Fairest youths are here—but not the fairest! Could I hear him now, or could I see him,— Could I know if he be sick, or faithless! Were he sick, my ears would rather hear it, Than that he had loved another maiden. Sickness may depart, and time restore him,— If enamour'd,—never! never! never! S. J. B.
LXXI
FOND WIFE
O! If I were a mountain streamlet, I know where I would flow I'd spring into the crystal Sava, Where the gay vessels go, That I might look upon my lover— For fain my heart would know If, when he holds the helm, he ever Looks on my rose, and thinks Of her who gave it;—if the nosegay I made of sweetest pinks Is faded yet, and if he wear it. On Saturday I cull To give him for a Sabbath present All that is beautiful. S. J. B.
LXXII
UNHAPPY BRIDE
The maiden gave the ring she wore To him who gave it her before: "O take the ring—for thou and thine Are hated,—not by me—but mine— Father and mother will not hear thee Brother and sister both forswear thee Yet, think not, youth,—I think not ill Of her who needs must love thee still! I am a poor unhappy maid, Whose path the darkest clouds o'ershade, I sowed sweet basil, and there grew On that same spot the bitterest rue And wormwood, that unholy flower, I now alone my marriage dower; The only flower which they shall wear Who to the maiden's marriage comes, When for my marriage altar there The guests shall find the maiden's tomb." S. J. B.
LXXIII
LAST PETITION
Upon her mother's bosom lay Young Mira, and she pined away. 'Twas in her own maternal bed; And thus the anxious mother said:— "What ails thee, tell me, Mira, pray?"