So the hero Marko speeds to Jedren. To the sultan in divan he enter’d; And his fiery eyes look’d fiercely round him, As the hungry wolves around the forest; Look’d as fiercely as if charged with lightnings. And the sultan ask’d the hero Marko, “Tell me what hath vex’d thee, princely Marko? Say in what the sultan has annoy’d thee? Tell me what misfortune has disturb’d thee?” Then the princely Marko tells the sultan What with Amurath visir had happened; And the sultan feign’d a merry laughter: And with agitated brow responded, “Blessings be upon thee, princely Marko! Hadst thou not behaved thee thus, my Marko, Son of mine I would no longer call thee. Any Turk may get a visir’s title, But there is no hero like my Marko.” From his silken vestments then the sultan From his purse drew out a thousand ducats, Threw the golden ducats to the hero: “Take these ducats from thy master, Marko, Drink to my prosperity, thou hero!” Marko took the purse of gold in silence, Walk’d away in silence from the palace; ’T was no love of Marko—no intention That the hero’s lips should pledge the sultan: ’T was that he should quit the monarch’s presence, For his fearful wrath had been awaken’d. DEATH OF KRALEVICH MARKO. AT the dawn of day the noble Marko Rode in sunlight on the Sabbath morning; By the sea, along the Urvinian mountain, Towards the mountain-top as he ascended; Suddenly his trusty Sharaz stumbled; Sharaz stumbled, and began to weep there. Sad it fell upon the heart of Marko, And he thus address’d his favourite Sharaz— “Ah! my faithful friend, my trusty Sharaz, We have dwelt a hundred years and sixty, Dwelt together as beloved companions, And till now have never, never stumbled. Thou hast stumbled now, my trusty Sharaz, Thou hast stumbled, and thine eyes are weeping. God alone can tell what fate awaits me;— One of us is surely doom’d to perish, And my life or thine is now in peril.” While the prince apostrophized his Sharaz, Lo! the Vila from Urvina’s mountain Call’d aloud unto the princely Marko: “Brother, listen—listen, princely Marko! Know’st thou why thy faithful Sharaz stumbled? Know that he was mourning for his master; Know that ye ere long must be divided.” Marko answer’d thus the mountain Vila: “Thou white Vila, let a curse be on thee! {98} Now shall I be parted from my Sharaz, Who through many a land and town hath borne me, From the sun’s uprising to his setting. Better steed ne’er trod the earth than Sharaz, As than Marko never better hero. While my head stays firmly on my shoulders, Never will I from my steed be sever’d.”