Fondly lov’d a youth and youthful maiden,
And they wash’d them in the self-same water,
And they dried them with the self-same linen:
Full a year had pass’d, and no one knew it:
Yet another year—’twas all discover’d,
And the father heard it, and the mother;
But the mother check’d their growing fondness,
Banish’d love, and exiled them for ever.
To the stars he look’d, and bade them tell her:
“Die, sweet maiden! on the week’s last even;
Early will I die on Sabbath morning.”
As the stars foretold th’ event, it happen’d:
On the eve of Saturday the maiden
Died—and died the youth on Sunday morning:
And they were, fond pair, together buried;
And their hands were intertwined together:
In those hands they placed the greenest apples:
When, behold! ere many moons had shone there,
From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree,
And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow’d:
Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it,
As around the straw the silk clings closely.
DEER AND VILA.
A young deer tracked his way through the green forest,
One lonely day—another came in sadness;
And the third dawn’d, and brought him sighs and sorrow:
Then he address’d him to the forest Vila:
“Young deer!” she said, “thou wild one of the forest,
Now tell me what great sorrow has oppress’d thee?
Why wanderest thou thus in the forest lonely:
Lonely one day,—another day in sadness,—
And the third day with sighs and anguish groaning?”
And thus the young deer to the Vila answer’d:
“O thou sweet sister! Vila of the forest!
Me has indeed a heavy grief befallen;
For I had once a fawn, mine own beloved,
And one sad day she sought the running water:
She enter’d it, but came not back to bless me:
Then tell me, had she lost her way and wander’d?
Was she pursued and captured by the huntsman?
Or has she left me?—has she wholly left me?—
Loving some other deer—and I forgotten.
O! if she has but lost her way, and wanders,
Teach her to find it—bring her back to love me.
O! if she has been captured by the huntsman,
Then may a fate as sad as mine await him.
But if she has forsaken me—if, faithless,
She loves another deer—and I forgotten—
Then may the huntsman speedily o’ertake her.”
VIRGIN AND WIDOW.
Over Sarajevo flies a falcon,
Looking round for cooling shade to cool him.
Then he finds a pine on Sarejevo;
Under it a well of sparkling water;
By the water, Hyacinth, the widow,
And the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin.
He look’d down—the falcon—and bethought him:
“Shall I kiss grave Hyacinth, the widow;
Or the Rose, the young, unmarried virgin?”
Thinking thus—at last the bird determined—
And he whisper’d to himself sedately,
“Gold—though long employ’d, is far, far better
Than the finest silver freshly melted.”
So he kiss’d—kiss’d Hyacinth, the widow.
Very wroth wax’d then young Rose, the virgin:
“Sarejevo! let a ban be on thee!
Cursed be thy strange and evil customs!
For thy youths they love the bygone widows,
And thy aged men the untried virgins.”
NIGHTINGALES.
All the night two nightingales were singing
At the window of th’ affianced maiden;
And th’ affianced maiden thus addressed them:
“Tell me, ye two nightingales, O tell me!
Are ye brothers? are ye brothers’ children?”
Thus the nightingales made speedy answer:
“Brothers are we not, nor brother’s children:
We are friends—friends of the verdant forest.
Once we had another friend—another—
But that friend is lost to us for ever.
We have heard that nuptial bliss awaits him;
And we came the youthful bride to look on,
And to offer her a golden spindle,
With the flax of Egypt bound around it.”