THE maiden cursed her raven eyes, She cursed them for their treacheries. “Be blinded now, to you if heaven All that is visible has given! If ye see all, ye traitors, say Why saw ye not my love to day:— He pass’d my door,—but, truants, ye Gave not the gentlest hint to me. He had a nosegay in his hand,— He wore a gold embroider’d band,— ’Twas made by other hands than mine! Upon it wreathing branches twine: May every branch embroidered there, A miserable heart-wound bear;— Upon each branch, may every leaf Bring and betoken toil and grief.”
Lo! the maiden greets the day-star! “Sister! Sister star of morning! well I greet thee; Thou dost watch the world from thine uprising To thy sinking hour. In Herzgovina, { 122} Tell me didst thou see the princely Stephan? Tell me, was his snowy palace open, Were his steeds caparisoned, and ready; And was he equipp’d his bride to visit?”
Gently then the morning star responded: “Lovely sister! beautiful young maiden, True, I watch the world from my uprising To my setting;—and in Herzgovina Saw the palace of the princely Stephan; And that snowy palace was wide open, And his horse was saddled, and was ready, And he was equipp’d his bride to visit: But not thee—not thee—another maiden; False tongues three have whisper’d evil of thee; One has said—thine origin is lowly; One, that thou art treacherous as a serpent; And the third, that thou art dull and dreamy.”
Then the maiden pour’d her imprecations: “He who said my origin was lowly, Never let a child of love be born him; He who called me treacherous as a serpent, Round his heart, O! let a serpent wreathe it; Through hot summers in his hair be tangled, Through cold winters in his bosom nestle; He who dar’d to call me dull and dreamy, Nine long years may he be worn by sickness, And no sleep renew his strength to bear it.”
THE maiden sat upon the hill, Upon the hill and far away, Her fingers wove a silken cord, And thus I heard the maiden say: “O with what joy, what ready will, If some fond youth, some youth adored, Might wear thee, should I weave thee now! The finest gold I’d interblend, The richest pearls as white as snow. But if I knew, my silken friend, That an old man should wear thee, I The coarsest worsted would inweave, Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave, And all thy knots with nettles tie.”