“No, my friend, I will not tread On thy feet, thy boots of red! Come at evening—come and string Pearls for me—and thou shalt fling O’er me my embroider’d shawl. We will go at morning’s call To the Kolo—Friend! but thou Must not touch the maiden _now_— Know’st thou not that busy slander Follows us where’er we wander? Evil tongues are ever talking; Calumny abroad is walking. Know’st thou that a simple kiss Ample food for slander is? ‘Never did we kiss,’ you’ll say, ‘Till last evening and to-day.’ Come at evening—come my dear! Sisters’ eyes will watch thee here.” YOUTH ENAMOURED. “WHERE wert thou, Misho! yesterday?” ‘O ’twas a happy day to me! A lovely maiden cross’d my way, A maiden smiling lovelily. And those sweet smiles for me were meant; I claimed her—mother answer’d ‘No!’ Would steal her—vain was the intent, For many guardians watch’d her so. There grows a verdant almond-tree Before her house—its boughs I’ll climb; Wail like a cuckoo mournfully, And swallow-like, at evening time, Pour forth my woe in throbbings deep, And like a sorrowing widow sigh, And like a youthful maiden weep. So may her mother turn her eye, Pitying my grief, her heart may move, And she may give me her I love.’ BLUE AND BLACK EYES. I WISH the happy time were nigh, When youths are sold, that I might buy. But for an azure-eyed _Milinar_, {219} I would not give a single dinar, Though for a raven-black eyed youth, A thousand golden coins, in truth. Alas! alas!—and is it true? My own fair youth has eyes of blue; Yes! they are blue—yet dear to me— Will he forgive my levity? Ye maidens! pray him to forgive me; Nay! spare me now—and rather leave me To tell him “I am yours”—and smile In fond affection all the while. THE WIDOW. ROSE! O smile upon the youth no longer; He, in his impatience to be wedded, Chose a widow for his years unsuited, And where’er she goes, where’er she tarries, She is mourning for her ancient husband. “O my husband! first and best possession! Happy were the days we spent together! Early we retired and late we waken’d. Thou didst wake me kissing my white forehead, ‘Up, my heart! the sun is high in heaven, And our aged mother is arisen.’” ALARMS. FAIREST youths are here—but not the fairest! Could I hear him now, or could I see him,— Could I know if he be sick, or faithless! Were he sick, my ears would rather hear it, Than that he had loved another maiden. Sickness may depart, and time restore him,— If enamour’d,—never! never! never! FOND WIFE.