So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.
A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far below
A wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.
So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—
“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,
But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!
“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?
Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—
No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.
“The widow’s son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,
And look upon the misery his laughing eyes have wrought.
Ah, Dunai! did’st thou know it then—know that he loved me not?
“O cruel is my lover, Ivan, the widow’s son,
He rode away, and whispered, ‘Farewell, my little one—
The day was bright and fair, my dear, but now the day is done.
“‘Oh, sit beside the river, or watch me from the wall—
I’ll wear the wedding flower some day in banquet hall:
And you can wear, all sombrely, a thick-enfolding shawl.’”
_So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow._
“I WAS BORN IN A FATED HOUR”
They say I am lucky, that cares I’ve none—
Yet never was there so unlucky a one.
’Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,
From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.
O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,
Because I was born in a fated hour!
The spring so pretty, she presents brings,
But not for me are her gracious things.
My days go on, and my years fly past,
And I never was happy, from first to last.
O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,
Because I was born in a fated hour!
I do not count my earliest years,
Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.
O future days! If you wretched be,
Come short of the span allotted to me.
Mother of mine, when you bathed[65] in flowers
Your baby child, of a few short hours,
The while the shower of blossoms broke
Why did not you let the petals choke?
Mother of mine, did you kneel and pray
In cloister dim, when a babe I lay,
That all misfortune should depart
From the little child held to your heart?
“I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.
Alas, that blessing has been stayed!
Ill-luck has come, in spite of all—
Then take from God what may befall.”