An Anthology of Jugoslav Poetry; Serbian Lyrics Part 13

LXXI

FOND WIFE

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

On Sat.u.r.day I cull To give him for a Sabbath present All that is beautiful.

S. J. B.

LXXII

UNHAPPY BRIDE

The maiden gave the ring she wore To him who gave it her before: "O take the ring--for thou and thine Are hated,--not by me--but mine-- Father and mother will not hear thee Brother and sister both forswear thee Yet, think not, youth,--I think not ill Of her who needs must love thee still!

I am a poor unhappy maid, Whose path the darkest clouds o'ershade, I sowed sweet basil, and there grew On that same spot the bitterest rue And wormwood, that unholy flower, I now alone my marriage dower; The only flower which they shall wear Who to the maiden's marriage comes, When for my marriage altar there The guests shall find the maiden's tomb."

S. J. B.

LXXIII

LAST PEt.i.tION

Upon her mother's bosom lay Young Mira, and she pined away.

'Twas in her own maternal bed; And thus the anxious mother said:-- "What ails thee, tell me, Mira, pray?"

"O ask me not, my mother dear!

I feel that death approaches near, I shall not rise from this my bed; But, mother mine! when I am dead-- O mother mine! call round me all My playmates to my funeral; And let the friends I loved receive The little gifts that I shall leave; Then let me sleep in peace beneath.--

There's one, my mother, I should grieve To be divided from in death.

Then call around me priests divine, And pious pilgrims, mother mine!

The forehead of thy dying daughter Steep in the rose's fragrant water.

And, mother, let my forehead be Dried with the rose-leaves from the tree; And pillow not thy daughter's head, O mother! with the common dead; But let me have a quiet tomb Adjacent to my Mirjo's home, And near my Mirjo's nightly bed; So when he wakes his thoughts shall dwell With her he loved and loved so well."

S. J. B.

LXXIV

LOVE FOR A BROTHER

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

Her husband he was dead; she rent her hair For him--Her friend was gone,--for him she tore Her cheeks--Her only brother was not there: For him she pluck'd her eye-b.a.l.l.s from their bed.

Her hair grew forth as lovely as before; Upon her cheeks her former beauties spread; But nothing could her perish'd sight restore: Nought heals the heart that mourns a brother dead.

S. J. B.

LXXV

REBUKE

"Maiden! hast thou seen my steed?"

"Faithless one! not I, indeed!

But I heard that thou hadst tied him To the mountain-maple tree; When a stranger pa.s.s'd beside him, Full of scorn and rage was he: With his hoofs the ground he beat; Of his master's guilt he knew.

Not one maiden did he cheat.

No; that master cheated two: One has borne a wretched child; One with grief and shame is wild."

S. J. B.

LXXVI

MAN'S FAITH

Say! dost thou remember when under the vine, Thy tears fell in streams on the breast of thy maid; When thy heart burst in joy as I own'd thee for mine?

Alas! for the maiden whose peace is betray'd By the tears and the vows of a falsehood like thine!

As the changeable sky--now o'erclouded, now bright, Is the faith of thy race--their language to-day, "I will wed thee to-morrow, my love and my light!"

To-morrow--"Let's wait till the harvest's away."

The harvest is ended, the winter is nigh And another maid dwells in their hearts and their eye.

S. J. B.

LXXVII