The field of popular poetry, which the Slavic nations of the WESTERN STEM present to us, promises a gleaning of a comparatively inferior value.
It appears from the Konigshof ma.n.u.script, that five centuries ago the BOHEMIANS _had_ a treasure of popular poetry. This doc.u.ment exhibits also the extraordinary fact, that almost the same ballads were sung in Bohemia in the thirteenth century, which are now heard from the lips of Russian and Servian peasant girls. The reader may compare the following songs, all of them faithfully translated.
ANCIENT BOHEMIAS SONGS.
I.
O my rose, my fair red rose, Why art thou blown out so early?
Why, when blown out, frozen?
Why, when frozen, withered?
Withered, broken from the stem!
Late at night I sat and sat, Sat until the c.o.c.ks did crow; No one came, although I waited Till the pine-torch all burned low.
Then came slumber over me; And I dreamed my golden ring
Sudden slipp"d from my right hand; Down my precious diamond fell.
For the ring I looked in vain, For my love I longed in vain!
II.[55]
O, ye forests, dark green forests, Miletinish forests!
Why in summer and in winter, Are ye green and blooming?
O! I would not weep and cry, Nor torment my heart.
But now tell me, good folks, tell me, How should I not cry?
Ah! where is my dear good father?
Wo! he deep lies buried.
Where my mother? O good mother!
O"er her grows the gra.s.s!
Brothers have I not, nor sisters, And my lad is gone!
SERVIAN SONG.[56]
O my fountain, so fresh and cool, O my rose, so rosy red!
Why art thou blown out so early?
None have I to pluck thee for!
If I plucked thee for my mother, Ah! poor girl, I have no mother; If I plucked thee for my sister, Gone is my sister with her husband; If I plucked thee for my brother,
To the war my brother"s gone.
If I plucked thee for my lover, Gone is my love so far away!
Far away o"er three green mountains, Far away o"er three cool fountains!
Pa.s.sAGES FROM SEVERAL RUSSIAN BALLADS.
_current at the present day_.
I.
Last evening I sat, a young maid, I sat till deep in the night; I sat and waited till day-break, Till all my pine-torch was burnt out.
While all my companions slept, I sat and waited for thee; love!
II.
No good luck to me my dream forebodes; For to me, to me, fair maid, it seemed, On my right hand did my gold ring burst, O"er the floor then rolled the precious stone.
The Bohemians preserved their nationality, and very probably with it their ancient popular songs, down to the seventeenth century. During the thirty years" war, of which Bohemia was in part almost uninterruptedly the seat, a complete revolution in manners, inst.i.tutions, and localities, took place. Whole villages emigrated, or were driven into the wide world, wandering about in scattered groups as fugitives and mendicants. Most of the ancient songs may have died at that time. The German influence increased rapidly during the remainder of the seventeenth century, mostly by force and reluctantly; still more during the eighteenth century by habit, intermarriages, education, etc. The Bohemians, the most musical nation in the world, are still a singing people; but many of their ditties are evidently borrowed from the German; in others, invented by themselves, they exhibit a spirit entirely different from that of their ancestors.
These modern songs are mostly rhymed. The following specimen of songs still current among the peasantry of Bohemia, will show well the harmless, playful, roguish spirit that pervades them.
THE FORSAKEN MAIDEN.
Little star with gloomy shine, If thou couldst but cry!
If thou hadst a heart, my star, Sparks would from thee fly, Just as tears fall from mine eye.
All the night with golden sparks Thou wouldst for me cry!
Since my love intends to wed, Only "cause another maid Richer is than I.
LIBERAL PAY.
Flowing waters meet each other, And the winds, they blow and blow; Sweetheart with her bright blue eyes Stands and looks from her window.
Do not stand so at the window, Rather come before the door; If thou giv"st me two sweet kisses, I will give thee ten and more.
HAPPY DEATH.
In a green grove Sat a loving pair; Fell a bough from above, Struck them dead there.
Happy for them, That both died together; So neither was left, To mourn for the other.
THE LYING BIRD.
What chatters there the little bird, On the oak tree above?
It sings, that every maid in love Looks pale and wan from love.
My little bird, thou speak"st not true, A lie hast thou now said; For see, I am a maid in love, And am not pale, but red.
Take care, my bird; because thou liest, I now must punish thee; I take this gun, I load this gun, And shoot thee from the tree.
In the following fine ballad the German influence is manifest. It is extant in two different texts. We give it in Bowring"s version, which has less of amplification and embellishment than is usual in English translations.
THE DEAD LOVE.