis allow\u2019d thee, Marko!  I allow thee.\u201d\n   Then the princely Marko loosed his falcon;\n   To the clouds of heaven aloft he mounted;\n   Then he sprung upon the gold-wing\u2019d swimmer\u2014\n   Seized him\u2014rose\u2014and down they fell together.\n   When the bird of Amurath sees the struggle,\n   He becomes indignant with vexation:\n   \u2019T was of old his custom to play falsely\u2014\n   For himself alone to gripe his booty:\n   So he pounces down on Marko\u2019s falcon,\n   To deprive him of his well-earn\u2019d trophy,\n   But the bird was valiant as his master;\n   Marko\u2019s falcon has the mind of Marko:\n   And his gold-wing\u2019d prey he will not yield him.\n   Sharply turns he round on Amurath\u2019s falcon,\n   And he tears away his proudest feathers.\n\n   Soon as the Visir observes the contest,\n   He is fill\u2019d with sorrow and with anger;\n   Rushes on the falcon of Prince Marko,\n   Flings him fiercely \u2019gainst a verdant fir-tree,\n   And he breaks the falcon\u2019s dexter pinion.\n   Marko\u2019s noble falcon groans in suffering,\n   As the serpent hisses from the cavern.\n   Marko flies to help his favourite falcon,\n   Binds with tenderness the wounded pinion,\n   And with stifled rage the bird addresses:\n   \u201cWoe for thee, and woe for me, my falcon!\n   I have left my Servians\u2014I have hunted\n   With the Turks\u2014and all these wrongs have suffer\u2019d.\u201d\n   Then the hunters in their course pass\u2019d by him\u2014\n   Pass\u2019d him by, and left him sad and lonely.\n   There his falcon\u2019s wounds to heal he tarried\u2014\n   Tarried long amidst the mountain-forests.\n   When the wounds were heal\u2019d, he sprung on Sharaz,\n   Spurr\u2019d his steed, and gallop\u2019d o\u2019er the mountain;\n   Sped as swiftly as the mountain Vila.\n   Soon he leaves the mountain far behind him:\n   Reaching then the gloomy mountain\u2019s borders;\n   On the plain beneath him, with his heroes\u2014\n   Turkish heroes twelve, the princely Marko\n   The Visir descries, who looks around him,\n   Sees the princely Marko in the distance,\n   And thus calls upon his twelve companions:\n\n   \u201cYe, my children! ye, twelve Turkish heroes!\n   See ye yonder mountain-mist approaching,\n   From the darksome mountain travelling hither?\n   In that mountain-mist is princely Marko;\n   Lo! how fiercely urges he his courser!\n   God defend us now from every evil!\u201d\n   Soon the princely Marko reach\u2019d the Moslems,\n   From the sheath he drew his trusty sabre,\n   Drove that arm\u2019d Visir and all his warriors\u2014\n   Drove them from him\u2014o\u2019er the desert scatters,\n   As the vulture drives a flock of sparrows.\n   Marko soon overtakes the flying warriors,\n   From his neck their chieftain\u2019s head he sever\u2019d;\n   And the dozen youths his trusty sabre\n   Into four-and-twenty halves divided.\n\n   Then he stood a while in doubtful musing;\n   Should he go to Jedren {95a} to the sultan\u2014\n   Should he rather seek his home at Prilip? {95b}\n   After all his musings he determined:\n   \u201cBetter is it that I seek the sultan;\n   And let Marko tell the deeds of Marko\u2014\n   Not the foes of Marko\u2014not the Moslems!\u201d\n\n   So the hero Marko speeds to Jedren.\n   To the sultan in divan he enter\u2019d;\n   And his fiery eyes look\u2019d fiercely round him,\n   As the hungry wolves around the forest;\n   Look\u2019d as fiercely as if charged with lightnings.\n   And the sultan ask\u2019d the hero Marko,\n   \u201cTell me what hath vex\u2019d thee, princely Marko?\n   Say in what the sultan has annoy\u2019d thee?\n   Tell me what misfortune has disturb\u2019d thee?\u201d\n   Then the princely Marko tells the sultan\n   What with Amurath visir had happened;\n   And the sultan feign\u2019d a merry laughter:\n   And with agitated brow responded,\n   \u201cBlessings be upon thee, princely Marko!\n   Hadst thou not behaved thee thus, my Marko,\n   Son of mine I would no longer call thee.\n   Any Turk may get a visir\u2019s title,\n   But there is no hero like my Marko.\u201d\n\n   From his silken vestments then the sultan\n   From his purse drew out a thousand ducats,\n   Threw the golden ducats to the hero:\n   \u201cTake these ducats from thy master, Marko,\n   Drink to my prosperity, thou hero!\u201d\n\n   Marko took the purse of gold in silence,\n   Walk\u2019d away in silence from the palace;\n   \u2019T was no love of Marko\u2014no intention\n   That the hero\u2019s lips should pledge the sultan:\n   \u2019T was that he should quit the monarch\u2019s presence,\n   For his fearful wrath had been awaken\u2019d.\n\n\n\nDEATH OF KRALEVICH MARKO.\n\n\n   AT the dawn of day the noble Marko\n   Rode in sunlight on the Sabbath morning;\n   By the sea, along the Urvinian mountain,\n   Towards the mountain-top as he ascended;\n   Suddenly his trusty Sharaz stumbled;\n   Sharaz stumbled, and began to weep there.\n   Sad it fell upon the heart of Marko,\n   And he thus address\u2019d his favourite Sharaz\u2014\n   \u201cAh! my faithful friend, my trusty Sharaz,\n   We have dwelt a hundred years and sixty,\n   Dwelt together as beloved companions,\n   And till now have never, never stumbled.\n   Thou hast stumbled now, my trusty Sharaz,\n   Thou hast stumbled, and thine eyes are weeping.\n   God alone can tell what fate awaits me;\u2014\n   One of us is surely doom\u2019d to perish,\n   And my life or thine is now in peril.\u201d\n\n   While the prince apostrophized his Sharaz,\n   Lo! the Vila from Urvina\u2019s mountain\n   Call\u2019d aloud unto the princely Marko:\n   \u201cBrother, listen\u2014listen, princely Marko!\n   Know\u2019st thou why thy faithful Sharaz stumbled?\n   Know that he was mourning for his master;\n   Know that ye ere long must be divided.\u201d\n   Marko answer\u2019d thus the mountain Vila:\n   \u201cThou white Vila, let a curse be on thee! {98}\n   Now shall I be parted from my Sharaz,\n   Who through many a land and town hath borne me,\n   From the sun\u2019s uprising to his setting.\n   Better steed ne\u2019er trod the earth than Sharaz,\n   As than Marko never better hero.\n   While my head stays firmly on my shoulders,\n   Never will I from my steed be sever\u2019d.\u201d\n\n   The white Vila answer\u2019d princely Marko:\n   \u201cBrother, listen!\u2014listen, princely Marko!\n   Force will never tear thy Sharaz from thee;\n   Vainly \u2019gainst thee would the arm of hero\n   Be uplifted\u2014not the shining sabre,\n   Not the battle-club\u2014nor lance of warrior.\n   Earth no hero holds who can alarm thee;\u2014\n   But the brave must die\u2014and thou art mortal;\n   God will smite thee\u2014God, the old blood-shedder. {99}\n   But if thou would\u2019st doubt the mountain Vila,\n   Hasten to the summit of the mountain,\n   Look to right and look to left around thee:\n   Thou wilt see two tall and slender fir-trees,\n   Fir-trees towering o\u2019er the mountain forests;\n   They with verdant leaves are cover\u2019d over;\n   And between the fir-trees is a fountain.\n   Look! and afterwards rein back thy Sharaz,\n   Then alight, and bind him to the fir-tree:\n   Bend thee down,\u2014and look into the fountain;\n   Look\u2014as if the fountain were a mirror;\n   Look, and thou shalt see when death awaits thee.\u201d\n\n   Marko did, as counsell\u2019d by the Vila.\n   When he came upon the mountain summit,\n   To the right and left he look\u2019d around him;\n   Then he saw two tall and slender fir-trees,\n   Fir-trees towering high above the forest,\n   Covered all with verdant leaves and branches.\n   Then he rein\u2019d his faithful Sharaz backwards,\n   Then dismounted\u2014tied him to the fir-tree;\n   Bent him down, and looked into the fountain,\n   Saw his face upon the water mirror\u2019d,\n   Saw his death-day written on the water.\n\n   Tears rush\u2019d down the visage of the hero:\n   \u201cO thou faithless world!\u2014thou lovely flow\u2019ret!\n   Thou wert lovely\u2014a short pilgrim\u2019s journey\u2014\n   Short\u2014though I have seen three centuries over\u2014\n   And \u2019tis time that I should end my journey!\u201d\n\n   Then he drew his sharp and shining sabre,\n   Drew it forth\u2014and loosed the sabre-girdle;\n   And he hasten\u2019d to his faithful Sharaz:\n   With one stroke he cleft his head asunder,\n   That he never should by Turk be mounted,\n   Never be disgraced in Turkish service,\n   Water draw, or drag a Moslem\u2019s Jugum. {101}\n   Soon as he had cleaved his head asunder,\n   Graved a grave he for his faithful Sharaz,\n   Nobler grave than that which held his brother.\n   Then he broke in four his trusty sabre,\n   That it might not be a Moslem\u2019s portion,\n   That it might not be a Moslem\u2019s triumph,\n   That it might not be a wreck of Marko,\n   Which the curse of Christendom should follow.\n   Soon as he in four had broke his sabre,\n   Next he broke his trusty lance in seven;\n   Threw the fragments to the fir-trees\u2019 branches.\n   Then he took his club, so terror-striking,\n   In his strong right hand, and swiftly flung it,\n   Flung it from the mountain of Urvina,\n   Far into the azure, gloomy ocean.\n   To his club thus spake the hero Marko:\n   \u201cWhen my club returneth from the ocean,\n   Shall a hero come to equal Marko.\u201d\n\n   When he thus had scatter\u2019d all his weapons,\n   From his breast he drew a golden tablet;\n   From his pocket drew unwritten paper,\n   And the princely Marko thus inscribed it:\n   \u201cHe who visits the Urvina mountain,\n   He who seeks the fountain \u2019neath the fir-trees,\n   And there finds the hero Marko\u2019s body,\n   Let him know that Marko is departed.\n   When he died, he had three well-fill\u2019d purses;\u2014\n   How well fill\u2019d?\u2014well fill\u2019d with golden ducats.\n   One shall be his portion, and my blessing,\n   Who shall dig a grave for Marko\u2019s body:\n   Let the second be the church\u2019s portion;\n   Let the third be given to blind and maim\u2019d ones,\n   That the blind through earth in peace may wander,\n   And with hymns laud Marko\u2019s deeds of glory.\u201d\n\n   And when Marko had inscribed the letter,\n   Lo! he stuck it on the fir-tree\u2019s branches,\n   That it might be seen by passing travellers.\n   In the fount he threw his golden tablets,\n   Doff\u2019d his vest of green, and spread it calmly\n   On the grass, beneath a sheltering fir-tree;\n   Cross\u2019d him, and lay down upon his garment;\n   O\u2019er his eyes he drew his samur-kalpak, {103}\n   Laid him down,\u2014yes! laid him down for ever.\n\n   By the fountain lay the clay-cold Marko\n   Day and night;\u2014a long, long week he lay there.\n   Many travellers pass\u2019d, and saw the hero,\u2014\n   Saw him lying by the public path-way;\n   And while passing, said, \u201cThe hero slumbers!\u201d\n   Then they kept a more than common distance,\n   Fearing that they might disturb the hero.\n\n   Fortune is the leader of misfortune,\n   As misfortune oft is fortune\u2019s leader:\n   \u2019T was a happy fortune, then, that Vaso,\n   He the _Iguman_ {104a} of the _Holy Mountain_, {104b}\n   From the white church bound of Vilindari,\n   With his scholar, with the young Isaja,\n   Thither came and saw the sleeping Marko.\n   His right hand then beckon\u2019d to his scholar:\n   \u201cO, my son, be cautious, lest thou wake him!\n   When disturb\u2019d he rages full of fury,\n   And without remorse he might destroy us.\u201d\n   Then he look\u2019d in anxious terror round him,\n   Saw the letter on the fir-tree branches;\n   Read it from a distance;\u2014as he trembled,\n   Read that Marko had in death departed.\n   From his horse the astonish\u2019d monk alighted,\n   Seized the hand of Marko;\u2014Marko moved not!\n   Long he had been dead,\u2014long since departed!\n\n   Tears rush\u2019d swiftly from the eye of Vaso,\n   Marko\u2019s fate fill\u2019d all his thoughts with sorrow.\n   From the girdle then he took the purses,\n   Which he hid beneath his own white girdle:\n   Round and round inquired Iguman Vaso\n   Where he should entomb the hero Marko; {105}\n   Round and round he look\u2019d in fond inquiry.\n   On his horse he flung the hero\u2019s body,\n   Brought it safely to the ocean\u2019s borders,\n   Thence he shipped it for the Holy Mountain;\n   Near the white church, Vilindari, landed,\n   To that white church he convey\u2019d the body;\n   And, as wont, upon the hero\u2019s body\n   Funeral hymns were sung; and he was buried\n   In the white church aisle, the very centre,\u2014\n   There the old man placed the hero\u2019s body.\n   But no monument he raised above him,\n   Lest when foes should mark the hero\u2019s grave-stone,\n   Theirs should be the joy, and theirs the triumph. {106}\n\n\n\n\nLYRICS, SONGS, AND OCCASIONAL POEMS.\n\n\nTHE CURSE.\n\n\n   I HEARD a sprightly swallow say\n   To a gray cuckoo t\u2019 other day,\u2014\n   \u201cThou art a happy bird indeed;\n   Thou dost not in the chimney breed,\n   Thou dost not hear the eternal jarring,\n   Of sisters and step-sisters warring;\n   Their woes and grievances rehearsing,\n   Cursing themselves, and others cursing.\n   A young step-sister once I saw,\n   Foul language at the elder throw;\n   \u201cPerdition\u2019s daughter! hence depart;\n   Thou hast no fruit beneath thy heart.\u201d\n   And thus the elder one replied:\n   \u201cCurse thy perverseness and thy pride!\n   Mijailo is a son of thine;\n   Now thou shalt bring forth daughters nine,\n   And madness shall their portion be.\n   Thy son shall cross the parting sea;\n   He never shall return to thee,\n   But, bathed in blood and wounded, pine!\u201d\n\n   And thus she cursed;\u2014the curse was true;\n   Her sister\u2019s nine fair daughters grew;\n   And madness seized them,\u2014seized them all:\n   Mijailo,\u2014far away, and wounded,\n   By solitude and woe surrounded,\n   I heard him on his mother call:\n   \u201cO mother! mother! send me now\n   A bandage of that snowy linen\n   Which you so thoughtlessly were spinning,\n   When curses wander\u2019d to and fro.\n   In your rage you wove it,\u2014now remove it;\n   Tear it for bandages, as you tore\n   Love and affection all asunder.\n   Where it was bleach\u2019d thy son lies under;\n   With it cover his hot wounds o\u2019er.\n   Rend it, mother! and send it, mother!\n   May it thy suffering son restore!\u201d\n\n\n\nFAREWELL. {112}\n\n\n   AGAINST white Buda\u2019s walls, a vine\n   Doth its white branches fondly twine:\n   O, no! it was no vine-tree there;\n   It was a fond, a faithful pair,\n   Bound each to each in earliest vow\u2014\n   And, O! they must be severed now!\n   And these their farewell words:\u2014\u201cWe part\u2014\n   Break from my bosom\u2014break\u2014my heart!\n   Go to a garden\u2014go, and see,\n   Some rose-branch blushing on the tree;\n   And from that branch a rose-flower tear,\n   Then place it on thy bosom bare;\n   And as its leavelets fade and pine,\n   So fades my sinking heart in thine.\u201d\n   And thus the other spoke: \u201cMy love!\n   A few short paces backward move,\n   And to the verdant forest go;\n   There\u2019s a fresh water-fount below;\n   And in the fount a marble stone,\n   Which a gold cup reposes on;\n   And in the cup a ball of snow\u2014\n   Love! take that ball of snow to rest\n   Upon thine heart within thy breast.\n   And as it melts unnoticed there,\n   So melts my heart in thine, my dear!\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE VIOLET.\n\n\n   How captivating is to me,\n   Sweet flower! thine own young modesty!\n   Though did I pluck thee from thy stem,\n   There\u2019s none would wear thy purple gem.\n   I thought, perchance, that Ali Bey\u2014\n   But he is proud and lofty\u2014nay!\n   He would not prize thee\u2014would not wear\n   A flower so feeble though so fair:\n   His turban for its decorations\n   Had full blown roses and carnations.\n\n\n\nSMILIA. {116}\n\n\n   SWEET Smilia-flowers did Smilia pull,\n   Her sleevelets and her bosom full;\n   By the cool stream she gather\u2019d them,\n   And twined her many a diadem\u2014\n   A diadem of flowery-wreaths;\u2014\n   One round her brows its fragrance breathes;\n   One to her bosom-friend she throws;\n   The other where the streamlet flows\n   She flings, and says in gentlest tone\u2014\n   \u201cSwim on, thou odorous wreath! swim on,\n   Swim to my Juris\u2019 home, and there\n   O whisper in his mother\u2019s ear:\n   \u2018Say, wilt thou not thy Juris wed?\u2014\n   Then give him not a widow\u2019s bed;\n   But some sweet maiden, young and fair.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\nHARVEST SONG.\n\n\n   TAKE hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see\n   Who the kissers and kiss\u2019d of the reapers shall be.\n   Take hold of your reeds, till the secret be told,\n   If the old shall kiss young, and the young shall kiss old.\n   Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens! and see\n   What fortune and chance to the drawers decree:\n   And if any refuse, may God smite them\u2014may they\n   Be cursed by Paraskev, the saint of to-day!\n   Now loosen your hands\u2014now loosen, and see\n   Who the kissers and kiss\u2019d of the reapers shall be. {117}\n\n\n\nMAIDEN\u2019S PRAYER.\n\n\n   BEAUTY\u2019S maiden thus invoked the Heavens:\n   \u201cSend me down a whirlwind! let it scatter\n   Yonder stony tower\u2014its halls lay open!\n   Let me look on Gertshich Mano\u012blo.\n   If the otter on his knee is playing\u2014\n   If the falcon sits upon his shoulder\u2014\n   If the rose is blooming on his kalpak.\u201d {118}\n\n   What she pray\u2019d for speedily was granted:\n   And a storm-wind came across the ocean;\n   And the stony tower fell down before it:\n   And she look\u2019d on Gertshich Mano\u012blo:\n   Saw the otter on his knees disporting:\n   Saw the falcon sitting on his shoulder:\n   Saw the rose upon his kalpak blooming.\n\n\n\nKISSES.\n\n\n   WHAT\u2019S the time of night, my dear?\n   For my maiden said, \u201cI\u2019ll come\u201d\u2014\n   Said \u201cI\u2019ll come,\u201d\u2014but is not here:\n   And \u2019tis now the midnight\u2019s gloom.\n   Lone and silent home I turn\u2019d;\n   But upon the bridge I met her\u2014\n   Kiss\u2019d her:\u2014How my hot lips burned!\u2014\n   How forget it\u2014how forget her!\n   In one kiss full ten I drew:\n   And upon my lips there grew,\n   From that hour, a honey-dew,\n   As if sugar were my meat,\n   And my drink metheglin sweet.\n\n\n\nHARVEST SONG.\n\n\n   LORD and master! let us homewards, let us homewards haste:\n   Far, far distant are our dwellings\u2014far across the waste. {120a}\n\n   Some have aged mothers threat\u2019ning\u2014\u201cNe\u2019er allow another:\u201d\n   Some male-children {120b} in the cradle, crying for their mother:\n   Some impatient lovers chiding;\u2014dearer they than brother.\n\n\n\nCURSE.\n\n\n   THE maiden cursed her raven eyes,\n   She cursed them for their treacheries.\n   \u201cBe blinded now, to you if heaven\n   All that is visible has given!\n   If ye see all, ye traitors, say\n   Why saw ye not my love to day:\u2014\n   He pass\u2019d my door,\u2014but, truants, ye\n   Gave not the gentlest hint to me.\n   He had a nosegay in his hand,\u2014\n   He wore a gold embroider\u2019d band,\u2014\n   \u2019Twas made by other hands than mine!\n   Upon it wreathing branches twine:\n   May every branch embroidered there,\n   A miserable heart-wound bear;\u2014\n   Upon each branch, may every leaf\n   Bring and betoken toil and grief.\u201d\n\n\n\nSALUTATION OF THE MORNING STAR.\n\n\n   Lo! the maiden greets the day-star!  \u201cSister!\n   Sister star of morning! well I greet thee;\n   Thou dost watch the world from thine uprising\n   To thy sinking hour.  In Herzgovina, {122}\n   Tell me didst thou see the princely Stephan?\n   Tell me, was his snowy palace open,\n   Were his steeds caparisoned, and ready;\n   And was he equipp\u2019d his bride to visit?\u201d\n\n   Gently then the morning star responded:\n   \u201cLovely sister! beautiful young maiden,\n   True, I watch the world from my uprising\n   To my setting;\u2014and in Herzgovina\n   Saw the palace of the princely Stephan;\n   And that snowy palace was wide open,\n   And his horse was saddled, and was ready,\n   And he was equipp\u2019d his bride to visit:\n   But not thee\u2014not thee\u2014another maiden;\n   False tongues three have whisper\u2019d evil of thee;\n   One has said\u2014thine origin is lowly;\n   One, that thou art treacherous as a serpent;\n   And the third, that thou art dull and dreamy.\u201d\n\n   Then the maiden pour\u2019d her imprecations:\n   \u201cHe who said my origin was lowly,\n   Never let a child of love be born him;\n   He who called me treacherous as a serpent,\n   Round his heart, O! let a serpent wreathe it;\n   Through hot summers in his hair be tangled,\n   Through cold winters in his bosom nestle;\n   He who dar\u2019d to call me dull and dreamy,\n   Nine long years may he be worn by sickness,\n   And no sleep renew his strength to bear it.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE KNITTER.\n\n\n   THE maiden sat upon the hill,\n   Upon the hill and far away,\n   Her fingers wove a silken cord,\n   And thus I heard the maiden say:\n   \u201cO with what joy, what ready will,\n   If some fond youth, some youth adored,\n   Might wear thee, should I weave thee now!\n   The finest gold I\u2019d interblend,\n   The richest pearls as white as snow.\n   But if I knew, my silken friend,\n   That an old man should wear thee, I\n   The coarsest worsted would inweave,\n   Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave,\n   And all thy knots with nettles tie.\u201d\n\n\n\nROYAL CONVERSE.\n\n\n   THE king from the queen an answer craves;\n   \u201cHow shall we now employ our slaves?\u201d\n   The maidens in fine embroidery,\n   The widows shall spin flax-yarn for me,\n   And the men shall dig in the fields for thee.\n\n   The king from the queen an answer craves;\n   \u201cHow shall we, lady, feed our slaves?\u201d\n   The maidens shall have the honey-comb sweet,\n   The widows shall feed on the finest wheat,\n   And the men of maize-meal bread shall eat.\n\n   The king from the queen an answer craves;\n   \u201cWhere for the night shall rest our slaves?\u201d\n   The maidens shall sleep in the chambers high,\n   The widows on mattress\u2019d beds shall lie,\n   And the men on nettles under the sky.\n\n\n\nROSA.\n\n\n   UNDER roses slept the maiden Rosa,\n   And a rose fell down and waken\u2019d Rosa;\n   To the flower-rose, said the maiden Rosa\u2014\n   \u201cRose of mine!  O fall not on the maiden,\n   I am in no tune of soul to love thee,\n   For a heavy grief o\u2019erwhelms my spirit;\n   Youth would have me,\u2014but old age hath won me.\n   An old bridegroom is a worthless maple;\n   When the wind is up it faints and trembles;\n   When the rain descends, decay decays it:\n   But a young bride, is a roselet budding;\n   When the wind is up, its fair leaves open,\n   When the rain descends, it shines in beauty,\u2014\n   When the sun comes forth, it smiles and glories.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN AND THE SUN.\n\n\n   A MAIDEN proudly thus the sun accosted:\n   \u201cSun! I am fairer far than thou,\u2014far fairer;\n   Fairer than is thy sister {127a} or thy brethren,\u2014\n   Fairer than yon bright moon at midnight shining,\n   Fairer than yon gay star in heav\u2019n\u2019s arch twinkling,\n   That star, all other stars preceding proudly,\n   As walks before his sheep the careful shepherd.\u201d\n   The sun complain\u2019d to God of such an insult:\n   \u201cWhat shall be done with this presumptuous maiden?\u201d\n   And to the sun God gave a speedy answer:\n   \u201cThou glorious Sun! thou my beloved daughter! {127b}\n   Be joyous yet! say, why art thou dejected?\n   Wilt thou reward the maiden for her folly\u2014\n   Shine on, and burn the maiden\u2019s snowy forehead.\n   But I a gloomier dowry yet will give her;\n   Evil to her shall be her husband\u2019s brother;\n   Evil to her shall be her husband\u2019s father.\n   Then shall she think upon the affront she gave thee.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN\u2019S WISH.\n\n\n   IF I had, ah Laso!\n   All the emp\u2019ror\u2019s treasures,\n   Well I know, ah Laso!\n   What with these I\u2019d purchase;\n   I would buy, ah Laso!\n   Garden on the Sava;\n   Well I know, ah Laso!\n   What my hands would plant there;\n   I would plant, ah Laso!\n   Hyacinths, carnations.\n   If I had, ah Laso!\n   All the emp\u2019ror\u2019s treasures,\n   Well I know, ah Laso!\n   What with these I\u2019d purchase;\n   I would buy, ah Laso!\n   I would purchase Laso,\n   He should be, ah Laso!\n   Gardener in my garden.\n\n\n\nTHE FALCON.\n\n\n   THE falcon soars both far and high,\n   He spreads his pinions in the sky;\n   Then from his cloudy heights he lowers,\n   And seats him on the city\u2019s towers:\n   He sees a laughing girl of grace,\n   In crystal water bathe her face;\n   And looks with open, eager eye\n   Upon her neck of ivory:\n   White as the snow upon the mountain;\n   And there he hears a youth recounting\n   His tale of love.\u2014\u201cNow bend thy head\n   Upon thy snowy neck,\u201d he said;\n   \u201cIts whiteness is too bright for me:\n   And \u2019neath it sorrowing heart may be.\u201d\n\n\n\nHEROES SERVED.\n\n\n   UPON the silent Danube\u2019s shore,\n      When ev\u2019ning wastes, \u2019tis sweet to see\n   (Their golden wine cups flowing o\u2019er);\n      Our heroes in their revelry.\n\n   A youthful beauty pours the wine,\n      And each will pledge a cup to her;\n   And each of charms that seem divine,\n      Would fain become a worshiper.\n\n   \u201cNay! heroes, nay!\u201d the virgin cried,\n      \u201cMy service\u2014not my love\u2014I give:\n   For one alone\u2014for none beside:\n      For one alone I love and live.\u201d\n\n\n\nYOUTH AND AGE.\n\n\n   Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving.\n   Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead:\n   \u201cForehead! if I thought an old man\u2019s kisses\n   Would be stamp\u2019d upon thee, I would hasten\n   To the forest, and would gather wormwood:\n   Into boiling water press its bitters:\n   With it steep my forehead ev\u2019ry morning,\n   That the old man\u2019s kiss might taste of wormwood.\n   But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me,\n   I would hurry to the verdant garden:\n   I would gather all its sweetest roses,\n   Would condense their fragrance,\u2014and at morning,\n   Every morning, would perfume my forehead:\n   So the youth\u2019s sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance,\n   And his heart be gladden\u2019d with the odour.\n   Better dwell with youth upon the mountains,\n   Than with age in luxury\u2019s richest palace:\n   Better sleep with youth on naked granite,\n   Than with eld on silks howe\u2019er voluptuous!\u201d\n\n\n\nCHOICE.\n\n\n   IN my court the morning\u2019s twilight found me;\n   At the chase the early sun while rising,\n   I upon the mountain\u2014and behind it,\n   On that mountain, \u2019neath a dark-green pine tree,\n   Lo! I saw a lovely maiden sleeping;\n   On a clover-sheaf her head was pillow\u2019d;\n   On her bosom lay two snowy dovelets;\n   In her lap there was a dappled fawnkin.\n   There I tarried till the fall of ev\u2019ning:\n   Bound my steed at night around the pine-tree:\n   Bound my falcon to the pine-tree branches:\n   Gave the sheaf of clover to my courser:\n   Gave the two white dovelets to my falcon:\n   Gave the dappled fawn to my good greyhound:\n   And, for me,\u2014I took the lovely maiden.\n\n\n\nANXIETY.\n\n\n   I FAIN would sing\u2014but will be silent now,\n   For pain is sitting on my lover\u2019s brow;\n   And he would hear me\u2014and, though silent, deem\n   I pleased myself, but little thought of him,\n   While of nought else I think; to him I give\n   My spirit\u2014and for him alone I live:\n   Bear him within my heart, as mothers bear\n   The last and youngest object of their care.\n\n\n\nINQUIRY.\n\n\n   SAY, heavenly spirit! kindly say,\n      Where tarries now this youth of mine;\n   Say, is he speeding on his way,\n      Or doth he linger, drinking wine?\n\n   If he be speeding on,\u2014elated\n      With joy and gladness let him be:\n   If quaffing wine,\u2014in quiet seated,\n      O! his be peace and gaiety!\n\n   But if he love another maiden,\n      I wish him nought but sorrow:\u2014No!\n   Then be his heart with anguish laden!\n      And let Heaven smite his path with woe!\n\n\n\nFROZEN HEART.\n\n\n   THICK fell the snow upon St. George\u2019s day;\n   The little birds all left their cloudy bed;\n   The maiden wander\u2019d bare-foot on her way;\n   Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:\n   \u201cO sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be.\u201d\n   \u201cNo! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet\u2014\n   But my poor heart is cold with misery.\n   There\u2019s nought to chill me in the snowy sleet:\n   My mother\u2014\u2019tis my mother who hath chill\u2019d me,\n   Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill\u2019d me.\u201d\n\n\n\nUNION IN DEATH.\n\n\n   FONDLY lov\u2019d a youth and youthful maiden,\n   And they wash\u2019d them in the self-same water,\n   And they dried them with the self-same linen:\n   Full a year had pass\u2019d, and no one knew it:\n   Yet another year\u2014\u2019twas all discover\u2019d,\n   And the father heard it, and the mother;\n   But the mother check\u2019d their growing fondness,\n   Banish\u2019d love, and exiled them for ever.\n\n   To the stars he look\u2019d, and bade them tell her:\n   \u201cDie, sweet maiden! on the week\u2019s last even;\n   Early will I die on Sabbath morning.\u201d\n   As the stars foretold th\u2019 event, it happen\u2019d:\n   On the eve of Saturday the maiden\n   Died\u2014and died the youth on Sunday morning:\n   And they were, fond pair, together buried;\n   And their hands were intertwined together:\n   In those hands they placed the greenest apples:\n   When, behold! ere many moons had shone there,\n   From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree,\n   And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow\u2019d:\n   Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it,\n   As around the straw the silk clings closely.\n\n\n\nDEER AND VILA.\n\n\n   A YOUNG deer tracked his way through the green forest,\n   One lonely day\u2014another came in sadness;\n   And the third dawn\u2019d, and brought him sighs and sorrow:\n   Then he address\u2019d him to the forest Vila:\n   \u201cYoung deer!\u201d she said, \u201cthou wild one of the forest,\n   Now tell me what great sorrow has oppress\u2019d thee?\n   Why wanderest thou thus in the forest lonely:\n   Lonely one day,\u2014another day in sadness,\u2014\n   And the third day with sighs and anguish groaning?\u201d\n\n   And thus the young deer to the Vila answer\u2019d:\n   \u201cO thou sweet sister!  Vila of the forest!\n   Me has indeed a heavy grief befallen;\n   For I had once a fawn, mine own beloved,\n   And one sad day she sought the running water:\n   She enter\u2019d it, but came not back to bless me:\n   Then tell me, had she lost her way and wander\u2019d?\n   Was she pursued and captured by the huntsman?\n   Or has she left me?\u2014has she wholly left me?\u2014\n   Loving some other deer\u2014and I forgotten.\n   O! if she has but lost her way, and wanders,\n   Teach her to find it\u2014bring her back to love me.\n   O! if she has been captured by the huntsman,\n   Then may a fate as sad as mine await him.\n   But if she has forsaken me\u2014if, faithless,\n   She loves another deer\u2014and I forgotten\u2014\n   Then may the huntsman speedily o\u2019ertake her.\u201d\n\n\n\nVIRGIN AND WIDOW.\n\n\n   OVER Sarajevo flies a falcon,\n   Looking round for cooling shade to cool him.\n   Then he finds a pine on Sarejevo;\n   Under it a well of sparkling water;\n   By the water, Hyacinth, the widow,\n   And the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin.\n   He look\u2019d down\u2014the falcon\u2014and bethought him:\n   \u201cShall I kiss grave Hyacinth, the widow;\n   Or the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin?\u201d\n   Thinking thus\u2014at last the bird determined\u2014\n   And he whisper\u2019d to himself sedately,\n   \u201cGold\u2014though long employ\u2019d, is far, far better\n   Than the finest silver freshly melted.\u201d\n   So he kiss\u2019d\u2014kiss\u2019d Hyacinth, the widow.\n   Very wroth wax\u2019d then young Rose, the virgin:\n   \u201cSarejevo! let a ban be on thee!\n   Cursed be thy strange and evil customs!\n   For thy youths they love the bygone widows,\n   And thy aged men the untried virgins.\u201d\n\n\n\nNIGHTINGALES.\n\n\n   ALL the night two nightingales were singing\n   At the window of th\u2019 affianced maiden;\n   And th\u2019 affianced maiden thus addressed them:\n   \u201cTell me, ye two nightingales, O tell me!\n   Are ye brothers? are ye brothers\u2019 children?\u201d\n\n   Thus the nightingales made speedy answer:\n   \u201cBrothers are we not, nor brother\u2019s children:\n   We are friends\u2014friends of the verdant forest.\n   Once we had another friend\u2014another\u2014\n   But that friend is lost to us for ever.\n   We have heard that nuptial bliss awaits him;\n   And we came the youthful bride to look on,\n   And to offer her a golden spindle,\n   With the flax of Egypt bound around it.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE RING.\n\n\n   THE streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;\n   There came a maid that stream to draw\u2014a lovely maid was she;\n   From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.\n   Young Mirko saw, and offer\u2019d her a golden fruit, and said:\n   \u201cO take this apple, damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!\u201d\n   She took the apple\u2014flung it back\u2014and said, in angry tone,\n   \u201cNeither thine apple, Sir! nor thee\u2014presumptuous boy, be gone!\u201d\n\n   The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;\n   There came a maid that stream to draw\u2014a lovely maid was she;\n   From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.\n   Young Mirko saw, and proffer\u2019d her a golden brooch, and said:\n   \u201cO take this brooch, thou damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!\u201d\n   She took the brooch, and flung it back, and said, in peevish tone,\n   \u201cI\u2019ll neither have thee nor thy brooch\u2014presumptuous boy, be gone!\u201d\n\n   The streamlet ripples through the mead, beneath the maple tree;\n   There came a maid that stream to draw\u2014the loveliest maid was she;\n   From the white walls of old Belgrade that maid came smilingly.\n   Young Mirko saw, and proffer\u2019d her a golden ring, and said:\n   \u201cO take this ring, my damsel fair! and be mine own sweet maid!\u201d\n   She took the ring\u2014she slipp\u2019d it on\u2014and said, in sprightliest tone,\n   \u201cI\u2019ll have thee and thy golden ring, and be thy faithful one.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE FRATRICIDE.\n\n\n   BETWEEN two mountains sank the sun\u2014\n   Between two maids the enamour\u2019d one.\n   He gave his kiss to one alone;\n   The other maid grew jealous then:\n   \u201cMost faithless thou of faithless men!\u201d\n   She said\u2014and he replied\u2014\u201cFair maid!\n   I fain would kiss thy cheeks of red,\n   But thou hast got a bickering brother,\n   Who loves to quarrel with another,\n   And I no quarrel seek, my love!\u201d\n\n   She hied her to the darksome grove\u2014\n   Silent\u2014she turn\u2019d o\u2019er many a rock,\n   And look\u2019d \u2019neath many a broken stock;\n   Probed weeds and briars, till she found\n   A poisonous serpent on the ground.\n   She smote it with her golden ring,\n   Tore from its mouth the venomy fang;\n   Its poisonous juice her hands did wring\n   Into a wine cup\u2014and she sprang\n   On swiftest feet to Raduli\u2014\n   Her own\u2014her only brother he\u2014\n   Her hands the fatal cup supplied\u2014\n   He drank the poison\u2014and he died.\n\n   Then sped she to the youth\u2014\u201cA kiss\u2014\n   At least one kiss of love for this\u2014\n   For this\u2014for thee\u2014I dress\u2019d the cup\n   With poison\u2014and he drank it up\u2014\n   The brother that thou lov\u2019st not\u2014he\n   I poison\u2019d\u2014for a kiss from thee\u201d\u2014\n\n   \u201cAway! away! thou murd\u2019rous maid!\n   Avaunt! avaunt!\u201d\u2014the lover said:\n   \u201cWhat fame\u2014what courage could confide\n   In thee\u2014a heartless fratricide!\u201d\n\n\n\nLOVE.\n\n\n   THE youth he struck on the tambourine,\n   And nought was so bright as its golden sheen;\n   Of the hair of maidens twined together\n   Its strings, which he struck with a falcon\u2019s feather.\n   The maid look\u2019d down from the balcony,\n   And thus to her inner self said she:\u2014\n\n   \u201cO heaven! what a noble youth is he!\n   Would\u2019st thou but give this youth to me,\n   I would make of the garden-pinks his bed,\n   I would lay fair roses under his head;\n   And waked by perfume, with what delight\n   Would he kiss the maiden\u2019s forehead white!\u201d\n\n\n\nMAPLE TREE.\n\n\n   O THOU brotherly maple tree!\n   Wilt thou be a friend to me?\n   Be a brother, and be a friend!\n   To the green grass thy branches bend,\n   That I may climb to their highest tip!\n   Look o\u2019er the sea, and see the ship,\n   Where my lover sits smiling now;\n   He binds the turban round his brow,\n   And over his shoulders the shawl he flings,\n   Which is full of mine own embroiderings.\n   For three long years my hands inwove\n   Those golden flowers to deck my love:\n   The richest silk of the brightest dyes\n   I work\u2019d for him, and now my eyes\n   Would fain my absent lover see:\n   Assist me, brotherly maple tree!\n   And tell me, if he thinks of me!\n\n\n\nSEMENDRIAN BEAUTY.\n\n\n   LOVELY maiden of Semendria! {152}\n   Turn again thy footsteps hither;\n   Let me see thy countenance!\n\n   Hail thee, youth! and health be with thee!\n   Hast thou visited the markets?\n   Saw\u2019st thou there a sheet of paper?\n   Like that paper is my forehead.\n   Hast thou ever seen the vineyard,\n   Seen the rosy wine that flows there?\n   Youth! my cheeks that wine resemble.\n   Didst thou ever walk the meadows,\n   Hast thou seen the black sloe-berry?\n   That black sloe my eyes will paint thee:\n   Hast thou wandered near the ocean?\n   Hast thou seen the _pijavitza_? {153}\n   Like it are the maiden\u2019s eye-brows.\n\n\n\nSELF-ADMIRATION.\n\n\n   A MAIDEN to the fountain went;\n   I saw her overhang the place\u2014\n   And\u2014she was young and innocent\u2014\n   I heard her say with simple grace,\n   \u201cIndeed she has a pretty face;\n   And if she had a spring-flower wreath,\n   How well \u2019twould sit upon her brow;\n   And she might hear the shepherd breathe,\n   Yes! thou shalt be my maiden now!\n   The shepherd\u2014\u2019midst his fleecy drove,\n   Goes like a moon the stars above.\u201d\n\n\n\nASSIGNATION.\n\n\n   MAIDEN! let us share each other\u2019s kisses!\n   Tell me, tell me, where shall be our meeting,\n   In thy garden, or in mine, sweet maiden?\n   Under thine, or under my green rose-tree;\n   Thou shalt be a rose, my gentle angel:\n   I to a fond butterfly will change me,\n   Everlastingly o\u2019er thee to flutter\u2014\n   On thy flowers untired I will suspend me,\n   Living blest upon mine own love\u2019s kisses.\n\n\n\nFOOLISH VOW.\n\n\n   THE maiden made a foolish vow:\n   \u201cI\u2019ll never wear a flow\u2019ret now;\u2014\n   No flow\u2019ret shall be ever mine\u2014\n   I\u2019ll never drink the proffer\u2019d wine,\n   No wine I\u2019ll drink\u2014no friend I\u2019ll kiss,\n   No, never more\u2014my vow is this.\u201d\n   So rashly, rashly spoke the maid,\n   But soon\u2014ah, soon\u2014repentance said:\n\n   \u201cA flowery garland o\u2019er me,\n      How beautiful \u2019twould be:\n   And wine\u2014it would restore me,\n      My heart\u2019s own gaiety:\n   And love might play before me,\n      If one sweet kiss were free.\u201d\n\n\n\nVILAS.\n\n\n   VISHNIA! {157a} lovely vishnia!\n   Lift thy branches higher;\n   For beneath thy branches,\n   Vilas {157b} dance delighted:\n   While Radisha {157c} dashes\n   From the flow\u2019rs the dewdrops.\n   Vilas two conveying,\n   To the third he whispers:\n   \u201cO be mine, sweet Vila!\n   Thou, with mine own mother,\n   In the shade shalt seat thee;\n   Silken vestments spinning,\n   Weaving golden garments.\u201d\n\n\n\nLEPOTA. {158}\n\n\n   LEPOTA went forth to the harvest\u2014she held\n   A sickle of silver in fingers of gold:\n   And the sun mounted high o\u2019er the parched harvest field;\n   And the maiden in song all her sympathies told.\n   \u201cI\u2019ll give my white forehead to him who shall bind\n   All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scatter\u2019d behind:\n   I\u2019ll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring\n   A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring;\n   And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade,\n   I will be\u2014and for aye\u2014an affectionate maid.\u201d\n\n   And she thought that her words were all wasted in air:\n   But a shepherd\u2014just watching his sheepfold, was there;\n   And he flew, and with sedges he bound all the sheaves;\n   And he made her an arbor of haslewood leaves;\n   And he ran to the spring, and he brought the sweet water;\n   And he look\u2019d on the face of Beauty\u2019s young daughter,\n   And he said, \u201cLovely maiden, thy promise I claim;\u201d\n   But the cheeks of the maiden were cover\u2019d with shame,\n   And she said to the shepherd, while blushing\u2014\u201cNot so!\n   Go back to thy sheepfold\u2014thou wanderer, go!\n   For if thou didst bind the loose sheaves, thou hast left\n   Thy sheep in the stubble, to wander bereft;\n   And if from the fountain the water thou beared\u2019st,\n   Its freshness and coolness thou equally shared\u2019st;\n   And if thou hast reared up an arbor of shade,\n   For thyself as for me its refreshment was made.\u201d\n\n\n\nIMPRECATIONS.\n\n\n   THROUGH the long night a falcon cried,\n   \u201cAwake, awake thee! youth! anon\n   Thy maiden will become a bride:\n   She puts her marriage garments on.\n   Awake! awake thee, youth! and send\n   A marriage blessing to thy friend.\u201d\n\n   \u201cWhat! shall I be a marriage guest?\n   And shall I bid the maid be blest?\n   Hear then my marriage blessing, hear!\n   No son her barren womb shall bear:\n   May every bit of bread she breaks\n   Bring with it wretchedness and woe,\u2014\n   For every drop her thirst that slakes\n   May tears of bitter anguish flow!\u201d\n\n\n\nSECRETS DIVULGED.\n\n\n   Two lovers kiss each other in the meadows;\n   They think that no one sees the fond betrayal,\n   But the green meadows see them, and are faithless;\n   To the white flocks incontinent they say all;\n   And the white flocks proclaim it to the shepherd,\n   The shepherd to a high-road traveller brings it;\n   He to a sailor on the restless ocean tells it,\n   The sailor to his spice-ship thoughtless sings it;\n   The spice-ship whispers it upon the waters,\n   The waters rush to tell the maiden\u2019s mother.\n\n   And thus impassioned spoke the lovely maiden\u2014\n   \u201cMeadows! of spring-days never see another!\n   Flocks! may the cruel ravenous wolves destroy ye.\n   Thee, shepherd! may the cruel Moslem slaughter.\n   Wanderer! may oft thy slippery footsteps stumble.\n   Thee, sailor! may the ocean billows smother.\n   Ship! may a fire unquenchable consume thee;\n   And sink into the earth, thou treacherous water!\u201d\n\n\n\nWISHES.\n\n\n   O THAT I were a little stream,\n   That I might flow to him\u2014to him!\n   How should I dance with joy, when knowing\n   To whom my sparkling wave was flowing!\n   Beneath his window would I glide,\n   And linger there till morning-tide;\n   When first he rouses him to dress\n   In comely garb his manliness,\u2014\n   Then should he weak, or thirsty be,\n   O he might stoop to drink of me!\n   Or baring there his bosom, lave\n   That bosom in my rippling wave.\n   O what a bliss, if I could bear\n   The cooling power of quiet there!\n\n\n\nLOVER ASLEEP.\n\n\n   O NIGHTINGALE! thy warblings cease,\n   And let my master sleep in peace:\n   \u2019Twas I who lull\u2019d him to repose,\n   And I will wake him from his rest;\n   I\u2019ll seek the sweetest flower that grows,\n   And bear it to his presence blest;\n   And gently touch his cheeks, and say,\n   \u201cAwake, my master! for \u2019tis day.\u201d\n\n\n\nEARLY SORROWS\n\n\n   O NIGHTINGALE! sweet bird\u2014they say,\n      That peace abides with thee;\n   But thou hast brought from day to day\n      A triple woe to me.\n   The first, first woe my spirit knew,\n      My first, first woe was this,\n   My mother never train\u2019d me to\n      A lover\u2019s early bliss.\n   My second woe, my second woe,\n      Was that my trusty steed,\n   Whene\u2019er I mounted, seem\u2019d to show\n      Nor eagerness nor speed.\n   My third, third woe\u2014of all the worst,\n      Is that the maid I woo,\n   The maid I lov\u2019d the best\u2014the first,\n      Is angry with me too.\n   Then grave an early grave for me,\n      Yon whiten\u2019d fields among;\n   In breadth two lances let it be,\n      And just four lances long.\n   And o\u2019er my head let roses grow,\n      There plant the red-rose tree;\n   And at my feet a fount shall flow,\n      O scoop that fount for me!\n   So when a youthful swain appears,\n      The roses he shall wreathe;\n   And when an old man bent with years,\n      He\u2019ll drink the stream beneath.\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG SHEPHERDS.\n\n\n   THE sheep, beneath old Buda\u2019s wall,\n   Their wonted quiet rest enjoy;\n   But ah! rude stony fragments fall,\n   And many a silk-wool\u2019d sheep destroy;\n   Two youthful shepherds perish there,\n   The golden George, and Mark the fair.\n\n   For Mark, O many a friend grew sad,\n   And father, mother wept for him:\n   George\u2014father, friend, nor mother had,\n   For him no tender eye grew dim:\n   Save one\u2014a maiden far away,\n   She wept\u2014and thus I heard her say:\n\n   \u201cMy golden George\u2014and shall a song,\n   A song of grief be sung for thee\u2014\n   \u2019Twould go from lip to lip\u2014ere long\n   By careless lips profaned to be;\n   Unhallow\u2019d thoughts might soon defame\n   The purity of woman\u2019s name.\n\n   \u201cOr shall I take thy picture fair,\n   And fix that picture in my sleeve?\n   Ah! time will soon the vestment tear,\n   And not a shade, nor fragment leave:\n   I\u2019ll give not him I love so well\n   To what is so corruptible.\n\n   \u201cI\u2019ll write thy name within a book;\n   That book will pass from hand to hand,\n   And many an eager eye will look,\n   But ah! how few will understand!\n   And who their holiest thoughts can shroud\n   From the cold insults of the crowd?\u201d {168}\n\n\n\nTHOUGHTS OF A MOTHER.\n\n\n   Lo! a fir-tree towers o\u2019er Sarajevo,\n   Spreads o\u2019er half the face of Sarajevo\u2014\n   Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo:\n   Brothers and half-sisters there were seated;\n   And the brother cuts a silken garment,\n   Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:\n\n   \u201cBrother\u2019s wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet!\n   Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree?\n   Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar,\n   Or art thinking of my absent brother?\u201d\n\n   To her brother thus the lady answer\u2019d:\n   \u201cGolden-ring of mine! my husband\u2019s brother!\n   Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming,\n   Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar;\n   Neither was I dreaming of my brother.\n   I was thinking of my only mother,\n   She with sugar and with honey reared me;\n   She for me the red wine pour\u2019d at even,\n   And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin;\n   In the morning milk, with spirit chasten\u2019d,\n   So to give me cheeks of rose and lily;\n   And with gentle messages she waked me,\n   That her child might grow both tall and slender.\u201d\n\n\n\nCOUNSEL.\n\n\n   \u201cMY Misho! tell me, tell me, pray,\n   Where wert thou wandering yesterday?\u201d\n   \u2018I did not ramble\u2014did not roam;\n   A wretched head-ache kept me home.\u2019\n   \u201cA thousand times I\u2019ve said, I think,\n   No widows love\u2014no water drink!\n   But thou, a thoughtless unbeliever,\n   Wilt water drink, and get a fever;\n   Wilt give to widows thine affection,\n   And find remorse, or find rejection;\n   Now take my counsel,\u2014drink of wine,\n   And be a virgin maiden thine!\u201d\n\n\n\nDESOLATION.\n\n\n   GLOOMY night! how full thou art of darkness!\n   Thou, my heart! art fuller yet of sorrow,\n   Sorrow which I bear, but cannot utter!\n   I have now no mother who will hear me,\n   I have now no sister who will soothe me,\u2014\n   Yet I had a friend\u2014but he is absent!\n   Ere he comes, the night will be departed;\n   Ere he wakes, the birds will sing their matins;\n   Ere his kiss, the twilight hour will brighten:\n   Go thy way, my friend! the day is dawning!\n\n\n\nAPPREHENSION.\n\n\n   \u201cSWEET maiden mine! thou blushing rose!\n      Sweet, blushing roselet mine!\n   For me, what thought of honey flows\n      From those sweet lips of thine?\u201d\n   \u2018I dare not speak with thee, my dear,\n      My mother has forbid me.\u2019\n   \u201cSweet maid! thy mother is not here.\u201d\n      \u2018She saw me once, and chid me.\n   Sir, she is in the garden there,\n      Plucking the evergreen:\u2014\n   O may her heart like mine decay,\n      Like mine decay unseen,\u2014\n   Ere love\u2019s sweet power has pass\u2019d away,\n      As it had never been.\u2019\n\n\n\nMILITZA.\n\n\n   LONG and lovely are Militza\u2019s eyebrows,\n   And they overhang her cheeks of roses\u2014\n   Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead.\n   Three long years have I beheld the maiden,\n   Could not look upon her eyes so lovely\u2014\n   On her eyes\u2014nor on her snowy forehead.\n   To our country dance I lured the maiden,\n   Lured Militza,\u2014lured her to our dances,\n   Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.\n\n   While they danced upon the greensward, verdant\n   In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather\u2019d,\n   And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning,\n   And the maidens all look\u2019d up to heaven,\u2014\n   All the maidens\u2014all, except Militza.\n   She still look\u2019d on the green grass, untrembling,\n   While the maidens trembled as they whisper\u2019d:\n\n   \u201cO Militza! thou our friend and playmate,\n   Art thou overwise\u2014or art thou silly?\n   Thus to look upon the grass beneath us,\n   And not look up to the heaven above us,\n   To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them.\u201d\n\n   And Militza gave this quiet answer:\n   \u201cI am neither overwise nor silly.\n   Not the _Vila_, {176} not the cloud-upgatherer;\n   I am yet a maid\u2014and look before me.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE CHOICE.\n\n\n   HE slept beneath a poplar tree:\n   And three young maidens cross\u2019d the way;\n   I listened to the lovely three,\n   And heard them to each other say:\u2014\n   \u201cNow what is dearest, love! to thee?\u201d\n   The eldest said\u2014\u2018Young Ranko\u2019s ring\n   Would be to me the dearest thing.\u2019\n   \u201cNo! not for me,\u201d the second cried;\n   \u201cI\u2019d choose the girdle from his side.\u201d\n   \u2018Not I,\u2019 the youngest said\u2014\u2018In truth,\n   I\u2019ll rather have the sleeping youth.\n   The ring, O sister! will grow dim,\n   The girdle will ere long be broken;\n   But this is an eternal token,\u2014\n   His love for me, and mine for him.\u2019\n\n\n\nFOR WHOM?\n\n\n   SWEET fountain, that so freshly flows!\n   And thou, my own carnation-rose,\n   That shinest like a shining gem!\n   And shall I tear thee from thy stem?\n   For whom? my mother? ah! for whom?\n   My mother slumbers in the tomb.\n   For whom? my sister? she has fled,\n   To seek a foreign bridal bed.\n   For whom? my brother? he is far,\n   Far off, in dark and bloody war.\n   For whom, for whom, but thee, my love?\n   But thou art absent far above,\n   Above these three green mountains,\n   Beyond these three fresh fountains!\n\n\n\nLIBERTY.\n\n\n   NIGHTINGALE sings sweetly\n   In the verdant forest;\n   In the verdant forest,\n   On the slender branches.\n\n   Thither came three sportsmen,\n   Nightingale to shoot at.\n   She implored the sportsmen,\n   \u201cShoot me not, ye sportsmen!\n\n   \u201cShoot me not, ye sportsmen!\n   I will give you music,\n   In the verdant garden,\n   On the crimson rose-tree.\u201d\n\n   But the sportsmen seize her;\n   They deceive the songster,\n   In a cage confine her,\n   Give her to their loved one.\n\n   Nightingale will sing not\u2014\n   Hangs its head in silence:\n   Then the sportsmen bear her\n   To the verdant forests.\n\n   Soon her song is waken\u2019d;\n   \u201cWoe! woe! woe betides us,\n   Friend from friend divided,\n   Bird from forest banish\u2019d!\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE DANCE.\n\n\n   OMER\u2019S court is near to Sarajevo; {181a}\n   All around it is a woody mountain:\n   In the midst there is a verdant meadow;\n   There the maidens dance their joyous Kolo. {181b}\n   In the Kolo there is Damian\u2019s loved one;\n   O\u2019er the Kolo her fair head uprises,\n   Rises gay and lustrous in her beauty.\n   \u2019Midst the Kolo Nicholas address\u2019d her:\n   \u201cVeil your face, thou Damian\u2019s best beloved!\n   For to-day death\u2019s summons waits on Damian.\n   Half thy face veil over, lovely maiden!\u201d\n   Hardly the prophetic words were utter\u2019d,\n   Ere a gun was heard from the green forest;\n   Damian, wounded, fell amidst the Kolo\u2014\n   Damian fell, and thus his love address\u2019d him:\n   \u201cO my Damian!  O my sun of springtime!\n   Wherefore, wherefore didst thou shine so brightly,\n   Thus so soon to sink behind the mountain?\u201d\n   \u201cMy beloved!  O thou rose all beauteous!\n   Wherefore didst thou bloom so fair, so lovely,\n   And I never can enjoy, nor wear thee?\u201d\n\n\n\nELEGY.\n\n\n   KONDA died\u2014his mother\u2019s only offspring.\n   O what grief was hers the youth to bury\n   Far away from his own natural dwelling!\n   So she bore him to a verdant garden,\n   And \u2019neath gold pomegranate trees interr\u2019d him.\n   Every, every day she wandered thither:\n   \u201cDoth the earth, sweet son, lie heavy on thee?\n   Heavy are the planks of maple round thee?\u201d\n   From his grave the voice of Konda answers:\n   \u201cLightly presses the green earth upon me,\n   Lightly press the planks of maple round me.\n   Heavy is the virgins\u2019 malediction;\n   When they sigh, their sighs reach God\u2019s high presence;\n   When they curse, the world begins to tremble;\n   When they weep, even God is touch\u2019d with pity.\u201d\n\n\n\nINQUIRY.\n\n\n   A MAIDEN sat on th\u2019 ocean shore,\n   And held this converse with herself:\n   \u201cO God of goodness and of love!\n   What\u2019s broader than the mighty sea,\n   And what is longer than the field,\n   And what is swifter than the steed,\n   What sweeter than the honey dew,\n   What dearer than a brother is?\u201d\n   A fish thus answer\u2019d from the sea:\n   \u201cO maid! thou art a foolish girl.\n   The heaven is broader than the sea;\n   The sea is longer than the field;\n   The eye is swifter than the steed;\n   Sugar more sweet than honey dew;\n   Dearer than brother is thy love.\u201d\n\n\n\nDOUBT.\n\n\n   THREE young travellers travell\u2019d forth to travel:\n   On their travels met a lovely maiden:\n   Each will give the lovely maid a present:\n   One presents her with a fresh-pluck\u2019d apple:\n   One presents her with _bosilka_ {185a} flowering:\n   One a gold ring for the maiden\u2019s finger.\n   He who gave the maiden the bosilka\n   Said, \u201cThe maid is mine\u2014I claim the maiden.\u201d\n   He who gave the maid the fresh-pluck\u2019d apple\n   Said, \u201cThe maid is _mine_\u2014I claim the maiden.\u201d\n   He who gave the gold ring to the maiden\n   Said, \u201cWe\u2019ll go and seek the judge {185b} together:\n   He shall say to whom belongs the maiden.\u201d\n   So they went and sought the judge\u2019s presence:\n   \u201cJudge, thou honourable judge! between us:\n   We three travellers travell\u2019d forth together,\n   And we met a maiden in our travels,\n   And we gave her\u2014gave her each a present:\n   One of us a green and fresh-pluck\u2019d apple:\n   One presented her bosilka flowering;\n   And the third a gold ring for her finger:\u2014\n   Now decide to whom belongs the maiden.\u201d\n\n   Thus the honourable judge decided:\n   \u201cWe present bosilka for its odour:\n   As a pledge of love we give an apple:\n   But to give a ring is a betrothing;\u2014\n   He who gave the ring must have the maiden.\u201d\n\n\n\nTHE SULTANESS.\n\n\n   LISTEN!  I hear a cry, a cry!\n   The bells are ringing lustily;\n   And the hens are cackling all in riot.\n   No! no! no! the bells are quiet;\n   The hens at rest with one another:\n   \u2019Tis the sister calls the brother:\n\n   \u201cBrother! I am a Moslem slave:\n   Tear me from my Turkish grave.\n   Small the price which sets me free:\n   Of pearls two measures\u2014of gold but three.\u201d\n\n   In vain she calls her brother.\u2014\u2018O no!\n   My treasures to my apparel go:\n   The gold my horse\u2019s bridle must deck:\n   My pearls must grace my maiden\u2019s neck;\n   Must buy a kiss\u2014must buy a kiss.\u2019\n   The maid her brother answer\u2019d with this:\n   \u201cI am no slave!  I am no less\n   Than the sultan\u2019s chosen sultaness.\u201d\n\n\n\nBETROTHING.\n\n\n   HERE there is a maiden,\n   Young, and yet a virgin:\n   Give her then a husband,\n   Or give us the maiden,\n   And we will betroth her\n   To Ivan the student.\n   He\u2019s our parson\u2019s nephew\u2014\n   He has art to write on\n   Pinions of the eagle.\n   What shall be his subject?\n   What\u2014but bright-eyed maidens\n   And the brows of heroes?\n\n\n\nCAUTIONS.\n\n\n   O THOU lovely maiden!\n   Lo! thy praise has mounted\n   To the monarch\u2019s city!\n   Maiden! thou hast planted\n   The six-branch\u2019d _kaloper_ {190a}\n   And bosilka {190b} early.\n   But the youths unmarried\n   Long have been in waiting\n   To tear up thy balsam\u2014\n   Thy bosilka pillage.\n   Know\u2019st thou not they linger\n   Just to steal thy kisses?\n   Maiden! maiden! never\n   Let those youths betray thee!\n\n\n\nMAIDEN\u2019S CARES.\n\n\n   O SLEEP! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain\n         I bid thee visit me:\n   The anxious thought disturbs my brain\u2014\n         Whose shall the maiden be?\n   My mother says, \u201cThe goatherd, child!\n         The goatherd, child! for thee.\u201d\n      Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;\n      That were no happiness for me:\n      He tracks the mountains steep and wild\n      Where rocks and dangers be.\n\n   O sleep! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain\n         I bid thee visit me:\n   The anxious thought disturbs my brain\u2014\n         Whose shall the maiden be?\n   My mother says, \u201cThe shepherd, maid!\n         The shepherd, maid! for thee.\u201d\n      Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;\n      That were no happiness for me:\n      He wanders through the distant glade\n      Where wolves and perils be.\n\n   O sleep! sweet sleep! in vain, in vain\n         I bid thee visit me:\n   The anxious thought disturbs my brain\u2014\n         Whose shall the maiden be?\n   My mother says, \u201cThe tradesman, dear!\n         The tradesman, dear! for thee.\u201d\n      Nay, mother, nay! not he, not he;\n      That were no happiness for me:\n      He is a wanderer far and near,\n      His house no home may be.\n\n   O sleep, sweet sleep! in vain, in vain\n         I bid thee visit me:\n   The anxious thought disturbs my brain\u2014\n         Whose shall the maiden be?\n   My mother says, \u201cThe tailor, then,\n         The tailor, then, for thee!\u201d\n      Nay! mother! nay; not he, not he!\n      That were no happiness for me;\n      The tailor\u2019s needle may be keen,\n      His children hungry be.\n\n   O sleep, sweet sleep! in vain, in vain\n         I bid thee visit me;\n   The anxious thought disturbs my brain,\n         Whose shall the maiden be?\n   My mother says;\u2014\u201cThe peasant, take\n         The peasant, child! for thee.\u201d\n         Yes! mother, yes! in him I see\n      Both love and happiness for me;\n      For though his labouring hands are black,\n      The whitest bread eats he.\n\n\n\nMAHOMMEDAN SONG.\n\n\n   HIS breath is amber,\u2014sharp his reed;\n   The hand which holds it, O! how white.\n   He writes fair talismans,\u2014a creed,\n   For maidens doth the loved one write:\n   \u201cOf him that will not have thee,\u2014think not!\n   From him that fain would have thee, shrink not.\u201d\n\n\n\nMINE EVERY WHERE.\n\n\n   \u201cCOME with me, thou charming maiden!\n   Be my love and come with me.\u201d\n   \u2018Wherefore play with words so foolish?\n   That can never, never be;\n   I had rather in the tavern\n   Bear the golden cup, than ever,\u2014\n   Ever promise to be thine.\u2019\n   \u201cI am the young tavern-keeper,\n   So thou wilt indeed be mine.\u201d\n\n   \u2018Wherefore play with words so foolish?\n   No such fate will e\u2019er befall;\n   In the coffee-house I\u2019d rather\n   Serve, envelop\u2019d in my shawl,\n   Rather than be thine at all.\u2019\n   \u201cBut I am the coffee boiler,\n   Thee, my maiden, will I call.\u201d\n\n   \u2018Wherefore play with words so foolish?\n   That can never, never be;\n   Rather o\u2019er the field I\u2019ll wander,\n   Changed into a quail, than ever,\n   Ever give myself to thee.\u2019\n   \u201cBut I am a vigorous sportsman,\n   And thou wilt belong to me.\u201d\n\n   \u2018Play not, youth! with words so foolish,\n   That can never, never be;\n   Rather to a fish I\u2019d change me,\n   Dive me deep beneath the sea,\n   Rather than belong to thee.\u2019\n   \u201cBut I am the finest network,\n   Which into the sea I\u2019ll cast;\n   Mine thou art, and mine thou shalt be,\u2014\n   Yes! thou must be mine at last;\n   Be it here, or be it there,\n   Mine thou must be every where.\u201d\n\n\n\nMAID AWAKING.\n\n\n   LOVELY maiden gather\u2019d roses,\n      Sleep overtook her then;\n   Pass\u2019d a youth and call\u2019d the maiden,\n      Waked the maid again:\n   \u201cWake! O wake! thou lovely maiden,\n      Why art slumbering now?\n   All the rosy wreaths are fading,\n      Fading on thy brow.\n   He, thy heart\u2019s own love, will marry;\n      He will break his vow!\u201d\n   \u2018Let him marry, let him marry,\n      I shall not complain;\n   But the thunderbolt of heav\u2019n\n      Shall destroy him then.\u2019\n\n\n\nMOTHER\u2019S LOVE.\n\n\n   ON the balcony young Jovan sported,\n   While he sported, lo! it crash\u2019d beneath him,\n   And he fell,\u2014his right arm broke in falling!\n   Who shall find a surgeon for the sufferer?\n   Lo! the Vila of the mountain sends one,\n   But the recompense he asks is heavy;\n   Her white hand demands he of the mother,\u2014\n   Of the sister all her silken ringlets,\u2014\n   Of the wife he asks her pearl-strung necklace.\n\n   Freely gave her hand young Jovan\u2019s mother,\n   Freely gave her silken hair his sister,\n   But his wife refus\u2019d her pearly treasure:\u2014\n   \u201cNay! I will not give my pearl-strung necklace,\n   For it was a present of my father.\u201d\n   Anger then incens\u2019d the Mountain-Vila,\n   Into Jovan\u2019s wounds she pour\u2019d her poison,\n   And he died,\u2014Alas! for thee, poor mother!\n\n   Then began the melancholy cuckoos,\u2014{199}\n   Cuckoos then began their funeral dirges;\n   One pour\u2019d out her mournful plaints unceasing,\n   One at morning mourn\u2019d, and mourn\u2019d at ev\u2019ning,\n   And the third whene\u2019er sad thoughts came o\u2019er her.\n   Tell me which is the unceasing mourner?\n   \u2019Tis the sorrowing mother of young Jovan.\n   Which at morning mourns and late at evening?\n   \u2019Tis the grieving sister of young Jovan.\n   Which when melancholy thoughts come o\u2019er her?\n   \u2019Tis the youthful wife,\u2014the wife of Jovan.\n\n\n\nTHE GREYBEARD.\n\n\n   I HEARD young Falisava say:\n   \u201cI\u2019ll have no ancient greybeard, nay!\n   A sprightly beardless youth for me.\u201d\n   An aged man the maiden heard,\n   He shaves his long and snowy beard,\n   And paints his chin like ebony:\n   To Falisava then he goes\u2014\n   \u201cMy heart! my soul! my garden rose!\n   A beardless youth is come for thee.\u201d\n   And then she listen\u2019d\u2014they were wed\u2014\n   And to the old man\u2019s home they sped.\n\n   Then twilight came, and evening\u2019s shade\u2014\n   And said the old man to the maid:\n   \u201cSweet Falisava! maiden fair!\n   Our bed beside the stove prepare,\n   And the warm feather-mattress bear\u201d\u2014\n   The maiden heard\u2014the maiden went,\n   And gather\u2019d flowers of sweetest scent\u2014\n   Of sweetest scent and fairest hue,\n   Which on the old man\u2019s bed she threw,\n   And like a strong-wing\u2019d eagle then\n   Flew to her father\u2019s home again.\n\n\n\nMAHOMMEDAN TALE.\n\n\n   WHO is mourning there in Glamotz\u2019s fortress?\n   \u2019Tis the Vila\u2014\u2019tis an angry serpent?\n   \u2019Tis no Vila\u2014\u2019tis no angry serpent!\n   \u2019Tis the maid Emina there lamenting\u2014\n   There lamenting, for her woe is grievous!\n   Lo! the _Ban_ the maiden hath imprison\u2019d\u2014\n   Hath imprison\u2019d her, and will baptize her;\n   But Emina never will be faithless\u2014\n   From the white-wall\u2019d tower will fling her rather.\n\n   Thus the unbelieving Ban address\u2019d she:\n   \u201cUnbelieving Ban! a moment tarry,\n   While I hasten to the upper story.\u201d\n   And she hasten\u2019d to the upper story;\n   Look\u2019d around her from the white-wall\u2019d fortress:\n   In the distance saw her father\u2019s dwelling\u2014\n   Saw the white school where she pass\u2019d her childhood.\n   \u201cO my father\u2019s home! my poor heart\u2019s sorrow!\n   School of childhood! once that childhood\u2019s terror!\n   Many a day of weariness and sorrow\n   Did thy small-writ lessons give Emina.\u201d\n   Then she wrapp\u2019d her snowy robes around her\u2014\n   Thought not of the band that bound her tresses,\n   And she flung her from the fortress turret.\n   But her hairband caught the open window\u2014\n   From the window, ah! she hung suspended\u2014\n   Hung a week suspended from the window\u2014\n   Then her hair gave way\u2014and then the maiden\n   On the greensward fell.\n               The Christian heard it\u2014\n   He, the Christian Ban, and hasten\u2019d thither;\n   Oft and oft he kiss\u2019d the dead Emina;\n   And he peacefully entomb\u2019d the maiden.\n   O\u2019er her grave a chapel he erected,\n   And with golden apples he adorn\u2019d it.\n   Ere a week had pass\u2019d away, descended\n   On her tomb a beauteous light from heaven;\n   At her head a beauteous light was kindled;\n   At her feet another light shone sweetly;\n   And her aged mother saw and wonder\u2019d.\n   From her chain she took her knife, and plunged it\u2014\n   Plunged it deep within her troubled bosom\u2014\n   Fell, and died\u2014O melancholy mother!\n\n\n\nLOVE\u2019S DIFFICULTIES.\n\n\n   I LOVED her from her infancy,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   From childhood to maturity,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   And when I claim\u2019d the smiling maid,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   \u201cYe are of kindred blood!\u201d they said,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   \u201cBrother and sister\u2019s children ye,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   It were a sin to steal a kiss,\u201d\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   Oh what a sacrifice is this!\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   I\u2019ll steal a kiss though I be riven,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   From every, every hope of heaven,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   For what would heaven become to me,\n            Lado!  Lado!\n   When the long nights of autumn flee,\n            Lado!  Lado! {206}\n\n\n\nWITCHES.\n\n\n   THE sky is cover\u2019d with stars again:\n   The plains are cover\u2019d with flocks of sheep:\n   But where is the shepherd?  On the plain\n   The shepherd is lost in careless-sleep:\n   The youthful R\u0101doje sleeps:\u2014Arise!\n   Awake! his sister Jania cries.\n\n   \u201cJania! sister! nay! depart!\n      My body to witches is plighted:\n   My mother has torn away my heart,\n      And my aunt my mother lighted.\u201d\n\n\n\nPLEDGES.\n\n\n   THE wind was with the roses playing:\n      To Ranko\u2019s tent it blew their leaves:\n   Militza, Ranko, there were staying;\n      And Ranko writes\u2014Militza weaves.\n   His letter done, he drops his pen:\n      Her finish\u2019d web she throws aside:\n   And lo! I heard the lover then\n      Low whisper to his promised bride:\n   \u201cMilitza! tell me truly now\n      And dost thou love me\u2014love me best?\n   Or heavy is thy nuptial vow?\u201d\u2014\n      And thus the maid the youth address\u2019d:\n   \u201cO trust me\u2014thou my heart\u2014my soul!\n      That thou art dearer far to me\u2014\n   Far dearer, Ranko! than the whole\n      Of brothers\u2014many though they be:\n   And that the vows we pledged together\n   Are lighter than the lightest feather.\u201d\n\n\n\nCOMPLAINT.\n\n\n   O FLOWER! so lovely in thy bloom,\n   Be evil fate thy mother\u2019s doom!\n   Thy mother, who so kindly nurst,\n   And sent thee to our village first.\n   Where heroes o\u2019er their cups romancing,\n   And our young striplings stones are flinging,\n   And our delighted brides are dancing,\n   And our gay maidens songs are singing\u2014\n   \u2019Twas then I saw thee, lovely flower!\n   And lost my quiet from that hour.\n\n\n\nSONG.\n\n\n   The winter is gone,\n         Beloved, arise!\n   The spring is come on,\n   The birds are all singing:\n         Beloved, arise!\n\n   The roses are springing;\n   Earth laughs out in love:\n         Beloved, arise!\n   And thou, my sweet dove!\n   O waste not thy time:\n         Beloved, arise!\n\n   Enjoy the sweet bliss\n   Of a kiss\u2014of a kiss:\n         Beloved, arise!\n   In the hour of thy prime,\n         Beloved, arise!\n\n\n\nMAHOMMEDAN SONG.\n\n\n   I HAVE piercing eyes\u2014the eyes of falcons:\n   I am of undoubted noble lineage:\n   I can read the heart of Osman Aga:\n   I was ask\u2019d by Osman Aga\u2019s mother:\n   \u201cCursed witch: and yet most lovely maiden!\n   Why with white and red dost paint thy visage?\n   Fascinate no longer Osman Aga!\n   I will speed me to the verdant forest,\n   Build me up of maple-trees a dwelling,\n   And lock up within it Osman Aga.\u201d\n\n   Then the maid replied to Osman\u2019s mother:\n   \u201cLady Anka!  Osman Aga\u2019s mother\u2014\n   I have falcon eyes\u2014and eyes of devils:\n   With them I can ope thy maple dwelling\u2014\n   With them visit, too, thy Osman Aga.\u201d\n\n\n\nBROTHERLESS SISTERS.\n\n\n   TWO solitary sisters, who\n   A brother\u2019s fondness never knew,\n   Agreed, poor girls, with one another,\n   That they would make themselves a brother:\n   They cut them silk, as snow-drops white;\n   And silk, as richest rubies bright;\n   They carved his body from a bough\n   Of box-tree from the mountain\u2019s brow;\n   Two jewels dark for eyes they gave;\n   For eyebrows, from the ocean\u2019s wave\n   They took two leeches; and for teeth\n   Fix\u2019d pearls above, and pearls beneath;\n   For food they gave him honey sweet,\n   And said, \u201cNow live, and speak, and eat.\u201d\n\n\n\nMISFORTUNES.\n\n\n   ON the hill, the fir-tree hill,\n      Grows a tall fir-tree:\n   There a maiden, calm and still,\n      Sits delightedly.\n   To a youthful swain she pledges\n      Vows: \u201cO come to me:\n   Lightly spring across the hedges:\n      Come\u2014but silently.\n   Come at eve\u2014lest harm betide thee.\n      If any home thou seek,\n   In our quiet dwelling hide thee;\n      Not a whisper speak.\u201d\n   As he o\u2019er the hedges sprung,\n      Lo! a twig he tore:\n   When the house-door ope he flung,\n      Noisy was the door.\n   When he enter\u2019d in, there fell\n      Shelves upon the floor,\n   \u2019Twas the broken china\u2019s knell\u2014\n      O the luckless hour!\n   Then her mother comes afeard,\n      Trips and cuts her knee;\n   And her father burns his beard\n      In perplexity.\n   And the youth must quench the fire,\n   And the maiden must retire.\n\n\n\nTIMIDITY.\n\n\n   Lo! upon the mountain green\n   Stands a fir tree tall and thin\u2014\n   \u2019Tis no fir tree\u2014none at all\u2014\n   \u2019Tis a maiden thin and tall.\n   Three long years the enamour\u2019d one\n   Fed upon her eyes alone;\n   On the fourth, he sought the bliss\n   Of the maiden\u2019s primal kiss:\n   \u201cWhy, thou witching maid! repel me\u2014\n   Why with foot of scorn dost tread,\n   On my feet, my boots of red!\n   Why despise me, maiden! tell me.\u201d\n\n   \u201cNo, my friend, I will not tread\n   On thy feet, thy boots of red!\n   Come at evening\u2014come and string\n   Pearls for me\u2014and thou shalt fling\n   O\u2019er me my embroider\u2019d shawl.\n   We will go at morning\u2019s call\n   To the Kolo\u2014Friend! but thou\n   Must not touch the maiden _now_\u2014\n   Know\u2019st thou not that busy slander\n   Follows us where\u2019er we wander?\n   Evil tongues are ever talking;\n   Calumny abroad is walking.\n   Know\u2019st thou that a simple kiss\n   Ample food for slander is?\n   \u2018Never did we kiss,\u2019 you\u2019ll say,\n   \u2018Till last evening and to-day.\u2019\n   Come at evening\u2014come my dear!\n   Sisters\u2019 eyes will watch thee here.\u201d\n\n\n\nYOUTH ENAMOURED.\n\n\n   \u201cWHERE wert thou, Misho! yesterday?\u201d\n   \u2018O \u2019twas a happy day to me!\n   A lovely maiden cross\u2019d my way,\n   A maiden smiling lovelily.\n   And those sweet smiles for me were meant;\n   I claimed her\u2014mother answer\u2019d \u2018No!\u2019\n   Would steal her\u2014vain was the intent,\n   For many guardians watch\u2019d her so.\n   There grows a verdant almond-tree\n   Before her house\u2014its boughs I\u2019ll climb;\n   Wail like a cuckoo mournfully,\n   And swallow-like, at evening time,\n   Pour forth my woe in throbbings deep,\n   And like a sorrowing widow sigh,\n   And like a youthful maiden weep.\n   So may her mother turn her eye,\n   Pitying my grief, her heart may move,\n   And she may give me her I love.\u2019\n\n\n\nBLUE AND BLACK EYES.\n\n\n   I WISH the happy time were nigh,\n   When youths are sold, that I might buy.\n   But for an azure-eyed _Milinar_, {219}\n   I would not give a single dinar,\n   Though for a raven-black eyed youth,\n   A thousand golden coins, in truth.\n   Alas! alas!\u2014and is it true?\n   My own fair youth has eyes of blue;\n   Yes! they are blue\u2014yet dear to me\u2014\n   Will he forgive my levity?\n   Ye maidens! pray him to forgive me;\n   Nay! spare me now\u2014and rather leave me\n   To tell him \u201cI am yours\u201d\u2014and smile\n   In fond affection all the while.\n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW.\n\n\n   ROSE! O smile upon the youth no longer;\n   He, in his impatience to be wedded,\n   Chose a widow for his years unsuited,\n   And where\u2019er she goes, where\u2019er she tarries,\n   She is mourning for her ancient husband.\n\n   \u201cO my husband! first and best possession!\n   Happy were the days we spent together!\n   Early we retired and late we waken\u2019d.\n   Thou didst wake me kissing my white forehead,\n   \u2018Up, my heart! the sun is high in heaven,\n   And our aged mother is arisen.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\nALARMS.\n\n\n   FAIREST youths are here\u2014but not the fairest!\n   Could I hear him now, or could I see him,\u2014\n   Could I know if he be sick, or faithless!\n   Were he sick, my ears would rather hear it,\n   Than that he had loved another maiden.\n   Sickness may depart, and time restore him,\u2014\n   If enamour\u2019d,\u2014never! never! never!\n\n\n\nFOND WIFE.\n\n\n   O! if I were a mountain streamlet,\n      I know where I would flow;\n   I\u2019d spring into the crystal Sava,\n      Where the gay vessels go,\n   That I might look upon my lover\u2014\n      For fain my heart would know\n   If, when he holds the helm, he ever\n      Looks on my rose, and thinks\n   Of her who gave it;\u2014if the nosegay\n      I made of sweetest pinks\n   Is faded yet, and if he wear it.\n      On Saturday I cull\n   To give him for a Sabbath present\n      All that is beautiful.\n\n\n\nUNHAPPY BRIDE.\n\n\n   THE maiden gave the ring she wore\n   To him who gave it her before:\n   \u201cO take the ring,\u2014for thou and thine\n   Are hated,\u2014not by me,\u2014but mine:\u2014\n   Father and mother will not hear thee,\n   Brother and sister both forswear thee:\n   Yet, think not, youth,\u2014O think not ill\n   Of her who needs must love thee still!\n   I am a poor unhappy maid,\n   Whose path the darkest clouds o\u2019ershade;\n   I sowed sweet basil, and there grew\n   On that same spot the bitterest rue:\n   And wormwood, that unholy flower,\n   Is now alone my marriage dower;\n   The only flower which they shall wear\n   Who to the maiden\u2019s marriage come,\n   When for my marriage altar there\n   The guests shall find the maiden\u2019s tomb.\u201d\n\n\n\nLAST PETITION.\n\n\n   UPON her mother\u2019s bosom lay\n   Young Mira, and she pined away.\n   \u2019T was in her own maternal shed;\n   And thus the anxious mother said:\u2014\n   \u201cWhat ails thee, tell me, Mira! pray?\u201d\n\n   \u201cO ask me not, my mother dear!\n   I feel that death approaches near;\n   I shall not rise from this my bed;\n   But, mother mine! when I am dead\u2014\n   O mother mine! call round me all\n   My playmates to my funeral:\n   And let the friends I loved receive\n   The little gifts that I shall leave;\n   Then let me sleep in peace beneath.\u2014\n   There\u2019s one, my mother, I should grieve\n   To be divided from in death.\n   Then call around me priests divine,\n   And pious pilgrims, mother mine!\n   The forehead of thy dying daughter\n   Steep in the rose\u2019s fragrant water.\n   And, mother, let my forehead be\n   Dried with the rose-leaves from the tree;\n   And pillow not thy daughter\u2019s head,\n   O mother! with the common dead;\n   But let me have a quiet tomb\n   Adjacent to my Mirjo\u2019s home,\n   And near my Mirjo\u2019s nightly bed;\n   So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwell\n   With her he loved, and loved so well.\u201d\n\n\n\nLOVE FOR A BROTHER.\n\n\n   THE sun sank down behind the gold-flower\u2019d hill;\n   The warriors from the fight approach the shore:\n   There stood young George\u2019s wife, serene and still:\n   She counted all the heroes o\u2019er and o\u2019er,\n   And found not those she loved\u2014though they were three:\u2014\n   Her husband, George; her marriage friend, another,\n   Who late had led the marriage revelry;\n   The third, her best-beloved, her only brother.\n\n   Her husband, he was dead; she rent her hair\n   For him.\u2014Her friend was gone,\u2014for him she tore\n   Her cheeks.\u2014Her only brother was not there:\n   For him she pluck\u2019d her eye-balls from their bed.\n   Her hair grew forth as lovely as before;\n   Upon her cheeks her former beauties spread;\n   But nothing could her perish\u2019d sight restore:\n   Nought heals the heart that mourns a brother dead.\n\n\n\nREBUKE.\n\n\n   \u201cMAIDEN! hast thou seen my steed?\u201d\n   \u2018Faithless one! not I, indeed!\n   But I heard that thou hadst tied him\n      To the mountain-maple tree;\n   When a stranger pass\u2019d beside him,\n      Full of scorn and rage was he:\n   With his hoofs the ground he beat;\n      Of his master\u2019s guilt he knew.\n   Not one maiden did he cheat:\n      No; that master cheated two:\n   One has borne a wretched child;\n   One with grief and shame is wild!\u2019\n\n\n\nMAN\u2019S FAITH.\n\n\n   SAY! dost thou remember when under the vine,\n   Thy tears fell in streams on the breast of thy maid;\n   When thy heart burst in joy as I own\u2019d thee for mine?\n   Alas! for the maiden whose peace is betray\u2019d,\n   By the tears and the vows of a falsehood like thine!\n   As the changeable sky\u2014now o\u2019erclouded, now bright,\n   Is the faith of thy race\u2014their language to-day,\n   \u201cI will wed thee to-morrow, my love and my light!\u201d\n   To-morrow\u2014\u201cLet\u2019s wait till the harvest\u2019s away.\u201d\n   The harvest is ended, the winter is nigh,\n   And another maid dwells in their hearts and their eye.\n\n\n\nMAIDEN\u2019S AFFECTION.\n\n\n   \u201cBLACK is the night\u2014an outcast lad\n   Is wandering in our village, mother!\n   Thy daughter\u2019s heart is very sad,\n   Sad even to death!  He has no home:\n   O give him ours, he has no other,\n   And bid the lad no longer roam!\u201d\n   \u2018Nay! daughter, let this outcast stray,\n   He is a proud and city youth;\n   Will ask for wine at break of day,\n   And costly meats at eve, forsooth,\n   And for his city-tutor\u2019d head\n   Will want a soft and stately bed.\u2019\n\n   \u201cO mother!  In God\u2019s name divine,\n   Give the poor lad a shelter now:\n   My eyes shall serve instead of wine,\n   For costly meats my maiden brow.\n   My neck shall be his honey comb:\n   His bed the dewy grass shall be,\n   And heaven his stately canopy.\n   His head shall rest upon my arm.\n   O mother! give the youth a home,\n   And shelter, shelter him from harm.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMARRIAGE SONGS.\n\n\nTHE MARRIAGE LEADER.\n\n\n   \u201cMAKE ready! make ready,\u201d\n   To his sister the youth is repeating;\n   \u201cMake ready my steed for the wedding,\n   O sister! the young Doge {231} is waiting:\n   I\u2019m bid to the wedding, I\u2019m summon\u2019d to guide\n   To the wedding the maiden\u2014the Doge\u2019s young bride.\u201d\n\n\n\nAPPROACHING BRIDEGROOM.\n\n\n   WHAT is shining on the verdant mountain?\n   Sun\u2014or moon\u2014so beautifully shining?\n   \u2019Tis not sun, or moon that shines so brightly,\n   \u2019Tis the bridegroom {232} hasting to the marriage.\n\n\n\nPARTING OF THE BRIDE.\n\n\n   SWEETEST of maidens!  O be still,\n   Be silent\u2014prithee weep not now,\n   Thy mother she will weep\u2014wilt fill\n   Her sorrowing eyes with tears, for thou\n   Wilt leave thy cherish\u2019d home ere long:\n   And when thy young companions go\n   To the fresh stream, amidst the throng\n   She\u2019ll seek thee\u2014will she find thee?  No!\n\n\n\nDEPARTURE OF THE WEDDING GUESTS.\n\n\n   O THOU young bridegroom, thou rose in its beauty,\n   Lo! we have brought thee a rosemary branch;\n   And if the rosemary branch should decay,\n   Thine will the shame be, the sorrow be ours.\n   Scatter the rosemary leaves o\u2019er thy way;\n   Let not destruction disparage its flowers.\n\n\n\nTO THE BRIDE, WHEN THE MARRIAGE HOOD {233} IS FIRST PUT ON.\n\n\n   MAID! from a distant forest tree,\n   A verdant leaf is blown to thee;\n   And that green leaf has fixed it now,\n   In the green garland on thy brow:\n   The garland green, that we have bound,\n   Maiden! thy auburn ringlets round:\n   O no! it is no leaf, that we\n   Have braided in a wreath for thee;\n   \u2019Tis the white hood that thou must wear,\n   The token of domestic care:\n   Thou hast no mother now\u2014another,\n   A stranger must be called thy mother;\n   And sister-love thy heart must share,\n   With one who was not born thy brother.\n\n\n\nAT THE MARRIAGE.\n\n\n   AN apple tree at Ranko\u2019s door was growing,\n   Its trunk was silver, golden were its branches;\n   Its branches golden, and of pearls its foliage,\n   Its leaves were pearls, and all its apples corals.\n   And many dovelets, on the branches seated,\n   Coo\u2019d in their fond affection to each other;\n   Coo\u2019d loudly, and they pluck\u2019d the pearls\u2014one, only\n   One, only one was silent, one was silent\u2014\n   It coo\u2019d not, pluck\u2019d no pearls from off the branches:\n   That one was terrified by Ranko\u2019s mother:\n   \u201cBegone\u2014gray dovelet! thou art an intruder!\n   Was not the apple-tree by Ranko planted?\n   By Ranko planted, and by Ranko watered,\n   That it might shade the guests at Ranko\u2019s marriage,\n   Shade all his guests beneath its joyous branches.\u201d\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 THE END.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n{0a}  Instit. Ling. Salv. p. 154.\n\n{0b}  The origin of this word is rather oriental than Roman.  It is the\nPersian Shah, and not the C\u00e6sar of Rome, nor the Kaiser of Germany.\n\n{0c}  The best sources of Servian history are:\n\n_George Brankovich\u2019s_ History of Servia, MS. in Karlovitz.\n\n_Julinac\u2019s_ vvedencie v istoria slaveno-serbskag Naroda.\n\n_Raicz\u2019s_ Kratkaia Serblii, Rassii, Bosny i Ramy Istoria; and by the same\nauthor, Istoria Slavenskich Narodov, &c.\n\n_Von Engel\u2019s_ Geschichte von Servien und Bosnien.\n\n_Neshkovicz\u2019s_ Istoria Slaveno-bolgarskog Naroda, and _Davidovicz\u2019s_\nJeianija k Istoria Srbskoga Naroda.  See Schaffarik\u2019s Slawische Sprache\nund Literatur, p. 196.\n\n{0d}  Geschichte der Slawischen Sprache und Literatur, p. 201.\n\n{0e}  Grimm\u2019s Introduction to Vuk\u2019s Servian Grammar, p. x.\n\n{0f}  Adelung, who has only given a fragment of the Servian language in\nhis Mithridates, calls the Servian and Bosnian dialects \u201cthe clearest and\npurest of all the Illyrian tongues.\u201d\n\n{0g}  The Servians possess a translation of the Bible, made in the ninth\ncentury, written in the _Pannonian_ dialect, which is now obsolete.  This\nBible, however, has served, and still serves, as a standard of the\nServian language; and its authority has been rather increased than\ndiminished from the circumstance of its phraseology being far removed\nfrom what is deemed the vulgar idiom.  That the vulgar idiom, however, is\namply sufficient for all the common purposes of language, and for the\ncommunication even of the most exquisite shades of thought and feelings,\nis sufficiently exemplified.\n\n{0h}  He was born in 1645.  He represented the princes of Transylvania at\nConstantinople, where he served Leopold so faithfully, that the latter\ndetermined to unite in his person the Hungarian and the Servian crowns.\nIt was he who, associated with the archbishop of Ipek, led 36,000 Servian\nfamilies into Lower Hungary, and, as a reward for his exertions, he was\nmade a baron (Freiherr), and afterwards a count; but ere long he became\nthe object of suspicion; he was confined at Vienna, banished as a state\nprisoner to Eger in Bohemia, where he wrote his History of Servia, and\ndied in 1711.\n\n{0i}  He frequently refers to the Servian ballads as historical\nauthorities, though he seems to have formed no correct estimate of their\npoetical merits.\n\n{0j}  Dr. Vuk is at the present hour, I believe, a member of the\nhousehold of the Hospodar of Servia, and engaged in collecting a farther\nsupply of popular poetry.\n\nDr. Vuk has also published Narodne Srpske Pripovijetke.  A collection of\nServian tales.  Vienna, 1821.\n\nA Comparison between the Servian and other Slavonic Idioms.  Vienna,\n1822.\n\nA Specimen of a Translation of the New Testament into Servian.  Vienna,\n1824.\n\n{0k}  G\u00f6the, Ueber Kunst und Alterthum, V. ii. 40\u201342.\n\n{0l}  Among all the Slavonic tribes, many vestiges of idolatry are yet\nfound.  The songs with which a wedded pair are accompanied to and from\nthe church contain frequently allusions to _Lada_ (the Slavonian Venus),\nand the bride wears a wreath of _wasilok_ and _ruta_ (evergreens), and is\ncalled a _Queen_.\n\n{0m}  Serbische Hochzeitslieder.  Pest. 1826.\n\n{3}  A ruined fortress on the banks of the river Morava.\n\n{7}  _White_ is a favourite Slavonic appellation.  In the Russian popular\nballad of \u201cVladimiz and his Round Table,\u201d _White Kiev_ is the title\nconstantly given to that capital, and the lower Russians almost always\ncall Moscow, \u201cMother Moscow, the _white-walled_.\u201d\n\n{9}  \u201cThou in the Lord my sister,\u201d\u2014\u201cThou in God my brother,\u201d\u2014\u201cMother in\nGod,\u201d are common Servian expressions.\n\n{15a}  Predrag\u2014the well-beloved.\n\n{15b}  Nenad\u2014the unhoped-for,\u2014the unexpected.\n\n{25}  Governor of a province\u2014commander.\n\n{27}  An extensive plain near the Narenta, in Herzegovina, on which is a\nvillage of the same name.\n\n{28}  I pay cheerful homage to the poetical beauties of the translation\nof this ballad in \u201cThe Servian Minstrelsy,\u201d quoted in the Quarterly\nReview, No. LXIX. p. 71.  The tasteful author has\nno doubt greatly embellished the original; but the words in italics are\nnot to be found there.\n\n   Stately was she, as the _mountain_ pine tree;\n   White and rosy-colour _intermingled_\n   Were her cheeks, as _she had kiss\u2019d_ the dawning;\n   _Dark and flashing_, like two noble jewels,\n   Were her eyes; _and over them were_ eyebrows,\n   _Thin and black_, like leeches _from the fountain_;\n   _Dark the lashes too_; _although the_ ringlets\n   _Hung above_ in clusters _rich and golden_.\n   _Softer_ were her eyelids _than_ the pinions\n   Of the swallow _on the breeze reposing_;\n   Sweeter were the maiden\u2019s lips _than_ honey;\n   _White_ her teeth, as pearls _in ocean ripen\u2019d_;\n   White her breasts, two little _panting_ wild doves;\n   _Soft_ her speaking, as the wild dove\u2019s murmur;\n   _Bright_ her smiling, as the _burst_ of sunshine.\n\n{29a}  In Bosnia, on the river Una.\n\n{29b}  A town on the frontiers of Dalmatia.\n\n{32}  Brother-in-law.  The Servians have a number of words to express the\nshades of relationship.  _Brat_ is brother; _Sever_, the husband\u2019s\nbrother; _Shura_, the wife\u2019s brother; _Snaa_, the brother\u2019s wife;\n_Pobratim_, the adopted friend.\n\n{36a}  A large commercial town on the river Narenta.\n\n{36b}  \u201cSalve!\u201d the Mahommedan greeting.\n\n{38}  A translation very slightly varying from Talvj\u2019s is given by G\u00f6the,\nin his _Kunst und Alterthum_, Vol. V. ii. p. 60.\n\n{39}  Ovo _j\u2019glava_ jednog _gospodara_, the head of a Hospodar; man of\nhigh rank.\n\n{40a}  Scupi, in Macedonia.\n\n{40b}  Vidin, a large fortress in Bulgaria, on the Danube.  Nisha, a\nlarge fortified city on the Servian frontier.\n\n{42a}  Ipek, a city in Albania.\n\n{42b}  Tzarigrader, Zarigrad, the city of the Tzar\u2014Constantinople.  The\nfour Greek patriarchs are those of Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch,\nand Alexandria.  Ipek (in Servia) was the fifth patriarchate, though the\nfirst in the eyes of the Servians.  Vassilenski is no other than\nConstantinople (Vselenski), though constantly confounded by the\nuninstructed.\n\n{43}  All these are Sirmian convents.  Krushedol was founded in 1509, by\nBishop Maximus Brankovicz, and is celebrated in many Servian legends.  It\nis famous for its collection of reliques.\n\n{44}  A renowned convent built by the Tzar Lazar, on the Ressava.  It was\ndestroyed by the Turks in 1435.\n\n{45}  _Ban_, a title frequently used in Servia.  Its general acceptation\nis governor.  It may be derived from _Pan_, the old Slavonic for _Lord_.\n\n{55}  Conductors of the marriage festival.\n\n{57}  The translation of this poem by Goethe, who disclaims any knowledge\nof the original, is perfectly admirable.  It first directed attention to\nthe literature of Servia.  His account of it is as follows: \u201cIt is now\nfifty years since I translated the Lament of the noble Bride of Hassan\nAga, which is found in the Travels of the Abb\u00e9 Fortis, and in the\nMorlachian Notices of the Countess Rosenberg.  I rendered it from the\nFrench version, preserving the rhythmus and the measure of the original.\u201d\nWhen Vuk printed his first collection of Servian songs, Goethe was\ngreatly delighted at finding it among them.  It was omitted in his other\neditions, because Vuk had not himself heard it in the Servian language;\nand it was his determination to publish nothing for whose authenticity he\ncould not himself personally vouch.\n\n{58}  A translation of this ballad, by Grimm, will be found in the fourth\nvolume of Goethe\u2019s _F\u00fcr Kunst und Alterthum_, p. 66.\n\n{59a}  Kavavlashka.\n\n{59b}  Karabogdanska.\n\n{62}  Belgrad.\n\n{63}  Chekmel-Juprija.\n\n{64a}  Scutari.\n\n{64b}  King, monarch.\n\n{64c}  Governor.\n\n   {65}  Dok ne najesh dva slichna imena\n   Dok ne najesh _Stojy_ i _Stojana_.\n\nThese are both Servian names, and the point of the ballad must be seen in\ntheir affinity to the verb _stojiti_, to stand, _stojnitza_, standing\n(statio).\n\n{74}  Neimar.\u2014Master.\n\n{75a}  A small stream of liquid carbonate of lime is still shown on the\nwalls of Scutari, as evidence of the truth of this story.\n\n{75b}  A translation of the poem by Grimm is to be found in the 2d part\nof the fifth volume of the _Kunst und Altherthum_, p. 24, and Goethe\nobserves, that it is equally remarkable for its polish and for its\nbarbarously superstitious sentiment.  It represents a human victim as\nmurdered in its most disgusting shape.  A young woman is immured in order\nthat the fortress of Scutari may be built; and the sacrifice seems less\naccountable, since oriental usages have generally only required the\nentombment of consecrated pictures or talismans in order to make castles\nand asylums impregnable.\n\n{76}  The _Polje Kossova_.  Amselfeld (German) or Field of Thrushes, was\nthe scene of Servia\u2019s heaviest calamity, and is the subject of her most\nmelancholy songs.\n\n{77}  A church in the camp.\n\n{81a}  Gromovnik Ilija.\n\n{81b}  I napija u slavu Ristovu.\n\n{84a}  Erdelska Banitza.  The wife of the seven-city\u2019d (Transylvanian)\nBan.\n\n{84b}  Kalpak\u2014the Hungarian cap.\n\n{95a}  Adrianople.\n\n{95b}  A commercial town in Servian Macedonia, where Dushan built a\npalace.  It was the abode of Marko.\n\n{98}  Grlo te boleto!\u2014literally, \u201cMay thy neck ache!\u201d\n\n{99}  Starog Krvnika.\n\n{101}  A large water vessel.\n\n{103}  Sable cap.\n\n{104a}  _Iguman_, _\u1f21\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2_.  Hegumenos c\u0153nobii.\n\n{104b}  _Svetogortza_, Holy Mountain, Mount Athos.\n\n{105}  Of the Servian heroes, _Marko_ (ob. 1392) is without comparison\nthe most illustrious.  He (says Goethe) is represented as holding almost\nequal intercourse with the Adrianople sultan, and appears like a coarser\nrepresentation of the Grecian Hercules or the Persian Rustan, though\nindeed in a most Scythian and barbaric shape.  He mounts a steed\n(Sharaz), aged a century and a half, himself being three centuries old.\nHe perishes at last in all the plenitude of his strength; nor is it easy\nto discover why.\n\n{106}  There are other accounts of Marko\u2019s death, which are more\naccordant with historical records.  Some state that he fell in a battle\nbetween the Turks and the Wallachian Voivode Mirscheta, which took place\nnear the village of Rovine.  Others say that he perished with his horse\nin a morass, in Krania, not far from the Danube; and the morass is yet\npointed out, where the ruins of an old church are said to mark his\nburial-place.  Others narrate that he was miraculously conveyed away from\nthe field of battle above mentioned, to a mountain-cavern, where his\nwounds were healed, and where he still lives.\u2014Talvj, vol. i. p. 285.\n\n{112}  Of this little poem, which Goethe calls \u201cwonderful,\u201d the following\nis an almost literal translation:\u2014\n\n   Full of wine, white branches of the vine-trees\n   To white Buda\u2019s fortress white had clung them:\n   No! it was no vine-tree, white and pregnant!\n   No! it was a pair of faithful lovers,\n   From their early youth betrothed together.\n   Now they are compell\u2019d to part untimely.\n   One address\u2019d the other at their parting,\n   \u201cGo! my soul! burst out and leave my bosom!\n   Thou wilt find a hedge-surrounded garden,\n   And a red-rose branch within the garden;\n   Pluck a rose from off the branch, and place it,\n   Place it on thy heart, within thy bosom;\n   Then behold!\u2014ev\u2019n as that rose is fading,\n   Fades my heart within thy heart thou loved one!\u201d\n   And thus answer\u2019d then the other lover:\n   \u201cThou, my soul! turn back a few short paces.\n   There thou wilt discern a verdant forest;\n   In it is a fount of crystal water;\n   In the fount there is a block of marble;\n   On the marble block a golden goblet;\n   In the goblet thou wilt find a snow-ball.\n   Love! take out that snow-ball from the goblet,\n   Lay it on thy heart within thy bosom;\n   See it melt\u2014and as it melts, my lov\u2019d one!\n   So my heart within thy heart is melting.\u201d\n\n{116}  _Smilia_, the _grapharium arenarium_, or \u201clovely love.\u201d  Also a\nwoman\u2019s name.\n\n{117}  This song is sung at the close of the harvest, when all the\nreapers are gathered together.  Half as many reeds as the number of\npersons present are so bound that no one can distinguish the two ends\nwhich belong to the same reed.  Each man takes one end of the reeds on\none side, each of the women takes one end at the other:\u2014The withes that\nbind the reeds are severed, and the couples that hold the same reed kiss\none another.\n\n{118}  _Kalpak_\u2014the fur cap of the Servians.\n\n{120a}  This is one of the songs sung at the breaking up of the company,\naddressed to the giver of the festival.\n\n{120b}  Mushko chedo (male child).  The male sex are in Servia, as\nelsewhere, deemed entitled to more care and attention than the other.\n\n{122}  Herzegovina.  S. Sabba.\n\n{127a}  Svszde, star, is of the feminine gender.\n\n{127b}  Sun is feminine in Servian.\n\n{152}  Smederevo\u2014a Servian fortress on the Danube.\n\n{153}  The _Leech_, _Sanguisuga_; but in Servian there is no disagreeable\nassociation with the word.  It is the name usually employed to describe\nthe beauty of the eyebrows, as swallows\u2019 wings are the simile used for\neye-lashes.  See p. 27.\n\n{157a}  _Vishnia_, the universal Sclavonian name of the Vistula\ncherry-tree.  The _Cerasum apronianum_ of Linn\u00e9.\n\n{157b}  The Vila nearly corresponds to the _Peri_ of the Persians, and\nthe _W\u00f6la_ of the Scandinavians.\n\n{157c}  _Radisha_, is the name of a man.  _Radovanic_\u2014joy.\n\n{158}  Lepota as the Servian word for _Beauty_.\n\n{168}  I shall be accused of having _decorated_ this.  The translation is\nmore free than I have generally given; but in order to show how little I\nhave deviated from the thoughts of the original, I give the conclusion.\n\n   \u201cAko bi te u pjesmu pjevala,\n   Pjesma ide od usta do usta,\n   Pa che dochi u pogana usta;\n   Ako bi te u rukave vesla,\n   Rukav che se odma isderati,\n   Pa che tvoje ime poginuti;\n   Ako bi te u Knigu pisala\n   Kniga ide od ruke do ruke,\n   Pa che dochi u pogane ruke.\u201d  Vuk i. p. 200.\n\n{176}  One of the distinguishing titles of the Vila is that here given;\n_sabejam oblake_, the cloud-gatherer.  \u039d\u03b5\u03c6\u03b5\u03bb\u03b7\u03b3\u03b5\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2, in the classical\nmythology, is one of the names of Jupiter.\n\n{181a}  Sarajevo\u2014A large commercial city in Bosnia, on the river\nMiljazka.\n\n{181b}  The popular national dance of the Servians.\n\n{185a}  Bosiljak\u2014the _Ocimum basilicum_ of Linn\u00e9.\n\n{185b}  Sudija.\n\n{190a}  _Kaloper_.  Balsamita vulgaris.  Linn\u00e9.\n\n{190b}  _Bosiljak_, see p. 185.\n\n{199}  The cuckoo (kukavitza) according to Servian tradition, was a\nmaiden who mourned so unceasingly for a dead brother, that she was\nchanged into a bird, and thence continues without rest her melancholy\nnote.  A Servian girl who has lost a brother never hears a cuckoo without\nshedding tears.\u2014\u201cI a poor cuckoo,\u201d is equivalent to \u201cwoe is me!\u201d\n\n{206}  Lado, the vocative of _Lada_, the goddess of love, in the old\nSlavonian mythology.  _Lado_! is a melancholy interjection in Servian,\nwhereas _Lele_! the vocative of Lela, the god of love, has frequently a\ncheerful association: _Polela_ (after love), the goddess of marriage, is\nalso sometimes apostrophised.\n\nTalvj remarks, that _Ljad_, in Russ, signifies misfortune.  In common\nparlance, _Lele mene_ (Servian) imports Woe is me!\n\n{219}  _Milinar_.  The Miller.\n\n{231}  Wesely imagines that this expression has got introduced into\nServian poetry by the influence of the interesting ballad on the marriage\nof Maximus Tzernojevich (see Quarterly Review for Dec. 1826).  The\nintimate intercourse which existed between Servia and Venice may account\nfor the phraseology.\n\n{232}  Original, _son-in-law_.  I have only chosen a few of the songs\nused during the marriage festival.  But a volume might be filled with\nthem.  Every step of the ceremony, which lasts many days, is accompanied\nby music and poetry.  A very interesting description of it will be found\nin the introduction to Talvj\u2019s second volume.\n\n{233}  Aulimarama.","title":"Servian Popular Poetry","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":30373}