Dr. B. STEVENSON STANOYEVICH (continued 2)

O my girl, O my soul, What does mother say to you? Will she marry you to me? Her son-in-law can I be? She might give you, she might not, Thou art ever, ever mine! B. S. S.

Listen, my girl, listen, my beauty! Thy eyes are corals in the sea, I am a merchant on the sea Buying the riches of the sea. Listen, my girl, listen, my beauty! Thy teeth are tiniest pearls, I am a merchant on the sea Buying tiniest pearls of the sea. Listen, my girl, listen, my beauty! Thy hands are whiter than the wool, I am a merchant on the sea Trading in wool o'er the sea. B. S. S.

Falcon is winging high, But the fortress gates are higher; And Angela is watching there Aureoled in sunshine, Belted with the moonbeams, And flowering with the stars. B. S. S.

Little lad is wandering Through a wooded copse, Strutting with a green bough Walking down the slopes. Looking on a courtyard Sees young Jana sweeping: "O thou pearl, my sweet one, Whence my ring in keeping?" Thus she answered proudly: "May thy brother know, perchance, And should it bring God's blessing He'll join our wedding dance." B. S. S.

What shall I do, what shall I do? My nights are sleepless, My heart is so restless— Ah, sorrow, anew, I'll die, My love, for you. B. S. S.

When the sun sets at even, My love is just coming to me And when the moon has passed Heaven My lover is going from me. So the paths are all darken'd with shadow, Just as it should be, should be In shadow that no one can see. B. S. S.

For whom powders face so lovely, Beauty? For whom has she dropped her hair on shoulder, For whom is she wearing charms in bosom? Is it for Valach, or for a Magyar? It is not for Valach nor for Magyar, It is for this Stojan, mighty reaper, Who in Kolo always takes the leadship, When he's playing, every heart is touched. When he's dancing, dances like a puppet. B. S. S.

Hurry, hurry, robust harvesters, At field's end there's water and a maiden, Cooling water, and a maiden youthful, Drink ye water, and embrace your maiden. B. S. S.

These are long nights, these are long nights, For him who does not kiss black eyes, He it is who cannot slumber, For his heart is pierced with sorrow. B. S. S.

Oh, my girl, my sweetest flower, Curl not ends of eyebrow bower, Do not grieve your youthful laddies, As your way doth torment me: Leading horse, I wander barefoot— Carrying boots, I wander barefoot— Bearing bread, I cannot eat it— Treading water, cannot drink it. B. S. S.

Girlhood was my golden tsardom! Tsar was I while girlhood lasted; Ah, if I could turn me backward, Well I know how I'd live girlhood. B. S. S.

On the river Sitnitsa Little green fir standeth! Who's young and stripling, Youth with green youth sleepeth. Ah, but see that youthful Jovo, All alone is he, Seeing that the youthful Mara Joins him secretly. B. S. S.

Full and thick is shadow, Come, my love, to meadow, For I've a verdant garden, Red roses for a warden; Golden kerchief will I make thee, Christmas gift of love from me, To carry so splendidly In the memory of thy darling. B. S. S.

Oh my heart, I feel me sighing, Methinks that my lover calls me to him, But in truth my sweetheart's love hath ceased. Cried out falcon from a fir branch lofty: "O girl lovely! Sinfully you are speaking, Only past night your love called you lovely, Drinking wine unto your bounteous pleasure: 'O my girl, my soul of me most dearest, I have made for thee a hiding, Half my bed and half my arm, Half a pillow, half a cover, Half a cushion, heart of mine in bosom.'" B. S. S.

O girl of my soul, my soul, Take this bunch of rosebuds neat, Should thy bouquet fade and fail, Come once more, my soul, to me I will pluck again for thee. B. S. S.

Darling sweetheart on his free arm sleeping, Makes he motion to sound gong in waking: "Awake, my dear, dearer than mine own eyes, Last night I a strange dream was a-dreaming: My fez swept 'way on the troubled water, Pearls were strewing richly in my lap-robe, And my watch in pieces four was broken." Sweetheart waking, calmly speaking this-wise: "Easy is it to interpret dreaming, That your fez was swept by troubled water Means you're to go forth to battle army; That pearls richly scatter'd in your lap-robe Must mean our tears, thine with mine are mingling; That your watch in pieces four was broken Means in truth that our hearts will be breaking When we're forced to take leave of each other." B. S. S.

Cyclone downward rumbling, All the castle trembling. In castle is a girl Crying, never ceasing: "Alas, how long nights are! When sleeping near to papa; On nine soft mattresses, On nine softest cushions, 'Neath nine fine coverlets." "Alas, how long nights are! When sleeping near to mother; On nine soft mattresses, On nine softest cushions, 'Neath nine fine coverlets." "Alas, how long nights are! When sleeping near to brother; On nine soft mattresses, On nine softest cushions, 'Neath nine fine coverlets." "Alas, how long nights are! When sleeping near to sister; On nine soft mattresses, On nine softest cushions, 'Neath nine fine coverlets." Cyclone downward rumbling, All the castle trembling. In castle is a girl Crying, never ceasing: "Alas, how short the nights are! Sleeping with my darling, Just on single mattress, On a single pillow, 'Neath a single cover." B. S. S.

'Wakening Lazar dawn was stealing: "Get up, Lazar; rise up, Lazar! Horse of thine has thirst for water." Forthwith up leaps Lazar quickly, Grasps his horse's bridle lightly, Leading horse, he goes to water, But at water's edge was maiden, With his foot he touched hers gently, Kissed the while her black eyes sparkling, Clasping her about the bosom. B. S. S.

When I lived a girl with mother, Good advice was given me often, That I should not drink the red wine, That I should not wear green wreathlets, That I shouldn't kiss a stranger. But I poor girl deeply thinking over: There's no red cheek without red wine sparkling, There's no pleasure without green wreath glistening, Neither amour without stranger wooer. B. S. S.

In a garden works a maiden, Digging furrow, water decoy, To the garden 'luring water, To give drink to early flowers, Early flowers, whitest basil, Whitest basil, gold carnation; Where she's furrowing, there she's sleeping. Putting head in sweetest basil, Hands are lying in carnations, Feet are plac'd in shallow hollow, Covered with a fragile kerchief; Beat upon her dew-drops slender, Like a rain-soaked watermelon. Now there comes a callow youth, Callow youth and not yet married, Grasping two posts, leaps the railing, Springing lightly into garden, Then commences soliloquizing: "Should I pluck a bunch of flowers? Should I kiss a sleeping maiden? Bunch of flowers lasts till mid-day, But a maiden lasts forever." B. S. S.

Breeze fans up o'er roses 'long the meadow, To the rich white tent of Jovo, youthful, Where there's Jovo with Maria sitting: Jovo writing and Maria sewing; Ink runs short for Jovo where he's writing, And Maria golden thread is losing, Then to Maria, Jovo thus is speaking: "Oh, my Maria, mine own cherish'd lov'd one! Is my soul to thee a dear possession? For a pillow is my right hand doughty?" Mara to him gently whispering slowly: "Believe me, Jovo, darling of my heart-throb, Dearer to me is thy soul much dearer, Than are altogether four of brothers; Softer to me thy own right hand doughty, Than four softest pillows of my choosing." B. S. S.

Planted rose-tree midst of Novi-Sad town, O my rose-bud, O my sorrow rose tree, Cannot pick you, neither give you sweetheart: For my sweetie vents her anger on me, Gliding past my courtyard stealthy, Like the slave who passes Turkish graveyard. B. S. S.

O my darling, be not wrathful; Should I, myself, show my hot displeasure, All of Bosnia never could appease us, Not all Bosnia nor the Hercegovina. B. S. S.

Alas hero I'm with arrow pierced, O my Yetsa, thy white face is guilty, Thy black eye-balls are the piercing arrows, Thy white arms are now a very torment. Come, my love bird, to my white court homing, Come to heal my heart's own sore displeasure, To bind up my wounds with thy throat's whiteness, To salve suffering with thy honey kisses. B. S. S.

Up and down went youth in mountain, In a garden, girl round fountain; On her threw he hawthorn red,— Lightly answering, blackthorn sped,— Think you they intend to kill? Nought but kisses that they will. B. S. S.

Little girl, the small black-eyed, Hero, wondering stupefied: 'Had we means of barter! To lead us near together! I my life long would not quit her, None could make our friendship wither.' B. S. S.

Oh, my jeweller, for your trade's sake, listen! Make me hero, all of gold my hero, I will spoil him, as his mother dares not, I will kiss him until dawns the twilight, Till day breaks ever will caress him. B. S. S.

Lo! behold behind the forest Someone loudly screams— "'Tis a voice," says youthful hero, "Girlish-like it seems." When behold! he looked and spied her, Tiny girl, tree-bound they'd tied her, With fine silken seams. Hear! she prays of youthful hero, dazzled by his might: "Come to me, thou youthful hero, O most beauteous, wonderknight. Come to free me, youthful hero, and I'll be thy sister true." Thus she spake, but laughing he, "O, there's one at home like you." "Come to free me then, my brother; sister-in-law I'll be no other." ('But at home she sits by mother.') "Then I'll be thy golden bride. Take me to thy meadows wide, Take me to thy castles white, Take me, take me from this plight." So she spake to gallant lover, Hovering near and just above her, Clasps her in his arms to love her— Such a gallant knight! B. S. S.

All young heroes here save mine, All young gallant heroes brave. O! that I were sure he'd tarry, Lingering in some sickness grave, Rather than the wish to marry Sends him courting another maid. O! may he be too ill to travel, May him dread illness cause to pine, Rather than to court another, Never, never to be mine. B. S. S.

O maiden, thou gentlest rose When thou wert growing what didst thou behold? Hast thou observed a pine-tree growing Or the slender, proud fir-tree blowing, Or did'st gaze at my youngest brother?— O glad, young hero, brilliant Sun! Never at the pine-tree blowing Have I look'd in wonder gazing Neither at the slender fir-tree, Nor thy youngest brother, free, Rather have I grown to suit thee, Tender knight, to suit but thee. B. S. S.