Hail thee, youth! and health be with thee! Hast thou visited the markets? Saw’st thou there a sheet of paper? Like that paper is my forehead. Hast thou ever seen the vineyard, Seen the rosy wine that flows there? Youth! my cheeks that wine resemble. Didst thou ever walk the meadows, Hast thou seen the black sloe-berry? That black sloe my eyes will paint thee: Hast thou wandered near the ocean? Hast thou seen the _pijavitza_? {153} Like it are the maiden’s eye-brows. SELF-ADMIRATION. A MAIDEN to the fountain went; I saw her overhang the place— And—she was young and innocent— I heard her say with simple grace, “Indeed she has a pretty face; And if she had a spring-flower wreath, How well ’twould sit upon her brow; And she might hear the shepherd breathe, Yes! thou shalt be my maiden now! The shepherd—’midst his fleecy drove, Goes like a moon the stars above.” ASSIGNATION. MAIDEN! let us share each other’s kisses! Tell me, tell me, where shall be our meeting, In thy garden, or in mine, sweet maiden? Under thine, or under my green rose-tree; Thou shalt be a rose, my gentle angel: I to a fond butterfly will change me, Everlastingly o’er thee to flutter— On thy flowers untired I will suspend me, Living blest upon mine own love’s kisses. FOOLISH VOW. THE maiden made a foolish vow: “I’ll never wear a flow’ret now;— No flow’ret shall be ever mine— I’ll never drink the proffer’d wine, No wine I’ll drink—no friend I’ll kiss, No, never more—my vow is this.” So rashly, rashly spoke the maid, But soon—ah, soon—repentance said: “A flowery garland o’er me, How beautiful ’twould be: And wine—it would restore me, My heart’s own gaiety: And love might play before me, If one sweet kiss were free.” VILAS. VISHNIA! {157a} lovely vishnia! Lift thy branches higher; For beneath thy branches, Vilas {157b} dance delighted: While Radisha {157c} dashes From the flow’rs the dewdrops. Vilas two conveying, To the third he whispers: “O be mine, sweet Vila! Thou, with mine own mother, In the shade shalt seat thee; Silken vestments spinning, Weaving golden garments.” LEPOTA. {158} LEPOTA went forth to the harvest—she held A sickle of silver in fingers of gold: And the sun mounted high o’er the parched harvest field; And the maiden in song all her sympathies told. “I’ll give my white forehead to him who shall bind All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scatter’d behind: I’ll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring; And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade, I will be—and for aye—an affectionate maid.”