Long and lovely are Milica's eyebrows, And they overhang her cheeks of roses— Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead, Three long years have I beheld the maiden, Could not look upon her eyes so lovely— On her eyes—nor on her snowy forehead. To our country dance I lured the maiden, Lured Milica,—lured her to our dances, Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.
While they danced upon the greensward, verdant In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather'd, And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning, And the maidens all look'd up to heaven,— All the maidens—all, except Milica. She still look'd on the green grass, untrembling, While the maidens trembled as they whisper'd:
"O Milica! thou our friend and playmate, Art thou overwise—or art thou silly? Thus to look upon the grass beneath us, And not look up to the heaven above us, To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them?" And Milica gave this quiet answer: "I am neither overwise nor silly. Not the Vila, nor the cloud-upgatherer; I am yet a maid—and look before me." S. J. B.
XLI
THE CHOICE
He slept beneath a poplar tree: And three young maidens cross'd the way; I listen'd to the lovely three, And heard them to each other say:— "Now what is dearest, love! to thee?" The eldest said—'Young Ranko's ring Would be to me the dearest thing.' "No! not for me," the second cried; "I'd choose the girdle from his side." 'Not I,' the youngest said—'In truth, I'll rather have the sleeping youth. The ring, O sister! will grow dim, The girdle will ere long be broken; But this is an eternal token,— His love for me and mine for him.' S. J. B.
XLII
FOR WHOM?
Sweet fountain, that so freshly flows! And thou, my own carnation-rose, That shines like a shining gem! And shall I tear thee from thy stem? For whom? my mother? ah! for whom? My mother slumbers in the tomb. For whom? my sister? who has fled, To seek a foreign bridal bed. For whom? my brother? he is far, Far off, in dark and bloody war. For whom, for whom, but thee, my love? But thou art absent far above, Above these three green mountains, Beyond these three fresh fountains! S. J. B.