THE DAUGHTER OF THE WITCH
(Variant)
(Song in a play—“Go not to the Wechernyci,[[55]] Hritz”)
“Go not, I pray thee, to the dance, Hritz!
For there await thee daughters of the witch.
“They burn the straw beneath the bubbling roots—
They’ll take your life just when their wish it suits.
“That one with black, black eyes—most potent witch is she;
She knows all roots that grow by river or by tree.
“She knows what each distils—and she loves you!
With envious love she watches what you do.”
Sunday morn she dug the roots;
Monday, cleaned them; Tuesday, brewed;
Wednesday from her cup Hritz
Drank; on Thursday he lay dead;
Friday comrades buried him.
Greatly mourned the maidens all;
Comrades, much lamenting, cursed
Her who brought about his death:
“Hritz, was never one like thee!
May the devil take the witch!”
On Saturday the old witch beat full sore
Her wicked daughter, crying o’er and o’er,
“Why did you poison him? Did you not know
What all the roots could tell you? Ere cock-crow
That he must die?” “O mother, speak not so;
“There are no scales for sorrow—why did he
Make love to her, saying he loved but me?
For this, O Hritz, your just reward I gave—
A dark house of four planks—a grave, a grave!”