Servian Popular Poetry

by Unknown

God of mercy! what a wond’rous wonder!
Such a wonder ne’er before was witness’d.
In Saint Paul’s—within the holy cloister,
Gather’d round a golden table, seated
In three ranks, the saints are all collected;
O’er them sits the thunderer Elias; [81a]
In the midst are Sava and Maria;
At the ends are Petka and Nedelia;
And their health the holy Nicholas pledges,
Pledges them their health to Jesus’ glory. [81b]
But behold, behold the saint!—he slumbers;
From his hand the cup of wine has fallen,
Fallen from it on the golden table:
Yet the wine’s unspilt,—the cup unbroken.
Then laugh’d out the thunderer Elias:
“O my brother! O thou holy Nicholas:
Often drank we cooling wine together;
But it was our duty not to slumber,
Not to drop the cup—And tell me, brother,
Why to-day does slumber’s power subdue thee?”

Him thus answer’d Nicholas the holy:
“Jest not thus with me, thou sainted thunderer!
For I fell asleep, and dreamt three hundred,
Dreamt three hundred friars had embark’d them
In one vessel on the azure ocean;
Bearing offerings to the holy mountain,
Offerings,—golden wax, and snowy incense.
From the clouds there broke a furious tempest,
Lash’d the blue waves of the trembling ocean,
Scooping watery graves for all the friars.
Then I heard their blended voices call me,
‘Help, O God! and help, O holy Nicholas!
Would that thou, where’er thou art, wert with us!’
So I hurried down to help the suppliants—
So I saved the whole three hundred friars—
So I shipped them full of joy and courage;
Brought their offerings to the holy mountain,
Brought their golden wax, their snowy incense;—
And meanwhile I seem’d in gentle slumber,
And my cup fell on the golden table.”

ERDELSKA’S BANITZA.

Lo! Erdelska’s lady [84a] reared a fir-tree,
And invoked the fir-tree—thus invok’d it:
“Grow thou, fir-tree, to the height of heaven!
To the green grass bend thy spreading branches;
Let me mount upon thy branches, fir-tree!
From those branches see the white-wall’d Buda,
And in Buda see the Budan Jovan.
Does he bear himself as once he bore him;
Does the feather wave upon his Kalpak; [84b]
Does his steed still bear his high head proudly?”
Thus she spoke and thought that no one heard her;
But the Ban of Transylvania heard her,
Even her lord, the Ban, and thus address’d her:
“Now, by heaven, thou Erdelskan Banitza;
Why is Buda fairer than Erdelska?
Why is Jovan nobler than thy husband?”
Thus replied the Erdelskan Banitza:
“Buda is not fairer than Erdelska,
Jovan is not nobler than my husband.
But my first, my earliest joy, was Jovan;
My first joy—a cup with flowers full laden,
Second joy—a cup with wine o’erflowing,
My third joy—a cup fill’d up with wormwood.”

THE MOORISH KING’S DAUGHTER.

Once the mother of the princely Marko
Thus address’d her son:—“Now, Marko, tell me
Why hast thou so many a shrine erected?
Is it for thy sins in lowly penance?
Is it that thy wealth is overflowing?”

Then the noble prince address’d his mother:
“Now, by Heav’n, I’ll tell thee! Erst I travell’d,
Aged mother! in the Moorish country:
To the water-cisterns sped me early,
To refresh my Sharaz:—round the cisterns
Were a dozen Moorish men assembled:
Through the Moors I fain would reach the water—
Reach the water to refresh my Sharaz:
But the dozen Moorish men opposed me,
And we there began a bloody struggle—
There my trusty club aloft I lifted:
One of the black Moors with earth I levell’d:
One I struck to earth,—eleven assail’d me:
Two I struck to earth,—and ten attack’d me:
Three I struck to earth,—and nine engaged me:
Four I struck to earth,—and twice four smote me:
Five I struck to earth, and strove with seven:
Six I struck to earth, and faced as many:
But the six o’erpower’d the weary Marko;
And they bound my hands, and bore me swiftly,
Bore me swiftly to the Moorish palace;
And the monarch sent me to a prison.

“Seven long years I dwelt within my dungeon:
Nothing knew I of the summer’s dawning;
Nothing knew I of returning winter;
Nothing knew I, mother, but that snow-balls,
Snow-balls oft were thrown into my prison—
Thrown into my prison by the maidens:
So I knew it was the winter season.
Sometimes maidens flung me Basil-garlands,
So I knew it was the dawn of summer.
When the eighth year broke upon thy Marko,
It was not my dungeon that distress’d me:
’Twas the sorrow of a Moorish maiden,
And she was the Moorish monarch’s daughter.
When the morn return’d, and when the ev’ning,
To my dungeon-window came she greeting:—
“Nay! thou shalt not perish in thy prison,
Thou poor Marko! give me but thy promise
That thou wilt espouse the Moorish maiden,
When the maiden has unlock’d thy prison—
When she has released thy faithful Sharaz.
I will bring a heap of golden ducats:
All the ducats thou canst wish for, Marko.”

“When I heard her in my misery, mother!
From my head I took my cap, and laid it
On my knees,—and twice I swore upon it:
‘By my faith! I’ll never leave thee, maiden!
By my faith! I never will betray thee!
E’en the golden sun is sometimes treach’rous—
Shines not out in winter as in summer—
But my word, my faith, shall be unchanging!”

And the maiden drank the dear delusion:
She believed the oath that I had sworn her;
And when ev’ning’s fall the earth had shaded,
She flung ope the portals of my dungeon:
From my prison-house she brought me, mother,
Brought me to my proud and prancing Sharaz:
For herself she brought a steed yet nobler:
Both were loaded well with bags of ducats:
And she brought my bright and faithful sabre.
On our steeds we sprung, and swiftly sped us,
In the darkness, from that Moorish country.