Goiko’s youthful wife at home is tarrying, For she has an infant in the cradle Not a full moon old, the little nursling: But the moment of repast approaches; And her aged mother then bestirs her; Fain would call the serving maid, and bid her Take the noon-tide meal to the Bojana. “Nay, not so!” said the young wife of Goiko; “Stay, sit down in peace, I pray thee, mother! Rock the little infant in his cradle: I myself will bear the food to Scadra. In the sight of God it were a scandal, An affront and shame among all people, If, of three, no one were found to bear it.” So she staid at home, the aged mother, And she rock’d the nursling in the cradle. Then arose the youthful wife of Goiko; Gave them the repast, and bade them forward. Call’d around her all the serving maidens; When they reach’d Bojana’s flowing river, They were seen by Mrljavchevich Goiko, On his youthful wife, heart-rent, he threw him; Flung his strong right arm around her body; Kiss’d a thousand times her snowy forehead: Burning tears stream’d swiftly from his eyelids, As he spoke, in melancholy language: “O my wife, my own! my full heart’s-sorrow! Didst thou never dream that thou must perish? Why hast thou our little one abandoned? Who will bathe our little one, thou absent? Who will bare the breast to feed the nursling?” More, and more, and more, he fain would utter; But the king allow’d it not. Vukashin, By her white hand seizes her, and summons, Master Rado,—he the master-builder; And he summons his three hundred workmen. But the young-espoused one smiles, and deems it All a laughing jest,—no fear o’ercame her. Gathering round her, the three hundred workmen Pile the stones and pile the beams about her. They have now immured her to the girdle. Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher; Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared her, And she shriek’d aloud in her despairing; In her woe implored her husband’s brothers: “Can ye think of God?—have ye no pity? Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?” But in vain, in vain were her entreaties; And her brothers left her thus imploring. Shame and fear succeeded then to censure, And she piteously invoked her husband: “Can it, can it be, my lord and husband, That so young, thou, reckless, would’st immure me? Let us go and seek my aged mother: Let us go—my mother she is wealthy: She will buy a slave,—a man or woman, To be buried in the walls’ foundations.”