Paul then listened to his wife’s entreaties: To the tails of four wild steeds he bound her; Drove them forth across the mighty desert. Wheresoe’er a drop of blood fell from her, There sprang up the rankest thorns and nettles. Where her body fell, when dead, the waters Rush’d and form’d a lake both still and stagnant. O’er the lake there swam a small black courser: By his side a golden cradle floated: On the cradle sat a young grey falcon: In the cradle, slumbering, lay an infant: On its throat the white hand of its mother: And that hand a golden knife was holding. THE BROTHERS. Two young boys a happy mother nurtured; Nurtured them through years of dearth and sorrow; Ever toiling at her restless spindle. Sweetest names she gave her hopeful children; One was named Predrāg, {15a}—Nenād {15b} the other. When Predrag could spring upon his courser, Rein his courser, and his weapon brandish, Lo! he left his home and aged mother, To the mountain fled, and join’d the bandits: And Nenad alone was left to cheer her. Of his brother’s fate he nothing guess’d at; But, as soon as he could mount his courser, Rein his courser, and his weapon brandish, He too left his home, and aged mother, To the mountains fled, and join’d the bandits. Three long years he dwelt among the bandits: He was full of wisdom and discretion; And in every fray him fortune favour’d: He became the leader of the bandits. Full three years he bore him as their leader; Then did mother-longings move his spirit, And he thus address’d his fellow-robbers: “Comrades mine! mine own beloved comrades! I have heartfelt longings for my mother. Let us, comrades! now divide our treasures, And let each go home and seek his mother.” Willingly they listened to his counsel; And, as each received his destined portion, Many a loud oath swore they in their gladness: By their brothers swore they, and their sisters. And Nenad, their leader, piled his treasure, And again address’d his fellow-robbers: “Comrades mine! mine own beloved comrades! I no brother have—no sister have I; But I swear by the eternal heaven, Be my right hand smitten by the palsy, Let my good steed’s mane be shrunk and shrivell’d, My sharp sabre rust within its scabbard, If I add one para to my treasure!” So the robbers all their gold partition’d. Sprung Nenad upon his own good courser, And he hasten’d to his aged mother.