“WHERE wert thou, Misho! yesterday?”
‘O ’twas a happy day to me!
A lovely maiden cross’d my way,
A maiden smiling lovelily.
And those sweet smiles for me were meant;
I claimed her—mother answer’d ‘No!’
Would steal her—vain was the intent,
For many guardians watch’d her so.
There grows a verdant almond-tree
Before her house—its boughs I’ll climb;
Wail like a cuckoo mournfully,
And swallow-like, at evening time,
Pour forth my woe in throbbings deep,
And like a sorrowing widow sigh,
And like a youthful maiden weep.
So may her mother turn her eye,
Pitying my grief, her heart may move,
And she may give me her I love.’