Alas! my son, how fareth it with thee, In thy new dwelling, new and strange and dark?

Strange thy dwelling without windows!

At daybreak, Vinko, thy sad mother rose, Her earliest thought as but of thee, Her first thought, Vinko; Vinko her first call!

Thorns are growing at the house-door, Cuckoos mourn around the house, Downcast thy brothers wait for thee, To talk with thee, to walk with thee-- But now that ne'er can be.

With head bent down and brow o'ercast, They make their way--for where art thou!

In ashes our hearth fire is hidden, And when I saw the sun this morning, I thought: It is the moon, When thy sisters said to me: "Dim thine eyes, it is the sun!"

"For me no sun," said I to them, "Pale in the dust now is my sun, No light have I above the earth."

Down in thy dwelling, oh my son, Say, is it cold, my Sun, my Sun; If it be cold as is my breast It is too cold, too cold to rest.[37]

J. W. W.

CXXVIII

MOTHER OVER HER DEAD SON

Where art thou flying? Where, oh where?

My falcon?

To what silent land and lone?

Say, hero mine!

Around thy friends and brothers ask me: How shall I answer them!

"Where goes Perko? Tell us, Mother!"

Woe to me, oh woe to me!

If I answered, I might blame thee!

How blame _thee_?

Alway thou askedst me: May I go here--or should I stay?

I knew thy way!

But now thou askedst not; nor may I give thee "Yea" or "nay,"-- O blank, blank day!

Better, child, I went to thee, than to stay As mother here Having lost the light of day!

J. W. W.

CXXIX

MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR HER SON

Wherefore do I marvel, wherefore need I wonder?

Traveller the dearest!

That through this lower world already thou hast sped, Ray of light the fleetest!

Together we'd a little talk, but we looked for more, Thou my golden store!

To the realms of heaven thou from earth art gone, Thou my heaven and earth!

Thou thy flight hast taken, sure, to a land of flowers, Dearest of my flowers!

Thy journey leadeth up to G.o.d, unto the blest in Paradise, Thou my Paradise!

Thou shalt behold the Judgment Place, Merciful my son!

Soon shalt reach those halls of rest, Thou who gav'st me labour!

There shalt find the n.o.ble dead, Thou my sweetest life!

Greet them all, the rich and poor, Best of all my riches!

Salute the n.o.blemen and princes.

Thou my prince of princes!

J. W. W.

Cx.x.x

GREATEST GRIEF FOR A BROTHER

O'er Neven woods the sun went down, The sun went down behind the forest, As came the heroes off the sea.

The young wife counted anxiously, The wife of George the Hospodar, Counted the warriors, found them all, Save her three treasures who were missing.

She could not find her Hospodar Nor the best man at their wedding, And the third treasure was not there; This treasure was her dearest brother.

For her brave lord she cuts her tresses, For her best man she wounds her cheeks, And for her brother puts out both her eyes.

She cuts her hair, it grows again; She wounds her cheeks, the wounds do heal; But none can heal those hurt blind eyes, Nor yet her heart for her lost brother.

J. W. W.

Cx.x.xI

THE DEATH CHAMBER OF HER FATHER-IN-LAW

Why art thou thus attired?

My more than father!

Why art thou thus bedight, so knightly armed?

My fearless knight!

Thou art departing for the city?

My shining city!

In order there to meet the lords and knights, O my wise lord!

Or go'st thou to a marriage feast?

My pride, my n.o.ble guest!

--But why! thine eyes are closed to me!

O closed, O closed to me!

And--can it be!--thy mouth is bound!

This black, black morning!

If thou art gone, and com'st not back-- How empty is the house!

How is it thou couldst leave us so?

To us, O woe, O woe!

Far, far thy journey, and the end not here!