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Dismounted—and my steed I tied
With silver curblets to a tree—
Then press'd the maiden to my side,
And kiss'd her, how transportedly!
And soon the lovely one forgot
Her wounded foot—our mutual kisses,
Till the sun sunk, exhausted not—
And then she whisper'd—"Angel! this is
The vesper hour—'tis time, indeed,
To wend us homewards,"—Then I leapt
With my sweet maiden on my steed,
And bore her to my home.
Achti rose, krasna rose!
O thou rose—thou rose so lovely,
Why so early didst thou blow?
Why when blown, so swiftly blighted,
Swiftly blighted—swiftly faded,
Faded—dying—perish'd too:
Long I sat—I sat at evening
