41
Till I heard the cook's loud crow,
Slumber's weariness o'ercame me
As the splinters wasted low;[1]
And I dreamt:—I dreamt I saw
One who brought to me—poor maiden!
One who with his right hand brought
Golden ring to grace my finger,
Ring with precious gems enwrought—
Where are now those gems?—I know not—
And that youth—I vainly sought.Och wi lesi tmani lesi.
O ye forests! darksome forests,
Forests deep of Miletin;
Tell me why in summer—winter—
Why are ye for ever green?
Fain would I, my tears subduing,
Cleanse my heart of griefs and cares,
- ↑ Wsie drsieyhi luczki sczech—laučka (modern diminutive of lauč, a splinter or chip of pine-wood used instead of candles in the north of Europe.
