Lo! upon the mountain green
Stands a fir tree tall and thin—
’Tis no fir tree—none at all—
’Tis a maiden thin and tall.
Three long years the enamour’d one
Fed upon her eyes alone;
On the fourth, he sought the bliss
Of the maiden’s primal kiss:
“Why, thou witching maid! repel me—
Why with foot of scorn dost tread,
On my feet, my boots of red!
Why despise me, maiden! tell me.”
“No, my friend, I will not tread
On thy feet, thy boots of red!
Come at evening—come and string
Pearls for me—and thou shalt fling
O’er me my embroider’d shawl.
We will go at morning’s call
To the Kolo—Friend! but thou
Must not touch the maiden _now_—
Know’st thou not that busy slander
Follows us where’er we wander?
Evil tongues are ever talking;
Calumny abroad is walking.
Know’st thou that a simple kiss
Ample food for slander is?
‘Never did we kiss,’ you’ll say,
‘Till last evening and to-day.’
Come at evening—come my dear!
Sisters’ eyes will watch thee here.”