Maiden! let us share each other’s kisses!
Tell me, tell me, where shall be our meeting,
In thy garden, or in mine, sweet maiden?
Under thine, or under my green rose-tree;
Thou shalt be a rose, my gentle angel:
I to a fond butterfly will change me,
Everlastingly o’er thee to flutter—
On thy flowers untired I will suspend me,
Living blest upon mine own love’s kisses.
FOOLISH VOW.
The maiden made a foolish vow:
“I’ll never wear a flow’ret now;—
No flow’ret shall be ever mine—
I’ll never drink the proffer’d wine,
No wine I’ll drink—no friend I’ll kiss,
No, never more—my vow is this.”
So rashly, rashly spoke the maid,
But soon—ah, soon—repentance said:
“A flowery garland o’er me,
How beautiful ’twould be:
And wine—it would restore me,
My heart’s own gaiety:
And love might play before me,
If one sweet kiss were free.”
VILAS.
Vishnia! [157a] lovely vishnia!
Lift thy branches higher;
For beneath thy branches,
Vilas [157b] dance delighted:
While Radisha [157c] dashes
From the flow’rs the dewdrops.
Vilas two conveying,
To the third he whispers:
“O be mine, sweet Vila!
Thou, with mine own mother,
In the shade shalt seat thee;
Silken vestments spinning,
Weaving golden garments.”
LEPOTA. [158]
Lepota went forth to the harvest—she held
A sickle of silver in fingers of gold:
And the sun mounted high o’er the parched harvest field;
And the maiden in song all her sympathies told.
“I’ll give my white forehead to him who shall bind
All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scatter’d behind:
I’ll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring
A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring;
And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade,
I will be—and for aye—an affectionate maid.”
And she thought that her words were all wasted in air:
But a shepherd—just watching his sheepfold, was there;
And he flew, and with sedges he bound all the sheaves;
And he made her an arbor of haslewood leaves;
And he ran to the spring, and he brought the sweet water;
And he look’d on the face of Beauty’s young daughter,
And he said, “Lovely maiden, thy promise I claim;”
But the cheeks of the maiden were cover’d with shame,
And she said to the shepherd, while blushing—“Not so!
Go back to thy sheepfold—thou wanderer, go!
For if thou didst bind the loose sheaves, thou hast left
Thy sheep in the stubble, to wander bereft;
And if from the fountain the water thou beared’st,
Its freshness and coolness thou equally shared’st;
And if thou hast reared up an arbor of shade,
For thyself as for me its refreshment was made.”