When the king Vukashin heard the Vila, Both his brothers speedily he summon’d: “Hear my words, now hear my words, my brothers! From the forest-hill the Vila told me, That we should no longer waste our treasures In the vain attempt to raise the fortress On a shifting, insecure foundation. Said the Vila of the forest-mountain, ‘Each of you a faithful wife possesses; Each a faithful bride that keeps your dwellings: Her who to the fortress comes to-morrow, Her who brings their rations to the workmen— Her immure within the wall’s foundations; So will the foundations bear the fortress: So Bojana’s fortress be erected.’ Now then, brothers! in God’s holy presence Let each swear to keep the awful secret; Leave to chance whose fate ’twill be to-morrow First to wend her way to Skadra’s river.” And each brother swore, in God’s high presence, From his wife to keep the awful secret. When the night had on the earth descended, Each one hasten’d to his own white dwelling; Each one shared the sweet repast of evening; Each one sought his bed of quiet slumber. Lo! there happen’d then a wond’rous marvel! First, Vukashin on his oath he trampled, Whisp’ring to his wife the awful secret: “Shelter thee! my faithful wife! be shelter’d! Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana! Bring not to the workmen food to-morrow! Else, my fair! thy early life ’twill cost thee: And beneath the walls they will immure thee!” On his oath, too, did Uglesha trample! And he gave his wife this early warning: “Be not thou betray’d, sweet love! to danger! Go not thou to-morrow to Bojana! Carry not their rations to the workmen! Else in earliest youth thy friend might lose thee: Thou might’st be immured in the foundation!” Faithful to his oath, young Goiko whisper’d Not a breath to warn his lovely consort. When the morning dawn’d upon the morrow, All the brothers roused them at the day-break, And each sped, as wont, to the Bojana. Now, behold! two young and noble women; They—half-sisters—they, the eldest sisters— One is bringing up her snow-bleach’d linen, Yet once more in summer sun to bleach it. See! she comes on to the bleaching meadows; There she stops—she comes not one step farther. Lo! the second, with a red-clay pitcher; Lo! she comes—she fills it at the streamlet; There she talks with other women—lingers— Yes! she lingers—comes not one step farther.