Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead:
"Forehead! if I thought an old man's kisses
Would be stamp'd upon thee, I would hasten
To the forest, and would gather wormwood
Into boiling water press its bitters:
With it steep my forehead ev'ry morning,
That the old man's kiss might taste of wormwood.
But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me,
I would hurry to the verdant garden:
I would gather all its sweetest roses,
Would condense their fragrance,--and at morning,
Every morning, would perfume my forehead
So the youth's sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance,
And his heart be gladden'd with the odour.
Better dwell with youth upon the mountains,
Than with age in luxury's richest palace:
Better sleep with youth on naked granite,
Than with eld on silks howe'er voluptuous."
S. J. B.
LXXXI
CHOICE
In my court the morning's twilight found me;
At the chase the early sun while rising,
I upon the mountain--and behind it,
On that mountain, 'neath a dark-green pine tree
Lo! I saw a lovely maiden sleeping;
On a clover-sheaf her head was pillow'd;
On her bosom lay two snowy dovelets;
In her lap there was a dappled fawnkin.
There I tarried till the fall of ev'ning:
Bound my steed at night around the pine-tree:
Bound my falcon to the pine-tree branches:
Gave the sheaf of clover to my courser:
Gave the two white dovelets to my falcon:
Gave the dappled fawn to my good greyhound:
And, for me,--I took the lovely maiden.
S. J. B.
LXXXII
ANXIETY
I fain would sing--but will be silent now,
For pain is sitting on my lover's brow;
And he would hear me--and, though silent, deem
I pleased myself, but little thought of him,
While of nought else I think; to him I give
My spirit--and for him alone I live;
Bear him within my heart, as mothers bear
The last and youngest object of their care.
S. J. B.
LXXXIII
INQUIRY
Say, heavenly spirit! kindly say,
Where tarries now this youth of mine;
Say, is he speeding on his way,
Or doth he linger, drinking wine?
If he be speeding on,--elated
With joy and gladness let him be:
If quaffing wine,--in quiet seated,
O! his be peace and gaiety!
But if he love another maiden,
I wish him nought but sorrow:--No!
Then be his heart with anguish laden!
And let Heaven smite his path with woe!
S. J. B.
LXXXIV
FROZEN HEART
Thick fell the snow upon St. George's day;
The little birds all left their cloudy bed;
The maiden wander'd bare-foot on her way;
Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:
"O sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be."
"No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet--
But my poor heart is cold with misery.
There's nought to chill me in the snowy sleet
My mother--tis my mother who hath chill'd me,
Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill'd me."
S. J. B.
LXXXV
UNION IN DEATH
Fondly lov'd a youth and youthful maiden,
And they wash'd them in the self-same water,
And they dried them with the self-same linen
Full a year had pass'd, and no one knew it
Yet another year--'twas all discover'd,
And the father heard it, and the mother;
But the mother check'd their growing fondness,
Banish'd love, and exiled them for ever.
To the stars he look'd, and bade them tell her:
"Die, sweet maiden! on the week's last even;
Early will I die on Sabbath morning."
As the stars foretold the event, it happen'd;
On the eve of Saturday the maiden
Died--and died the youth on Sunday morning:
And they were, fond pair, together buried;
And their hands were intertwined together:
In those hands they placed the greenest apples;
When behold! ere many moons had shone there,
From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree,
And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow'd:
Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it,
As around the straw the silk clings closely.
S. J. B.
LXXXVI
LOVE AND SLEEP[30]
I walkt the high and hollow wood, from dawn to even-dew,
The wild-eyed wood stared at me, and unclaspt, and let me through,
Where mountain pines, like great black birds, stood percht against
the blue.
Not a whisper heaved the woven woof of those warm trees:
All the little leaves lay flat, unmoved of bird or breeze:
Day was losing light all round, by indolent degrees.
Underneath the brooding branches, all in holy shade,
Unseen hands of mountain things a mossy couch had made:
There asleep among pale flowers my beloved was laid.
Slipping down, a sunbeam bathed her brows with bounteous gold,
Unmoved upon her maiden breast her heavy hair was roll'd,
Her smile was silent as the smile on corpses three hours old.
"O God!" I thought, "if this be death, that makes not sound nor stir."
My heart stood still with tender awe, I dared not waken her,
But to the dear God, in the sky, this prayer I did prefer:
"Grant, dear Lord, in the blessed sky, a warm wind from the sea,
Then shake a leaf down on my love from yonder leafy tree;
That she may open her sweet eyes, and haply look on me."
The dear God, from the distant sea, a little wind releast,
It shook a leaflet from the tree, and laid it on her breast,
Her sweet eyes ope'd and looked on me. How can I tell the rest?
O. M.
LXXXVII
LOVE CONFERS NOBILITY
He. Violet, little one mine,
I would love thee, but thou art so small.
She. Love me, my love, from those heights of thine,
And I shall grow tall, so tall,
The pearl is small, but it hangs above
The royal brow, and a kingly mind
The quail is little, little, my love,
But she leaves the hunter behind.
O. M.
LXXXVIII
A SOUL'S SWEETNESS
He. O maiden of my soul!
What odour from the orange hast thou stole,
That breathes about thy breast with such sweet power?
What sweetness, unto me
More sweet than amber honey to the bee
That builds in the oaken hole,
And sucks the essential summer of the year
To store with sweetest sweets her hollow tower?
Or is it breath of basil, maiden dear?
Or of the immortal flower?
She. By the sweet heavens, young lover!
No odour from the orange have I stole;
Nor have I robb'd for thee,
Dearest the amber dower
Of the building bee,
From any hollow tower
In oaken bole:
But if, on this poor breast thou dost discover
Fragrance of such sweet power,
Trust me, O my beloved and my lover,
'Tis not of basil, nor the immortal flower,
But from a virgin soul.
O. M.
LXXXIX
REMINISCENCES
He. "And art thou wed, my beloved?
My Beloved of long ago?"
She. "I am wed, my Beloved. And I have given
A child to this world of woe.
And the name I have given my child is thine:
So that, when I call to me my little one,
The heaviness of this heart of mine
For a little while may be gone.
For I say not ... 'Hither, hither, my son!'
But ... 'Hither, my Love, my Beloved.'"
XC
SLEEP AND DEATH
The morning is growing: the cocks are crowing:
Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the morning light;
Only the moonbeam white.
Stay, my white lamb, stay,
And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The breeze is blowing: the cattle are lowing:
Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the cattle there;
Only the call to prayer.
Stay, my white lamb, stay,
And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The Turks are warning to the mosque, 'tis morning!
Let me away, love, away!
'Tis not the Turks, sweet soul!
Only the wolves that howl.
Stay, my white lamb, stay,
And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
The white roofs are gleaming: the glad children screaming:
Let me away, love, away!
'Tis the night-clouds that gleam:
The night winds that scream.
Stay, my white lamb, stay,
And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
My mother in the gateway calls to me.... "Come straightway"
And I must away, love, away!
Thy mother's in her bed,
Dumb, holy, and dead.
Stay, my white lamb, stay,
And sleep on my bosom, sleep.
O. M.
XCI
IMPERFECTION
All in the spring,
When little birds sing,
And flowers do talk
From stalk to stalk;
Whispering to a silver shower,
A violet did boast to be
Of every flower the fairest flower
That blows by lawn or lea.
But a rose that blew thereby
Answer'd her reproachfully,
(All in the spring,
When little birds sing,
And flowers do talk
From stalk to stalk):
"Violet, I marvel me
Of fairest flowers by lawn or lea
The fairest thou should'st boast to be;
For one small defect I spy,
Should make thee speak more modestly:
Thy face is fashion'd tenderly,
But then it hangs awry."
O. M.
XCII
EMANCIPATION
The Day of Saint George! and a girl pray'd thus:
"O Day of Saint George, when again to us
Thou returnest, and they carouse
Here in my mother's house,
May'st thou find me either a corpse or a bride,
Either buried or wed;
Rather married than dead;
But, however, that may betide,
And whether a corpse or a spouse,
No more in my mother's house."
O. M.
XCIII
PLUCKING A FLOWER
He. O maiden, vermeil rose!
Unplanted, unsown,
Blooming alone
As the wild-flower blows,
With a will of thine own!
Neither grafted nor grown,
Neither gather'd nor blown,
O maiden, O rose!
Blooming alone
In the green garden-close
Unnoticed, unknown,
Unpropt, unsupported,
Unwater'd, and uncourted,
Unwoo'd and unwed,
A sweet wild rose,
Who knows? Who knows?
Might I kiss thee, and court thee?
My kiss would not hurt thee!
A sweet, sweet rose,
In the green garden-close,
If a gate were undone,
And if I might come to thee
And meet thee alone?
Sue thee, and woo thee,
And make thee my own?
Clasp thee, and cull thee, what harm would be done?
She. Beside thy field my garden blows,
Were a gate in the garden left open ... who knows?
And I water'd my garden at eventide?
(Who knows?)
And if somebody silently happen'd to ride
That way? And a horse to the gate should be tied?
And if somebody (Who knows who,), unespied,
Were to enter my garden to gather a rose?
Who knows?... I suppose
No harm need be done. My beloved one,
Come lightly, come softly, at set of the sun!
Come, and caress me!
Kiss me, and press me,
Fold me, and hold me!
Kiss me with kisses that leave not a trace,
But set not the print of thy teeth on my face,
Or my mother will see it, and scold me.
O. M.
XCIV
A WISH
I would I were a rivulet,
And I know where I would run!
To Save, the chilly river,
Where the market boats pass on;
To see my dear one stand
By the rudder; and whether the rose
Which, at parting, I put in his hand,
Warm with a kiss in it, blows;
Whether it blows or withers:
I pluckt it on Saturday;
I gave it to him on Sunday;
On Monday he went away.
O. M.
XCV
A SERBIAN BEAUTY
'Tis the Kolo[31] that dances before the white house,
And 'tis Stojan's fair sister, O fair, fair is she!
Too fair she is truly, too fair, heaven knows,
(God forgive her!) so cruel to be.
The fair Vila, whom the wan clouds fondly follow
O'er the mountain wherever she roam it,
Is not fairer nor whiter than she.
Her long soft eyelash is the wing of the swallow
When the dew of the dawn trembles from it,
And as dawn-stars her blue eyes to me:
Her eyebrows so dark are the slender sea-leeches;
Her rich-bloomed cheeks are the ripe river peaches,
Her teeth are white pearls from the sea;
Her lips are two half-open'd roses;
And her breath the south wind, which discloses
The sweetness that soothes the wild bee.
She is tall as the larch, she is slender
As any green bough the birds move;
See her dance--'tis the peacock's full splendour!
Hear her talk--'tis the coo of the dove!
And, only but let her look tender--
'Tis all heaven melting down from above!
O. M.
XCVI
SLEEPLESSNESS
Sleep will not take the place of Love,
Nor keep the place from Sorrow.
Oh, when the long nights slowly move
To meet a lonely morrow,
The burden of the broken days,
The grief that on the bosom weighs,
And all the heart oppresses,
But lightly lies on restless eyes
Love seals no more with kisses.
O. M.
XCVII
A MESSAGE
Sweet sister of my loved, unloving one,
Kiss thy wild brother, kiss him tenderly!
Ask him what is it, witless, I have done
That he should look so coldly upon me?
Ah, well ... I know he recks not! Let it be.
Yet say ... "There's many a woodland nodding yet
For who needs wood when winter nights be cold."
Say ... "Love to give finds ever love to get.
There lack not goldsmiths where there lacks not gold.
The wood will claim the woodman by-and-by;
The gold (be sure!) the goldsmith cannot miss;
Each maid to win finds lads to woo: and I...."
Well, child, but only tell him, tell him this!
Sweet sister, tell him this!
O. M.
XCVIII
TRANSPLANTING A FLOWER
O maiden, mother's golden treasure!
Purest gold of perfect pleasure!
Do they beat thee, and ill-treat thee,
That I meet thee all alone?
Do they beat thee, that I meet thee
All too often, all too late,
After nightfall, at the gate
Of the garden, all alone?
Tell me, tell me, little one,
Do they do it? If I knew it,
They should rue it! I would come
Oftener, later, yet again,
(Hail, or snow, or wind, or rain!)
Oftener, later! Nor in vain:
For if mother, for my sake,
Were to drive thee out of home,
Just three little steps 'twould take
(Think upon it, little one!)--
Just three little steps, or four,
To my door from mother's door.
Love is wise. I say no more.
Ponder on it, little one!
O. M.
XCIX
ISOLATION
The night is very dark and very lonely:
And as dark, and all as lonely, is my heart:
And the sorrow that is in it night knows only:
For the dawn breaks, and my heart breaks. Far apart
From my old self seems my new self. And my mother
And my sister are in heaven,--so they say:
And the dear one dearer yet than any other
Is far, far away.
The sweet hour of his coming ... night is falling!
The hour of our awakening ... bird on bough!
The hour of last embraces ... friends are calling
"Love, farewell!" ... and every hour is silent now.
O. M.
C
FATIMA AND MEHMED
Beneath a milk-white almond tree,
Fatima and Mehmed be.
The black earth is their bridal bed;
The thick-starred sky clear-spread
Is their coverlet all the night,
As they lie in each other's arms so white.
The grass is full of honey-dew;
The crescent moon, that glimmers through
The unrippled leaves, is faint and new:
And the milk-white almond blossoms
All night long fall on their bosoms.
O. M.
CI
MORAVA HORSES[32]
On the banks of Morava,
Sleek black horses danced,
"Could not we," one horse did say,
"Over this river swim to-day?"
But the second cried, "Beware,
Deep flows the stream, beware, beware!
'Twas by these banks of Morava,
At set of sun a knight was drowned,
And dawn had broke ere he was found.
If mother this poor knight had had,
Within a day his fate she'd know,
And him to seek next day would go;
The third day, finding him, would weep,
And who knows how long sad heart keep?"
To which a third black horse replied
"No mother mourns him as lost son,
But mother-in-law the knight has one!
She in one year would surely cry:
'What has my daughter's husband done?'
And in two years find time to go
Toward the place where he lay low;
And when there should have passed years three,
His grave, perchance, she then might see--
Where long since green grass had grown,
The peacock preened himself and flown."
J. W. W.
CII
THE GIRL AND THE GRASS
In the green grass a girl fell asleep;
When she awoke the grass was red,
And her ruddy cheeks were green instead.
Before the Kadi the girl sued the grass:
Give me, O grass, my color red!"
And to the girl the red grass said:
"Thy color red, I'll give it thee,
When my color green thou dost give me."
Then before the Kadi they exchanged color
And became bosom-sisters for ever and ever.
J. W. W.
CIII
THE SUN AND THE GIRL
To the great sun a radiant maiden cried:
"Bright sun, thy beauty cannot equal mine!"
Whereon the burning orb complained to God:
"Let me bring low her pride, and scorch her face."
To which request his mighty Maker said:
"The burden that she bears is weight enough;
Her father and her mother, both I've taken;
One simple, smiling youth alone is left to her;
Touch not their joy, let him be fond of her."
J. W. W.
CIV
CURSE AND BLESSING
To the river ran the mother,
To her Mary by the water,
Dreaming there, the pretty daughter:
"Have you washed the linen, Mary?"
"Why, mother dear, not yet begun;
A naughty youth did come my way,
And muddy made the silvery water."
"I'll curse him, then; I'll curse him, daughter!
Cold be his heart as ice is cold."
"As cold as the sun o'er the corn-fields, mother!"
"May his face be black before all men!"
"As black as the snow on the mountains, mother!"
"May he be hanged!--Dost hear, my daughter!"
"But hanged upon my neck, dear mother!"
"From grievous wounds he then shall suffer!"
"Let my own teeth, then, cause them, mother!"
"May the wild torrent take him, daughter!"
"And bring him home to me, my mother!"
J. W. W.
CV
THE NICEST FLOWER IN THE WORLD
A yellow orange by the sea
Vaunted much his beauty,
This boast the red, round apple heard,
Scolded the orange for his word,
"See my superiority!"
The apple's boast the meadow heard,
The meadow rich beflowered:
"Boast not, thou smooth, round apple red,
But see how I am carpeted,
So green and richly dowered!"
The meadow's boast the maiden heard:
"Deem'st flowery mead, so great thy worth!
Though sweetly thou art sure bedight,
Yet still I am the sweetest sight,
That can be found in all the earth."
These vaunts heard all a daring youth:
"This maid, I see she is in truth,
She is by far the sweetest flower
That can be found in all the earth.
That orange, I will bring it down,
That apple-tree, I'll root it up,
That meadow's flowers shall all be mown,
And thou, fair maid, shalt be mine own!"
J. W. W.
CVI
THE PRETTY TOMB
"Wait, my girl, I want to talk,
Though my talk will wound thee!"
"Speak, O Youth; I'll listen, speak!
Even though thou wound me"
"Well, I am about to die."
"Die! Where will they bury thee?"
"I pray to rest upon thy breast."
"Ah! blind and foolish is thy prayer!
That were unseemly cemet'ry.
My bosom is no graveyard lone,
An apple orchard is my breast
Where fruits do ripen, birds do rest!"
J. W. W.
CVII
TODA AND HER FATE
Many youths paid court to Toda,
She, the blithesome shepherd girl;
So with mirthful laugh she cried:
"The youth on whom my apple falls,
'Tis henceforth he my heart enthralls."
Then Toda threw her apple red,
Which fell upon a grey-haired head.
Toda had not wished such love,
So sent him off to draw her water.
She sent him thus unto the river,
That no more trouble he might give her!
But safely back the old man came,
Brought the water, smiled and spake:
"O love me, Toda, love me, Toda."
Toda did not want to love him,
So sent him off to cut down branches,
Not caring should they fall upon him;
But safely back the old man came,
Brought the wood, and smiled and spake:
"O love me, Toda, little Toda!"
Toda did not want to love him,
So sent him to the war to fight,
Not caring what might be his plight:
But safely back the old man came,
Back from the war, and spake the same:
"O love me, Toda, Toda, love me!
That which must be, let it be."
J. W. W.
CVIII
THE VILA
Under the clouds there's nought to me
So handsome as a falcon bird.
A falcon I did wish to be,
And my wish by God was heard.
High to the clouds I flew,
And over the clouds too!
Then to a nut-tree I shot down.
Under the tree a vila sleeping!
Or else some being strange to me!
Oh, God Himself, and He alone, can say,
But she was fairer than the fairest summer day.
J. W. W.
CIX
THREE ROSES
Red Sun! too quickly art thou hasting down;
A little while prolong thy stay,
Smile from thy evening gate on me,
Till I've adorned with roses three--
Roses of silk in purest gold--
My darling's garment that I hold:
The first rose, a rose for my own country dear,
The second, a rose for sweet mother,
The third, the rose of my own bridal crown.
O stay, glad Sun! too quickly art thou going down!
J. W. W.
CX
HER DREAM
The girl awoke at dawn of day,
Aroused by trilling roundelay;
"Nightingale, oh, stop thy singing!
Stop thy singing, pray!
Cease thy songs, and fly away
To Cattaro, down by the bay.
To Cattaro now speed thy flight,
To tell the dream I've dreamt this night:
I found me in his garden gay,
Gathering fair roses;
With his eye he followed me,
As I passed from tree to tree.
I brought him then red roses fair,
And tied them in his steed's black hair.
Smiling, then a ring he gave me;
Ah, a ring so rare!
And he kissed me where I stood;
A kiss that made to me all good.
Smiling, yes, a kiss he gave me!
Than golden ring with diamond bright
More precious far in my heart's sight.
Stop singing, bird!
This is my dream; go, tell him so,
Go! wing thy way to Cattaro."
J. W. W.
CXI
TROUBLE WITH THE HUSBAND
I married last year,
This year I repent.
Bad husband have I,
With temper like nettle:
My lot I resent.
The frost kills the nettle,
But this husband of mine,
He thinks the frost fine:
By the stove all day long
He does nothing but sit,
And says that the frost
He minds not one bit!
In Celovec 'tis market-day,
'Tis market-day to-morrow;
I will take my husband there,
And will either there him change,
Or else will sell him at the fair.
Not too cheap I'll let him go,
Because he was so hard to get;
Rather than too cheaply sell him,
Back home again I'll take the man,
And love him--howsomuch I can!
J. W. W.
CXII
THE PEACOCK AND THE NIGHTINGALE
How beautiful it is this evening-time!
The noblemen, they quaff the cool wine,
And to their knee there comes a little stag,
With golden peacock proudly on one shoulder,
While on the other, perching there as neighbour,
Behold a silver-throated nightingale!
Upon whom gazing, saith the peacock golden:
"How now, my silver-throated friend!
If mine it were to trill thy liquid note,
To every noble knight I'd sing a song,
And honour each in turn from my clear throat."
Answered the nightingale in silver voice:
"List, lustrous peacock in thy blue and gold!
If mine it were, that sheeny fan of thine,
Its golden feathers all I would pluck out,
And decorate these nobles round about."
J. W. W.
CXIII
THE FIRST TOAST
Rising at the banquet table,
Now acclaim we our first toast,
To our God's high honour drink we,
Only of His glory think we--
No first place to human boast!
To celebrate the Lord's great glory--
What equal duty to be found?
Say, all ye who sit around,
Save truly to have earned the dinner!
J. W. W.
CXIV
THE HOD[vZ]A[33]
In Mostar was a sheker-meyteph,[34]
Thirty young ladies were learning there,
Omer-effendia was their hod[vz]a,
And pretty Maru[vs]a their kalfa.[35]
One day Maru[vs]a opened the Koran:
"Tell us now, hod[vz]a, tell what is written!'
Hod[vz]a reads silently, then he speaks loudly:
"First page--The hod[vz]a is going to marry!
"Willeth so Allah, so willeth hod[vz]a--thus on page two!
And on page three--Whom will he marry, whom will he marry?
Thus on page three--He'll marry the pretty Maru[vs]a."
J. W. W.
CXV
WOES
Woe to the wolf that eats not flesh,
Woe to the knight who drinks not wine,
Woe to the maid who counteth love
No gift divine.
Woe to legs with a foolish head,
And woe to gilt on an unclean bed.
Woe to satin on humped shoulders.
Woe to the gun in a fearsome hand,
Woe to the strong in that village where
But cowards stand.
Woe to the mother-in-law in the house of her son-in-law.
Woe to the wolf whom the ravens feed,
And to the knight who children doth need
Him to defend.
Woe to the cock who strutteth on ice,
Woe to the nightingale singing in the mill;
In such a din, far better to be still!
J. W. W.
CXVI
HARD TO BELIEVE
A man ne'er born once told a tale
To seven stout ghosts so hearty and hale;
A ship went sailing 'mid greenwood trees,
While the burning sun her crew did freeze.
A horse danced o'er the billowy sea,
From him a duck with hoofs did flee.
From an empty cup two knights did quaff,
Served by a maid whose head was off.
Two wingless geese flew up in the sky,
As a legless hero ran hard by;
While near him scampered two roasted hares,
Hotly pursued by three dogs in pairs.
Then to the deaf man the dumb man spoke:
"What a monstrous lie! but I hope it's a joke."
J. W. W.
CXVII
THE CONDITIONS
Listen, listen man of God,
If thou wouldest serve thy God,
In thy lifetime do thou good,
And revere thine elder brother,
So thy younger thee revere.
Neither boast when fortune smileth,
Nor complain in days of trouble;
Grasp not an another's good;
For when death befalleth man,
Nought he takes from out the world,
Save his deeds and crossed white hands--
When he goeth to the Judgment,
Where king's rank is unaccounted,
Rich men can no more be proud,
Poor men be no more despised.
J. W. W.
CXVIII
PRAYER BEFORE GOING TO BED
With a cross I lay me down,
With a cross I get me up,
All day long it doth protect,
And angels in the night are near;
Archangels, they shall ward my death,
And God's my guard till all things end.
J. W. W.
CXIX
VISION BEFORE SLEEP
To sleep I laid me down,
Making my prayer to God;
I called upon His angels;
Heaven was unveiled to me;
The Seraphim, they worshipped there,
And prayed this prayer to Christ our Lord:
"While he doth rest, all through his sleep,
Frome visions dark do Thou him keep."
J. W. W.
CXX
PRAYER IN THE FIELD
We pray unto the Heavenly Lord,
Koledo, Koledo![36]
Dew to send upon our fields,
Koledo!
To give grain to wheat and maize,
Koledo, Koledo!
To give fruits in all the glades,
Koledo!
To give colours to the flowers,
Koledo, Koledo!
To give health to sheep and cattle,
Koledo!
And pardon, joy and song to all,
Koledo, Koledo!
J. W. W.
CXXI
A CHILD IN HEAVEN
Yesternight was born a Child,
But it passed from earth at morn,
Unbaptized to heaven's door.
"Open, heavenly watchman, open!"
"Nay, foolish babe, thou must away!
Sinful thou art, away, away!"