Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/196

185

To those fair lips, as poppies red, what kisses have I given;

How often round that swan-like maid play'd like the breeze of heaven.

 

In love's own madness—danc'd with gladness—smil'd but 'twas to sigh:

Nights all-sleepless—chas'd the error—sad and lone was I.

 

At morning ere the matin bell—and ere the matin prayer^[1]

I rose to hear the choral songs of minstrels of the air.

 

The forests shaded—I invaded—and my hapless eye

Ah! false maiden—wretched lover—saw—O agony!

 

'Twas in the valley's deepest dell^[2] she sat—and not alone;

I heard the vow—I saw the kiss—she smil'd—he said 'Mine own'

 

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1. Na klekanj—The thrice-repeated singing in the Catholic churches to morning, noon, and evening prayers.
2. W roklince—a small valley between two rocks.