Servian Popular Poetry

by Unknown

Then exclaim’d one of the youthful travellers—
“Lo! the moon is on the waters shining!”
And another traveller thus retorted—
“Brother! it is not the moon that shineth.”
But the third is silent—no word utters—
Turns him to the east—the sun’s uprising—
Then he speaks, and prays to God the righteous;
Prays to God and to the holy Nicholas—
“Help me, God! and thou, O father Nicholas!”
And he sought again the fountain-water;
Drew the holy head from out the water—
Holy head of holy Servian monarch;
Threw it on the verdant turf, and pouring
Water, swiftly fill’d the travelling vessel.

They had quench’d their thirst, and all were seated—
Seated round the head, and look’d about them.
On the verdant turf it lies no longer;
O’er the field the head is slowly moving—
Holy head seeks out the holy body;
Joins it, where that body lay untainted.

When the dawning of the morn had broken,
To the aged priests the youths reported—
To the aged priests, the wond’rous story.
Lo! a crowd of priests are hastening thither—
Crowds of ancient priests—above three hundred,
And twelve high and dignified archbishops,
And four patriarchs, the most exalted:
Him of Pechki, [42a] and the Tzarigrader [42b]
Of Jerusalem, and Vassiljēnski.
All were habited in priestly vestments;
Camilanks their holy heads enshrouded;
In their hands they held old sacred writings—
And they pour’d their fervent prayers to heaven,
And performed their holiest solemn vigils
Through three days, and through three nights of darkness;
Nor for rest they stopp’d, nor for refreshment,
Nor for sleep, nor any interruption:
And they ask’d the holy dead, unceasing,
Where his grave should be—his corpse be buried;
In Opōvo, or in Krushedōli,
Or in Jāssak, or in Beshenōvi,
Or Racōvatz, or in Shisatōvatz,
Or in Jivski, or in Kurejdini, [43]
Or in distant Macedonia rather.
But Lazar will choose no foreign cloister;
He will lie among his own loved kindred,
In his own, his beauteous Ravanītza, [44]
On the mountain forest, broad Kushaja,
In the convent he himself erected;
In his days of life and youthful glory,
He erected for his soul’s salvation;
With his bread and with his gold he raised it;
Not with tears nor wealth from poor men wrested.

JELITZA AND HER BROTHERS.

Nine fair sons possess’d a happy mother;
And the tenth, the loveliest and the latest,
Was Jelitza,—a beloved daughter.
They had grown together up to manhood,
Till the sons were ripe for bridal altars,
And the maid was ready for betrothing.
Many a lover ask’d the maid in marriage;
First a Ban; [45] a chieftain was the other;
And the third, a neighbour from her village.
So her mother for the neighbour pleaded;
For the far-off-dwelling ban her brothers.
Thus they urged it to their lovely sister:
“Go, we pray thee, our beloved sister,
With the ban across the distant waters:
Go! thy brothers oft will hasten to thee;
Every month of every year will seek thee;
Every week of every month will seek thee.”
So the maiden listened to her brothers,
With the ban she cross’d the distant waters:
But, behold! O melancholy marvel!
God sent down the plague, and all the brothers,
All the nine, were swept away, and lonely
Stood their miserable sonless mother.

Three long years had pass’d away unheeded;
Often had Jelitza sighed in silence:
“Heaven of mercy! ’tis indeed a marvel!
Have I sinn’d against them?—that my brothers,
Spite of all their vows, come never near me.”
Then did her stepsisters scorn and jeer her:
“Cast away! thy brothers must despise thee!
Never have they come to greet their sister.”

Bitter was the sorrow of Jelitza,
Bitter from the morning to the evening,
Till the God of heaven took pity on her,
And he summon’d two celestial angels:
“Hasten down to earth,” he said, “my angels!
To the white grave, where Jovān is sleeping,—
Young Jovan, the maiden’s youngest brother.
Breathe your spirit into him; and fashion
From the white grave-stone a steed to bear him:
From the mouldering earth his food prepare him:
Let him take his grave-shroud for a present!
Then equip and send him to his sister.”

Swiftly hasten’d God’s celestial angels
To the white grave where Jovan was sleeping.
From the white grave-stone a steed they fashion’d;
Into his dead corpse they breathed their spirit;
From the ready earth the bread they moulded;
For a present his grave-shroud they folded;
And equipp’d, and bade him seek his sister.

Swiftly rode Jovan to greet his sister.
Long before he had approach’d her dwelling,
Far, far off his sister saw and hail’d him;
Hastened to him—threw her on his bosom,
Loosed his vest, and stamp’d his cheeks with kisses.
Then she sobb’d with bitterness and anguish,
Then she wept, and thus address’d her brother:
“O! Jovan! to me—to me, a maiden,
Thou, and all my brothers, all, ye promised
Oft and oft to seek your distant sister:
Every month in every year to seek her,—
Every week in every month to seek her.
Three long years have sped away unheeded,
And ye have not sought me.”—For a moment
She was silent; and then said, “My brother!
Thou art deadly pale! why look so deadly
Pale, as if in death thou hadst been sleeping?”
But Jovan thus check’d his sister: “Silence,
Silence, sister! as in God thou trustest;
For a heavy sorrow has o’erta’en me.
When eight brothers had prepared their nuptials,
Eight stepsisters ready to espouse them,
Hardly was the marriage service ended
Ere we built us eight white dwellings, sister!
Therefore do I look so dark, Jelitza.”

Three white days had pass’d away unheeded,
And the maid equipped her for a journey.
Many a costly present she provided
For her brothers and her bridal sisters:
For her brothers, fairest silken vestments;
For her bridal-sisters, rings and jewels.
But Jovan would fain detain her—“Go not,
Go not now, I pray thee—my Jelitza!
Wait until thy brothers come and greet thee.”
But she would not listen to her brother:
She prepared the costliest, fairest presents.
So the young Jovan began his journey,
And his sister travell’d patient by him.