107
Bylatě stezička šlassana.
Upon yon bridge a maiden see,
She weeps—she weeps—how bitterly!
And lo! her lover passes by,
With proud and with reproachful eye.
"O come, on Sabbath morn to me,
And I will wreathe a wreath for thee."
Morn came—he came not to the maid,
And then the flowery wheath decay'd.
The rain rush'd-down—the flowrets died,
Because the youth his vow belied.The floweret.
O it shines so brightly—
O I saw it shine,
I will pluck the floweret,
And it shall be mine.
