I HEARD a sprightly swallow say
To a gray cuckoo t’ other day,—
“Thou art a happy bird indeed;
Thou dost not in the chimney breed,
Thou dost not hear the eternal jarring,
Of sisters and step-sisters warring;
Their woes and grievances rehearsing,
Cursing themselves, and others cursing.
A young step-sister once I saw,
Foul language at the elder throw;
“Perdition’s daughter! hence depart;
Thou hast no fruit beneath thy heart.”
And thus the elder one replied:
“Curse thy perverseness and thy pride!
Mijailo is a son of thine;
Now thou shalt bring forth daughters nine,
And madness shall their portion be.
Thy son shall cross the parting sea;
He never shall return to thee,
But, bathed in blood and wounded, pine!”
And thus she cursed;—the curse was true;
Her sister’s nine fair daughters grew;
And madness seized them,—seized them all:
Mijailo,—far away, and wounded,
By solitude and woe surrounded,
I heard him on his mother call:
“O mother! mother! send me now
A bandage of that snowy linen
Which you so thoughtlessly were spinning,
When curses wander’d to and fro.
In your rage you wove it,—now remove it;
Tear it for bandages, as you tore
Love and affection all asunder.
Where it was bleach’d thy son lies under;
With it cover his hot wounds o’er.
Rend it, mother! and send it, mother!
May it thy suffering son restore!”