Professor Eugenius Wessely, of Vinkovcze in Slavonia, has also published a small volume of Translations from the Nuptial Songs of the Servians; [0m] the renderings have the merit of perfect fidelity, and his introduction contains many interesting illustrations of Servian manners.
In the following translations I have, in all the narrative poetry, preserved the original measure. Rhyme is seldom used by the Servians. It is found in some of the shorter lyrical pieces, in the rendering of which I have allowed myself some latitude of expression. But the wish, above all things, to preserve most faithfully the character of the original, has prevented my introducing many very obvious decorations, and my veiling many equally obvious defects. To fidelity, at least, this volume may lay an honest claim. I have endeavoured to avail myself of all the authors who have written on the subject, particularly of the valuable criticisms of Dr. Kopitar in the Vienna Iahrbuch der Litteratur, of the works of Göthe, Grimm, and Vater. The notes attached to Talvj’s translation I have employed, without any special reference to them.
HISTORICAL, TRADITIONAL, AND RELIGIOUS BALLADS.
ABDUCTION OF THE BEAUTIFUL ICONIA.
Golden wine drinks Theodore of Stalach, [3]
In his Castle Stalach, on Morava;
Pours him out the wine his aged mother.
While the wine-fumes to his head were rising,
Thus his mother spoke unto the hero:
“Son of mine! thou Theodore of Stalach!
Tell me, wherefore hast thou not espoused thee?
Thou art in thy youthful days of beauty;
In thy dwelling now thine aged mother
Fain would see thy children play around her.”
And he answer’d—Theodore of Stalach—
“God is witness, O my aged mother!
I have roamed through many a land and city,
But I never found the sought-for maiden;
Or, when found the maiden, found I never
Friendly feelings in thy mind towards her;
And where thou hast shown thy friendly feeling,
There I found the maiden false and faithless.
But, as yesterday, at hour of sunset,
I was wandering near Resava’s river,
Lo! I glanced on thirty lovely maidens
On its banks their yarn and linen bleaching:
’Midst them was the beauteous Iconia,
Fairest daughter of the Prince Milutin,
He the princely sovereign of Resava.
She, indeed, would be a bride to cherish;
She, indeed, were worthy of thy friendship:
But that maiden is betrothed already;
She is promised unto George Irēnē—
To Irene, for Sredoi, his kinsman.
But I’ll win that maiden—I will win her,
Or will perish in the deed, my mother!”
But his mother counsell’d him and warn’d him—
“Say not so, my son! the maid is promised;
’Tis no jest! she is of monarchs’ kindred.”
But the hero cared not for his mother:
Loud he called to Dōbrivi, his servant—
“Dobrivi! come hither, trusty servant!
Bring my brown steed forth, and make him ready—
Make him ready with the silver saddle;
Rein him with the gold-embroider’d bridle.”
When the steed was ready, forth he hasten’d,
Flung him on his back, and spurr’d him onward
To the gentle river of Morava,
Flowing through Resava’s quiet levels.
And he reach’d Resava’s gentle river:
There again he saw the thirty maidens—
There he saw the beauteous Iconia.
Then the hero feign’d a sudden sickness;
Ask’d for help; and sped her courteous greeting—
“God above be with thee, lovely maiden!”
And the loveliest to his words made answer,
“And with thee be bliss, thou stranger-warrior!”