To her brother thus the lady answer’d:
“Golden-ring of mine! my husband’s brother!
Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming,
Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar;
Neither was I dreaming of my brother.
I was thinking of my only mother,
She with sugar and with honey reared me;
She for me the red wine pour’d at even,
And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin;
In the morning milk, with spirit chasten’d,
So to give me cheeks of rose and lily;
And with gentle messages she waked me,
That her child might grow both tall and slender.”
COUNSEL.
“My Misho! tell me, tell me, pray,
Where wert thou wandering yesterday?”
‘I did not ramble—did not roam;
A wretched head-ache kept me home.’
“A thousand times I’ve said, I think,
No widows love—no water drink!
But thou, a thoughtless unbeliever,
Wilt water drink, and get a fever;
Wilt give to widows thine affection,
And find remorse, or find rejection;
Now take my counsel,—drink of wine,
And be a virgin maiden thine!”
DESOLATION.
Gloomy night! how full thou art of darkness!
Thou, my heart! art fuller yet of sorrow,
Sorrow which I bear, but cannot utter!
I have now no mother who will hear me,
I have now no sister who will soothe me,—
Yet I had a friend—but he is absent!
Ere he comes, the night will be departed;
Ere he wakes, the birds will sing their matins;
Ere his kiss, the twilight hour will brighten:
Go thy way, my friend! the day is dawning!
APPREHENSION.
“Sweet maiden mine! thou blushing rose!
Sweet, blushing roselet mine!
For me, what thought of honey flows
From those sweet lips of thine?”
‘I dare not speak with thee, my dear,
My mother has forbid me.’
“Sweet maid! thy mother is not here.”
‘She saw me once, and chid me.
Sir, she is in the garden there,
Plucking the evergreen:—
O may her heart like mine decay,
Like mine decay unseen,—
Ere love’s sweet power has pass’d away,
As it had never been.’
MILITZA.
Long and lovely are Militza’s eyebrows,
And they overhang her cheeks of roses—
Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead.
Three long years have I beheld the maiden,
Could not look upon her eyes so lovely—
On her eyes—nor on her snowy forehead.
To our country dance I lured the maiden,
Lured Militza,—lured her to our dances,
Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.
While they danced upon the greensward, verdant
In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather’d,
And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning,
And the maidens all look’d up to heaven,—
All the maidens—all, except Militza.
She still look’d on the green grass, untrembling,
While the maidens trembled as they whisper’d: