XXXIII
LOVER ASLEEP
O nightingale! thy warblings cease, And let my master sleep in peace: 'Twas I who lull'd him to repose, And I will wake from his rest; I'll seek the sweetest flower that grows, And bear it to his presence blest; And gently touch his cheeks, and say, "Awake, my master! for 'tis day."
XXXIV
EARLY SORROWS
O nightingale! sweet bird—they say, That peace abides with thee; But thou hast brought from day to day A triple woe to me. The first, first woe my spirit knew, My first, first woe was this, My mother never train'd me to A lover's early bliss My second woe, my second woe, Was that my trusty steed, Whene'er I mounted, seem'd to show Nor eagerness nor speed. My third, third woe—of all the worst, Is that the maid I woo, The maid I lov'd the best—the first, Is angry with me, too. Then dig an early grave for me, Yon whiten'd fields among; In breadth two lances let it be, And just four lances long. And o'er my head let roses grow, There plant the red-rose tree; And at my feet a fount shall flow, O scoop that fount for me! So when a youthful swain appears, The roses he shall wreathe; And when an old man bent with years, He'll drink the stream beneath. S. J. B.
XXXV
THE YOUNG SHEPHERDS
The sheep, beneath old Buda's wall, Their wonted quiet rest enjoy; But ah! rude stony fragments fall, And many a silk-wool'd sheep destroy; Two youthful shepherds perish there, The golden George, and Mark the fair.
For Mark, O many a friend grew sad, And father, mother wept for him: George—father, friend, nor mother had, For him no tender eye grew dim: Save one—a maiden far away, She wept—and thus I heard her say: