PIGEONS—THE LOVERS
By a river, swiftly flowing,
Perched Holubka and Holub,[[59]]
Lovers, how they kissed each other!
Close embracing with their wings.
“Thou art my good luck,” said she,
“I would give my life for thine!”
From the wood an Eagle old
Sudden flew and killed Holub.
Then he bore Holubka far—
Over the swift rivers bore—
Strewed before her golden wheat,
Sad, she mourned and would not eat.
And she sang: “Holub’s not here,
Now he never will be here!”
“Seven pairs of pigeons wait
For thy choosing, foolish child—
Take the one thou wouldest have.”
“Though there should be twenty-four
Never one like my true love!”