GOLDEN wine drinks Theodore of Stalach, {3}
In his Castle Stalach, on Morava;
Pours him out the wine his aged mother.
While the wine-fumes to his head were rising,
Thus his mother spoke unto the hero:
“Son of mine! thou Theodore of Stalach!
Tell me, wherefore hast thou not espoused thee?
Thou art in thy youthful days of beauty;
In thy dwelling now thine aged mother
Fain would see thy children play around her.”
And he answer’d—Theodore of Stalach—
“God is witness, O my aged mother!
I have roamed through many a land and city,
But I never found the sought-for maiden;
Or, when found the maiden, found I never
Friendly feelings in thy mind towards her;
And where thou hast shown thy friendly feeling,
There I found the maiden false and faithless.
But, as yesterday, at hour of sunset,
I was wandering near Resava’s river,
Lo! I glanced on thirty lovely maidens
On its banks their yarn and linen bleaching:
’Midst them was the beauteous Iconia,
Fairest daughter of the Prince Milutin,
He the princely sovereign of Resava.
She, indeed, would be a bride to cherish;
She, indeed, were worthy of thy friendship:
But that maiden is betrothed already;
She is promised unto George Irēnē—
To Irene, for Sredoi, his kinsman.
But I’ll win that maiden—I will win her,
Or will perish in the deed, my mother!”
But his mother counsell’d him and warn’d him—
“Say not so, my son! the maid is promised;
’Tis no jest! she is of monarchs’ kindred.”
But the hero cared not for his mother:
Loud he called to Dōbrivi, his servant—
“Dobrivi! come hither, trusty servant!
Bring my brown steed forth, and make him ready—
Make him ready with the silver saddle;
Rein him with the gold-embroider’d bridle.”
When the steed was ready, forth he hasten’d,
Flung him on his back, and spurr’d him onward
To the gentle river of Morava,
Flowing through Resava’s quiet levels.
And he reach’d Resava’s gentle river:
There again he saw the thirty maidens—
There he saw the beauteous Iconia.
Then the hero feign’d a sudden sickness;
Ask’d for help; and sped her courteous greeting—
“God above be with thee, lovely maiden!”
And the loveliest to his words made answer,
“And with thee be bliss, thou stranger-warrior!”
“Lovely maiden! for the love of heaven,
Wilt thou give one cup of cooling water?
For a fiery fever glows within me;
From my steed I dare not rise, fair maiden!
For my steed, he hath a trick of evil—
Twice he will not let his rider mount him.”
Warm and earnest was the maiden’s pity,
And, with gentle voice, she thus address’d him:
“Nay! not so—not so, thou unknown warrior!
Harsh and heavy is Resava’s water;
Harsh and heavy e’en for healthful warriors;
How much worse for fever-sickening tired ones!
Wait, and I a cup of wine will bring thee.”
Swiftly tripp’d the maiden to her dwelling;
With a golden cup of wine return’d she,
Which she reach’d to Theodore of Stalach.
Out he stretch’d his hand; but not the wine cup,
But the maiden’s hand, he seized, and flung her,
Flung her on his chesnut steed behind him;
Thrice he girt her with his leathern girdle,
And the fourth time with his sword-belt bound her;
And he bore her to his own white {7} dwelling.