An Anthology of Jugoslav Poetry; Serbian Lyrics Part 7

'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 pa.s.s'd away, As it had never been.'

S. J. B.

XL

MILICA

Long and lovely are Milica'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 Milica,--lured her to our dances, Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.

While they danced upon the greensward, verdant In the suns.h.i.+ne, 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 Milica.

She still look'd on the green gra.s.s, untrembling, While the maidens trembled as they whisper'd:

"O Milica! thou our friend and playmate, Art thou overwise--or art thou silly?

Thus to look upon the gra.s.s beneath us, And not look up to the heaven above us, To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them?"

And Milica gave this quiet answer: "I am neither overwise nor silly.

Not the _Vila,_ nor the cloud-upgatherer; I am yet a maid--and look before me."

S. J. B.

XLI

THE CHOICE

He slept beneath a poplar tree: And three young maidens cross'd the way; I listen'd to the lovely three, And heard them to each other say:-- "Now what is dearest, love! to thee?"

The eldest said--'Young Ranko's ring Would be to me the dearest thing.'

"No! not for me," the second cried; "I'd choose the girdle from his side."

'Not I,' the youngest said--'In truth, I'll rather have the sleeping youth.

The ring, O sister! will grow dim, The girdle will ere long be broken; But this is an eternal token,-- His love for me and mine for him.'

S. J. B.

XLII

FOR WHOM?

Sweet fountain, that so freshly flows!

And thou, my own carnation-rose, That s.h.i.+nes like a s.h.i.+ning gem!

And shall I tear thee from thy stem?

For whom? my mother? ah! for whom?

My mother slumbers in the tomb.

For whom? my sister? who has fled, To seek a foreign bridal bed.

For whom? my brother? he is far, Far off, in dark and b.l.o.o.d.y war.

For whom, for whom, but thee, my love?

But thou art absent far above, Above these three green mountains, Beyond these three fresh fountains!

S. J. B.

XLIII

LIBERTY

Nightingale sings sweetly In the verdant forest; In the verdant forest, On the slender branches.

Thither came three sportsmen, Nightingale to shoot at.

She implored the sportsmen, "Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!

Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!

I will give you music, In the verdant garden, On the crimson rose-tree."

But the sportsmen seize her; They deceive the songster, In a cage confine her, Give her to their loved one.

Nightingale will sing not-- Hangs its head in silence: Then the sportsmen bear her To the verdant forests.

Soon her song is waken'd; "Woe! woe! betides us, Friend from friend divided, Bird from forest banish'd!"

S. J. B.

XLIV

THE DANCE

Omar's court is near to Sarajevo; All around it is a woody mountain: In the midst there is a verdant meadow; There the maidens dance their joyous Kolo[20]

In the Kolo there is Damian's loved one; O'er the Kolo her fair head uprises, Rises gay and l.u.s.trous in her beauty.

'Midst the Kolo Nicholas address'd her: "Veil your face, thou Damian's best beloved!