The young maiden will only give her love-kiss to her sweetheart, the stalwart swain; an old suitor is spurned with scorn. The lovely Mara, white and red, walked by the spring and tended her sheep: See an old, old suitor comes riding up on horseback, Shouting: “God’s peace be thine, fair Mara, white and red. Tell me, canst thou offer me a draught of cold clear water; Tell me, can the basil ever verdant here be gathered, And may I snatch a kiss from thee, fair Mara, white and red?” W. F. H. But straightway comes the answer from fair Mara, white and red: “I charge thee, old, old suitor, to horse and ride hence quickly, No drink is here thy portion from the fountain cold and clear, And the ever-verdant basil by thee shall not be gathered, Nor durst thou snatch a kiss from me, fair Mara, white and red.” W. F. H. Again, fair Mara, white and red, walked by the spring and tended her sheep: See a young and handsome suitor comes riding up on horseback, Shouting: “God’s peace be thine, fair Mara, white and red. Tell me, canst thou offer me a draught of cold clear water; Tell me, can the basil ever verdant here be gathered, And may I snatch a kiss from thee, fair Mara, white and red?” W. F. H. But straightway comes the answer from fair Mara, white and red: “I charge thee, handsome laddie, to horse and ride hence quickly, Wouldst thou drink of this cool fountain, thou must hither come some morning, For cold and clear’s the water in the hours of early dawn. Wouldst thou gather from the bushes, thou must hither come at mid-day, For the flower-trees smell the sweetest about the noon-tide hour. Wouldst thou kiss the beauteous Mara, then hither come at evening, At evening sighs each maiden who finds herself alone.” W. F. H. In another Servian ballad we find the same glorification of the stalwart young lover, the same contempt for, and detestation of, old men who go a-wooing. High upon a mountain’s slope once stood a maiden, Mirroring her lovely image in the stream, And her image in these words addressing: ‘Image fraught to me with so much sadness Had I known a time was ever coming When thou shouldst be kissed by agèd lover, Then amidst the green hills I had wandered, Gath’ring with my hands their bitter herbage, Squeezing out of it its acrid juices, Washed thee then therewith that thou should’st savour Bitterly wheresoe’r the old man kissed thee.’ ‘O my lovely image, had I known that Thou wert fated for a young man’s kisses, I had hurried to the verdant meadows, Gathered all the roses in the meadows, Squeezing from the roses their sweet juices, Laved thee with them, O mine image, that thou Savoured of fragrance wheresoe’r he kissed thee.’ W. F. H.