HARVEST SONG.
Lord and master! let us homewards, let us homewards haste:
Far, far distant are our dwellings—far across the waste. [120a]
Some have aged mothers threat’ning—“Ne’er allow another:”
Some male-children [120b] in the cradle, crying for their mother:
Some impatient lovers chiding;—dearer they than brother.
CURSE.
The maiden cursed her raven eyes,
She cursed them for their treacheries.
“Be blinded now, to you if heaven
All that is visible has given!
If ye see all, ye traitors, say
Why saw ye not my love to day:—
He pass’d my door,—but, truants, ye
Gave not the gentlest hint to me.
He had a nosegay in his hand,—
He wore a gold embroider’d band,—
’Twas made by other hands than mine!
Upon it wreathing branches twine:
May every branch embroidered there,
A miserable heart-wound bear;—
Upon each branch, may every leaf
Bring and betoken toil and grief.”
SALUTATION OF THE MORNING STAR.
Lo! the maiden greets the day-star! “Sister!
Sister star of morning! well I greet thee;
Thou dost watch the world from thine uprising
To thy sinking hour. In Herzgovina, [122]
Tell me didst thou see the princely Stephan?
Tell me, was his snowy palace open,
Were his steeds caparisoned, and ready;
And was he equipp’d his bride to visit?”
Gently then the morning star responded:
“Lovely sister! beautiful young maiden,
True, I watch the world from my uprising
To my setting;—and in Herzgovina
Saw the palace of the princely Stephan;
And that snowy palace was wide open,
And his horse was saddled, and was ready,
And he was equipp’d his bride to visit:
But not thee—not thee—another maiden;
False tongues three have whisper’d evil of thee;
One has said—thine origin is lowly;
One, that thou art treacherous as a serpent;
And the third, that thou art dull and dreamy.”
Then the maiden pour’d her imprecations:
“He who said my origin was lowly,
Never let a child of love be born him;
He who called me treacherous as a serpent,
Round his heart, O! let a serpent wreathe it;
Through hot summers in his hair be tangled,
Through cold winters in his bosom nestle;
He who dar’d to call me dull and dreamy,
Nine long years may he be worn by sickness,
And no sleep renew his strength to bear it.”