GOD'S JUSTICE.
Upon a lonely mead two pine-trees grew,
And 'twixt the two a lowly willow-tree;
No pines were those upon the lonely mead,
Where nightly winds e'er whistle words of woe.
The one was Radislav—a warrior brave;
Whilst Janko was the other stately tree.
They were two brothers, fond of heart and true;
The weeping willow-tree that rose between
Had whilom been their sister Jelina.
Both brothers loved the maid so fair and good,
Fair as a snow-white lily fresh with dew,
And good, I ween, as a white turtle-dove.
Once Janko to his sister gave a gift;
It was a dagger with a blade of gold.
That day Marija, who was Janko's wife
(A wanton woman with a wicked heart),
Grew grey and green with envy and with grudge,
And to Zorizza, Radislavo's wife,
She said: "Pray tell me in what way must I
Get these two men to hate that Jelina,
Whom they love more, indeed, than you or me."
"I know not," said Zorizza, who was good—
Aye, good indeed, and sweet as home-made bread;
"And if I knew, I should pray day and night
For God to keep me from so foul a deed."
Marija wended then her way alone,
And as her head was full of fiendish thoughts,
She saw upon the mead her husband's foal,
The fleetest-footed filly of the place.
Whilst with one hand she fondled the young foal,
The other plunged a dagger in her breast;
Then, taking God as witness, swore aloud
That Jelina had done that deed of blood.
With doleful voice the brother asked the girl
What made her mar the foal he loved so well.
Upon her soul the maiden took an oath
That she nowise had done that noxious deed.
A few days later, on a dreary night,
Marija went and killed the falcon grey—
The swiftest bird, well worth its weight in gold.
Then creeping back to bed, with loud outcry
She woke the house; she said that, in a dream,
She saw her Janko's sister, as a witch,
Kill that grey falcon Janko loved so well.
Behold! at early morn the bird was dead.
"This cruel deed shall rest upon thy head,"
Said Janko to the girl, who stood amazed.
E'en after this Marija found no peace,
But hated Jelina far more than death,
So evermore she pondered how she could
Bring dire destruction down upon the maid.
One night, with stealthy steps, she went and stole
The golden-bladed knife from Jelka's room;
And with the knife she stabbed her only babe.
The foul deed done, she put the knife beneath
The pillow white whereon lay Jelka's head.
At early twilight, when the husband woke,
He found his rosy babe stabbed through the breast,
All livid pale within a pool of blood.
Marija tore her hair and scratched her cheeks
With feigned despair; she vowed to kill the witch
Who wantonly had stabbed her precious babe.
"But who has done this cruel, craven crime?
Who killed my child?" cried Janko, mad with rage.
"Go seek thy sister's knife, with golden blade;
Forsooth, 'tis stained with blood." And Janko went,
And found that Jelka still was fast asleep,
But 'neath her pillow, peeping out, he saw—
All stained with blood—the knife with golden blade.
He grasped his sleeping sister by her throat,
Accusing her of having killed his child.
And she—now startled in her morning sleep—
Midst sighs and sobs disowned the dreadful deed;
Still, when she saw the knife all stained with gore,
She grew all grey with fear and looked aghast,
And guilty-like, before that gruesome sight.
"An I have done this horrid, heinous deed,
Then I deserve to die a dreadful death.
If thou canst think that I have killed thy child,
Then take and tie me to thy horses' tails,
So that they tread me down beneath their hoofs."
The maid was led within the lonely mead,
Her limbs were bound unto the stallions' tails;
They lashed the horses, that soon reared and ran
Apart, and thus they tore her limbs in twain.
But lo! where'er her blood fell down in drops,
Sweet sage grew forth, and marjoram and thyme,
And fragrant basil, sweetest of all herbs;
But on the spot where dropped her mangled corse,
A bruised and shapeless mass of bleeding flesh,
A stately church arose from out the earth,
Of dazzling marbles gemmed with precious stones—
A wondrous chapel built by hallowed hands.
Marija, then, upon that day fell ill,
And nine long years she languished on her bed,
A death in life, still far more dead than quick;
And as she lay there 'twixt her skin and bones
The coarse and rank weeds grew, and 'midst the weeds
There nestled scorpions, snakes, and loathsome worms,
Which crept and sucked the tears from out her eyes.
In those last throes of death she wailed aloud,
And bade for mercy's sake that they might take
And lay her in that church which had sprung out
Where Jelka's body dropped a mangled corpse.
In fact, her only hope was to atone
For all those dreadful deeds which she had done.
But when they reached the threshold of the church,
A low and hollow voice came from the shrine,
And all who heard the sound were sore amazed.
"Avaunt from here! Till God forgive thy crimes,
This sacred ground is sure no place for thee."
Appalled to death, unable yet to die,
She begged them as a boon that they would tie
Her to the horses' tails, for dying thus she hoped
That God might then have mercy on her soul.
They bound her wasted limbs to stallions' tails;
Her bones were broke, her limbs were wrenched in twain,
And where the sods sucked up her blood impure,
The earth did yawn, and out of that wide gulf
Dark waters slowly rose and spread around;
Still, lifeless waters, like a lake of hell.
Within the mere the murdered foal was seen,
Just as we see a vision in a dream.
The falcon grey then flew with fluttering wing,
And panting, fell within that inky pool.
Then from the eddy rose a tiny cot.
Within that cot a rosy infant slept,
And smiled as if it saw its mother's breast.
But lo! its mother's claw-like hand arose
Out of the stagnant waters of the lake,
And plunged a dagger in the infant's breast.
The old woman, having finished her song, waited for a while till the young man looked up.
Presently, Uros, with a deep sigh, lifted his eyes towards her.
"Always the same man, with that fiendish face of his," quoth he, shaking his head.
"But tell me what you have seen now, that I might help you—if I can."
"That man, who has been haunting me all these days."
"Explain yourself better; did you only see his face, now?"
Uros first explained to the baornitza what he had witnessed in the sea the night when Milenko was arrested for murder.
"Have you often seen such things in the sea before?"