The Death of the Mother of the Jugovitch

Lord of Hosts, how passing great the marvel!
When the army camps upon Kosovo
In its ranks the Jugovitch—nine brothers,
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.
Unto God then prays the agéd mother:
“Give me, God, the keen eyes of a falcon,
Give to me, oh God, the swan’s white pinions;
I would seek the wide plain of Kosovo,
I would see the Jugovitch—nine brothers,
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.”

Thus she prays to God—her prayer is granted.
God gives her the keen eyes of the falcon
And He gives to her the swan’s white pinions,
And she seeks the wide plain of Kosovo.
Dead she finds the Jugovitch—nine brothers
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.
At their sides nine battle-spears are lying,
On the spears are perched nine keen-eyed falcons,
Round the spears stand nine good battle-horses,
And nine lions lie beside their masters.
And there roar their grief the nine grim lions,
And there mourn the nine good battle-horses,
And nine keen-eyed falcons scream in sorrow.
But the mother’s heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother’s heart, and dry her eyelids.
And she leads away the nine good horses,
Leads away with them the nine grim lions,
Calls to follow her nine keen-eyed falcons—
Thus returns she to her fair white castle.

From afar her sons’ nine wives beheld her,
As she nearer came they walked to meet her—
Cried aloud to God the nine fair widows,
And there wept with them the nine young orphans,
And there mourned their grief the nine grim lions,
And nine keen-eyed falcons screamed in sorrow.
But the mother’s heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother’s heart, and dry her eyelids.

When the night is at the hour of midnight
Whinnies low the battle-horse of Damian,
And the mother asks of Damian’s loved one:
“Oh my daughter, thou belov’d of Damian
Wherefore whinnies Damian’s horse thus sadly?
Doth he hunger for the silver wheat-fields?
Doth he thirst for Zvechan’s cooling waters?”
Slowly answers her then Damian’s loved one:
“Oh my mother, mother thou of Damian,
Not for silver wheat-fields is he hungry,
Not for Zvechan’s waters is he thirsty
Long since learnt he from his master Damian
Until midnight on fine oats to feast him,
After midnight many roads to travel;
Therefore now laments he for his master
Sorrows that he left his lord behind him
There upon the wide plain of Kossovo.”
But the mother’s heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother’s heart, and dry her eyelids.

On the morrow as the dawn is breaking,
Lo, there fly two ravens, two black ravens [2];
Bloody are their wings up to the shoulders,
From their beaks the blood-flecked foam is falling.
’Tis a hero’s severed hand they carry,
On the hand a golden ring is shining.

See, they drop it in the mother’s bosom,
From her bosom then the mother takes it,
Turns and turns it slowly as she gazes.
Then again she calls to Damian’s loved one:
“Oh my daughter, thou belov’d of Damian,
Tell me, whose this hand that I am holding!”
To the mother answers Damian’s loved one:
“Oh my mother, mother thou of Damian,
’Tis our Damian’s hand that thou art holding,
For I know the golden ring, oh mother,
This gold ring I gave him at our marriage.”
And the mother holds the hand of Damian,
Turns and turns it slowly as she gazes;
To the hero’s hand the mother whispers:
“Thou dear hand, oh thou my fair green apple,
Where didst blossom? Where has fate now plucked thee?
Woe is me! thou blossomed on my bosom,
Thou wast plucked, alas, upon Kosovo!”
And the mother’s heart swelled big with anguish,
Swelled the mother’s heart, and broke with sorrow
For her dead, the Jugovitch—nine brothers
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.

The Fall of the Serbian Empire

 From Jerusalem, the holy city,
Flying came a swift grey bird, a falcon,
And he carried in his beak a swallow.

But behold and see! ’Tis not a falcon,
’Tis the holy man of God, Elias,
And he does not bear with him a swallow,
But a letter from God’s Holy Mother.
Lo, he bears the letter to Kosovo,
Drops it on the Tsar’s knees from the heavens,
And thus speaks the letter to the monarch:
“Tsar Lazar, thou Prince of noble lineage,
What wilt thou now choose to be thy kingdom?
Say, dost thou desire a heav’nly kingdom,
Or dost thou prefer an earthly kingdom?
If thou should’st now choose an earthly kingdom,
Knights may girdle swords and saddle horses,
Tighten saddle-girths and ride to battle—
You will charge the Turks and crush their army!
But if thou prefer a heav’nly kingdom,
Build thyself a church upon Kosovo,
Let not the foundations be of marble,
Let them be of samite and of scarlet....
And to all thy warriors and their leaders
Thou shalt give the sacraments and orders,
For thine army shall most surely perish,
And thou too, shalt perish with thine army.”

When the Tsar had read the holy letter,
Ponder’d he, and ponder’d in this manner:
“Mighty God, what now shall this my choice be!
Shall I choose to have a heav’nly kingdom?
Shall I choose to have an earthly kingdom?
If I now should choose an earthly kingdom,
Lo, an earthly kingdom is but fleeting,
But God’s kingdom shall endure for ever.”

And the Tsar he chose a heav’nly kingdom,
And he built a church upon Kosovo,—
Did not bring foundation stones of marble
But he brought pure samite there and scarlet;
Summon’d there the Patriarch of Serbia,
Summon’d there with him the twelve archbishops.
Thus he gave the warriors and their leaders
Holy Sacrament and battle orders.

But no sooner gave the Prince his orders
Than the Turkish hordes swept on Kosovo.
And the Jug Bogdan leads there his army,
With his sons, the Jugovitch—nine brothers,
His nine sons like nine grey keen-eyed falcons,
Each of them commands nine thousand warriors,
And the Jug Bogdan commands twelve thousand.

With the Turks they fight there and they struggle,
And they smite and slay there seven pashas.
When the eighth advances to the battle
Then doth Jug Bogdan, the old knight, perish,
With his sons the Jugovitch—nine brothers,
His nine sons like nine grey keen-eyed falcons,
And with them doth perish all their army.

Moved their army three Mernyachevichi:
Ban Uglyesha and Voyvoda Goïko,
And the third, the mighty King Vukáshin;
And with each were thirty thousand warriors,
With the Turks do they there fight and struggle,
And they smite and slay eight Turkish pashas.
When the ninth advances to the battle
Then there perish two Mernyachevichi,
Ban Uglyesha and Voyvoda Goïko;
Many ugly wounds has King Vukáshin,
Turks and horses wade in blood above him,
And with him doth perish all his army.

Moved his army then Voyvoda Stefan;
And with him are many mighty warriors,
Many mighty warriors—sixty thousand.
With the Turks do they there fight and struggle,
And they smite and slay nine Turkish pashas.
When the tenth advances to the battle,
There doth perish the Voyvoda Stefan,
And with him doth perish all his army.

Then advances Tsar Lazar the Glorious,
With him moves a might host of Serbians,
Seven and seventy thousand chosen warriors.
They disperse the Turks upon Kosovo,
No time had the Turks to look upon them,
Still less time had they to stem the onslaught;
Tsar Lazar and all his mighty warriors
There had overwhelm’d the unbelievers,
But—the curse of God be on the traitor,
On Vuk Brankovitch,—he left his kinsman,
He deserted him upon Kosovo:
And the Turks o’erwhelmed Lazar the Glorious,
And the Tsar fell on the field of battle;
And with him did perish all his army,
Seven and seventy thousand chosen warriors.

All was done with honour, all was holy,
God’s will was fulfilled upon Kosovo.

 Tsar Lazar and Tsaritsa Militsa

 Tsar Lazar sits at the evening banquet,
With him sits the Tsaritsa Militsa;
Says to him the Tsaritsa Militsa:
“Tsar Lazar, oh golden crown of Serbia,
Thou wilt go to-morrow to Kosovo,
And wilt lead the men-at-arms and nobles,
But thou leavest no one in the castle
Who for me could carry hence a message
To Kossovo, and bring back your greeting.
Thou dost lead away my nine dear brothers,
Thou dost lead away nine Jugovitchi;
Leave me one at least of these my brothers,
That I have a brother left to swear by.”

Then the Serbian prince Lazar makes answer:
“Oh dear lady, Tsaritsa Militsa,
Tell me thou then, which of thy nine brothers
I shall leave with thee in thy white castle.”
“Leave me Boshko Jugovitch, oh monarch!”
And the Serbian prince Lazar makes answer:
“Oh dear lady, Tsaritsa Militsa,
When the white day dawns again to-morrow,
When the day dawns and the bright sun rises
And the great gates of the city open,
Walk then, lady, to the city portals;
That way goes the army in its splendour,—
All the battle-horses with their lancers.
Boshko Jugovitch will ride before them,
In his hand will bear the battle-standard,
And then stay with thee in thy white castle.”

When the dawn has broken on the morrow,
And the great gates of the city open,
Then walks out the Tsaritsa Militsa;
She stands there beside the city portals
And beholds the army in its splendour:
All the battle-horses with their landers,
Boshko Jugovitch before them riding.
Of the finest cloth-of-gold his garments,
And the standard with a cross emblazon’d,
Oh my brothers, falls in folds around him,
Covers him and rests upon his charger.
On the standard, lo, a golden apple,
From the apple rise the golden crosses,
From the crosses hang long golden tassels
And the tassels droop upon his shoulders.
Closer comes the Tsaritsa Militsa,
Catches at the war-horse by its bridle,
Puts her arm around her brother’s shoulder
And begins to whisper to him softly:
“Boshko Jugovitch, oh thou my brother,
Now to me the Tsar Lazar doth give thee,
And thou shalt not ride with him to battle,
Shalt not ride with him unto Kosovo;
And he bids me tell thee with his blessing
Thous shalt give to whom thou wilt the standard
And remain with me here in Kroushévatz,
That I have a brother left to swear by.”
Boshko Jugovitch then makes her answer:
“Go Militsa, to thy fair white tower,
For I may not stay with thee, my sister,
Nor let from my hand the battle-standard
That the Tsar gave to me at Kroushévatz;
For I will not that my comrades mock me:
See the coward! See the coward Boshko!
He who rode not with Lazar to battle,
Dared not ride with him unto Kosovo,
There to shed his blood for Christ his honour,
For the Holy Cross to fight and perish.”
And he spurred his charger through the gateway.

Came the Jug Bogdan her father, riding,
And with him rode seven Jugovitchi,
But not one of them did look upon her....
And when they had passed out through the gateway
Far behind there came her brother Voïn
Leading with him Tsar Lazar’s great chargers
Covered with their shining golden trappings.
She holds Voïn’s grey horse by its bridle,
Puts her arm around her brother’s shoulder,
Holds him thus, and whispers to him softly:
“Voïn Jugovitch, oh thou my brother,
Now to me the Tsar Lazar doth give thee,
And he bids me tell thee with his blessing
Thou shalt give to whom thou wilt his chargers,
And remain with me here in Kroushévatz
That I have a brother left to swear by.”
Voïn Jugovitch then makes her answer:
“Go Militsa, to thy fair white tower,
I a hero, may not leave my comrades,
Nor give up the Tsar’s steeds to another,
Even knowing that I die in battle.
I go now, oh sister, to Kosovo,
There to shed my blood for Christ his honour,
For the faith to die there with my brothers.”
And he spurred his charger through the gateway.

Seeing this, the Tsaritsa Militsa
Falls down lifeless on the cold hard roadway;
And behold, the Tsar himself comes riding.
When he sees the Tsaritsa Militsa
Down the Tsar’s face are the fast tears falling,
He looks to his right hand and his left hand,
Calls to him then Goluban, his servant:
“Goluban, oh thou my faithful servant,
Now dismount thee from they swan-white charger,
By her fair white hands lift up my lady,
Carry her unto the slender tower;
From thine oath to me hath God now loosed thee,
Thou shalt not ride with me to Kosovo,
But shalt stay behind here, in the castle.”
When the servant Goluban has heard this,
Down his white face are the fast tears falling,
He obeys, and stays his swan-white charger,
By her fair white hands lifts up his lady,
Brings her then unto the slender tower;
But his heart cannot endure the order
That he rides not with his lord to battle,
And he goes back to his swan-white charger,
Mounts him, and rides swiftly to Kosovo.

On the morrow when the dawn has broken,
Flying, come two ravens, two black ravens,
Flying from the wide plain of Kosovo;
They alight upon the slender tower,
On the tower of Lazar the Glorious;
Croaks the first, begins to speak the second:
“Is this Tsar Lazar’s white slender tower,
In this tower is there none that liveth?”
In the tower nobody has heard them,
Saving only Tsaritsa Militsa;
She comes down from her white slender tower,
And she asks the ravens, two black ravens,
“Whence do you come flying here this morning?
Tell me, have you seen two mighty armies?
Do these mighty armies fight together?
Which of these two armies doth now conquer?”
Answer her the ravens, two black ravens:
“God be with you, Tsaritsa Militsa,
We come from the wide plain of Kosovo,
On the plain we saw two mighty armies,
Yesterday the armies fought together,
And both monarchs perished in the fighting.
Of the Turkish hordes a few are living,
And a few are living of the Serbians,
Living, but sore wounded all, and bleeding.”

As the two black ravens thus were speaking,
Lo, came riding Milutin the servant,
In his left hand, see, he bears his right hand,
He has countless wounds upon his body,
And his horse is bathed in blood beneath him.
Questions him the Tsaritsa Militsa:
“Milutin, what evil thing hath happened?
Hast thou left thy lord upon Kosovo?”
Milutin the servant makes her answer:
“Help me to dismount, I beg thee, lady,
Bathe me also with the cooling water,
And with red wine let my lips be moisten’d,
For my wounds have nearly overcome me.”
Then the Tsaritsa Militsa helps him,
Bathes his cruel wounds with cooling water,
And his lips with good red wine she moistens.
When the servant’s heart revives within him
Questions him the Tsaritsa Militsa:
“Milutin, how went it on Kosovo?
Where Lazar, the Prince of Serbia, perished,
Where the Jug Bogdan, my father, perished,
And where perished his nine sons, my brothers;
Where the brave Voyvoda Milosh perished,
Where Vuk Brankovitch with them has perished,
And where perished mighty Ban Strahinya.”

Milutin the servant tells his story:
“All remain, oh lady, on Kosovo,
Where has fallen Tsar Lazar the Glorious.
There are broken many battle-lances,
Serbian lance and Turkish, both are broken,
But more Serbian lances broke than Turkish
While defending Tsar Lazar, oh lady,
Glorious Tsar Lazar, the lord of Serbia.
And the Jug Bogdan has fallen also,
And with him eight Jugovitchi, lady;
There where no man would desert his brothers
Whilst a single one could move his weapon,
Boshko Jugovitch still fought, oh lady;
Raged the battle round him on Kosovo
And he threw the Turks into disorder
As the falcon strikes the homing pigeons.
And there perished mighty Ban Strahinya,
There too, perished Milosh, oh dear lady,
By Sitnitsa, by the chilly water,
There where very many Turks have fallen.
Milosh slew the Turkish Sultan, Murad,
And he also slew of Turks twelve thousand.
May God bless the woman who has borne him!
He left glory to the name of Serbia
While there lives a people and Kosovo.
And what of th’ accurséd Vuk, you ask me!
Curséd he, and curséd she who bore him,
Cursed his race unto all generations!
He betrayed the Tsar upon Kosovo,
Led away with him twelve thousand warriors,
Mighty men-at-arms, oh my dear mistress.”

The Banquet on the Eve of the Battle
(a fragment)

Prince Lazar his patron saint doth honour
On the fair and pleasant field Kosovo,
With his lords is seated round the table
With his lords and with his youthful nobles.

On his left the Jug Bogdan is seated,
And with him nine Jugovitch, nine brothers;
On his right Vuk Brankovitch is seated,
And the other lords in their due order;
Facing him is Milosh, that great warrior,
And with him two other Serbian leaders
Kossanchitch, and young Toplitza Milan.
Tsar Lazar lifts high the golden goblet,
Thus he speaks unto his Serbian nobles:
“Unto whom shall this my cup be emptied?
If it be old age that I should honour
Then, oh Jug Bogdan, I must now pledge you;
If it be high rank that I should honour
Then Vuk Brankovitch, I must now pledge you;
If the voice of feeling I should follow
To the Tsaritsa’s nine well-lov’d brothers
To the Jugovitch, my toast is owing;
If it beauty be that I should honour
Ivan Kossanchitch, I must now pledge you;
If heroic looks I now should honour
Then Toplitza Milan, I must pledge you;
If heroic deeds are to be toasted
I must drink to that great warrior Milosh,
I can surely pledge no other hero.
Milosh Obilitch, I drink to thee now,
To thy health, oh Milosh, friend and traitor!
Friend at first, but at the last a traitor.
When the battle rages fierce to-morrow
Thou wilt then betray me on Kosovo,
And wilt join the Turkish Sultan, Murad!
Drink with me, and pledge me deep, oh Milosh,
Drain the cup; I give it thee in token!”

To his feet leaps Milosh, that great warrior,
To the black earth bows himself, and answers:
“Tsar Lazar, for this thy toast I thank thee,
Thank thee for the toast and for the goblet,
But for those thy words I do not thank thee.
For—else may the truth be my undoing—
Never, Tsar Lazar, was I unfaithful,
Never have I been, and never will be.
And to-morrow I go to Kosovo
For the Christian faith to fight and perish.
At thy very knees there sits the traitor,
Covered by thy robes he drains the wine-cup,
’Tis Vuk Brankovitch, th’ accurséd traitor!
And when dawns the pleasant day to-morrow
We shall see upon the field, Kosovo,
Who to thee is faithful, and who faithless.
And I call Almighty God to witness
I will go to-morrow to Kosovo,
I will slay the Turkish Sultan, Murad,
And I’ll plant my foot upon his false throat;
And if God and fortune so befriend me,
I will take Vuk Brankovitch then captive,
Bind him to my battle-lance! Yea, tie him
As a woman ties hemp to her distaff,
And I’ll drag him with me to Kosovo.”

Kossanchitch and Milosh
(a fragment)

Milosh speaks to Kossanchitch his brother:
“Ivan Kossanchitch, oh thou dear brother,
Hast thou spied upon the Turkish army,
Seen how many warriors came from Turkey?
Can we offer battle to the army?
Can we hope to vanquish it in battle?”

Ivan Kossanchitch thus speaks in answer:
“Milosh Obilitch, oh thou my brother,
I have spied upon the Turkish army
And a mighty army came from Turkey.
Were we grains of salt instead of warriors
Yet we could not salt that army’s dinner.
Fifteen days through Murad’s hordes I wandered
But I could not find an end or limit.
From Mramór right up to Suvi Javor,
And from Jávor right up to Sazliya,
From Sazliya to the bridge of Chemer
And from Chemer to the fortress Zvechan,
And from Zvechan right away to Chechan,
And from Chechan up above the mountains
Stand the Turks in serried ranks together;
Horse to horse, and hero touching hero,
Battle-lances like a magic mountain,
Like a cloud their battle-standards streaming
And their tents stretched like the snow in winter.
If the gentle rain should fall from heaven
Not one inch of ground could then receive it,
So thick stand the horses and the heroes.
Murad fell upon the plain of Mazgit,
Took by quick assault Lab and Sitnitsa.”

Then speaks Milosh Obilitch in answer:
“Ivan Kossanchitch, oh thou my brother,
Where has Sultan Murad pitched his tent there?
I have sworn to slay the Sultan Murad
And I’ll plant my foot upon his false throat.”

Ivan Kossanchitch thus answers Milosh:
“Thou art surely mad, oh thou my brother!
There where thickest press the Turkish warriors
Stands the tent of mighty Sultan Murad.
If thou hadst the swift wings of the falcon
And couldst swoop from out the clear blue heavens
Still thy swift wings could not save thy body.”

Then to Ivan swears the hero Milosh:
“Ivan Kossanchitch, oh thou dear brother,
Not by birth, and yet like my own brother,
Do not tell this story to our monarch,
It would but disquiet and alarm him
And then all the army might be frightened.
Speak unto our monarch in this manner:—
There has come an army out of Turkey
Big enough that we should give it battle,
But it will be light for us to conquer.
It is not an army made of heroes,
But old monks and pilgrims dressed as warriors,
Artisans are there, and slim young merchants,
Those who never yet have seen a battle,
But who for their bread have joined the army.
Say too—but whatever size the army
It has fallen very sick and ailing,
And the horses too all greatly suffer,
Some are lame, and none are in condition.”

The Maiden of Kosovo

Early rose the maiden of Kosovo,
Early rose she on a Sunday morning,
Rose before the brilliant sun had risen.
She has rolled the white sleeves of her robe back,
Rolled them back up to her soft white elbows;
On her shoulders, fair white bread she carries,
In her hands two shining golden goblets,
In one goblet she has poured fresh water,
And has poured good red wine in the other.
Then she seeks the wide plain of Kosovo,
Seeks the noble Prince’s place of meeting,
Wanders there amongst the bleeding heroes.
When she finds one living midst the wounded
Then she laves him with the cooling water,
Gives him, sacramentally, the red wine,
Pledges with her fair white bread the hero.

Fate at last has led her wand’ring footsteps
Unto Pavle Orlovitch, the hero,
Who has borne the Prince’s battle-standard.
From his gaping wounds the blood is streaming,
His right hand and his left foot are severed--
And the hero’s ribs are crushed and broken,
But he lingers still amongst the living.
From the pools of blood she drags his body
And she laves him with the cooling water,
Red wine, sacramentally, she gives him,
Pledges then with fair white bread the hero.

When at length his heart revives within him,
Thus speaks Pavle Orlovitch, the hero:
“Oh dear sister, Maiden of Kosovo,
What great need compels thee here to wander,
Thou, so young, amongst the wounded heroes?
What dost thou upon the field of battle?
Dost thou seek a brother’s son, or brother,
Dost thous seek perchance an aged father?”
Answered him the Maiden of Kosovo:
“Oh dear brother! Oh thou unknown warrior!
None of my own race am I now seeking,
Not a brother’s son nor yet a brother,
Neither do I seek an agéd father.
Wast thou present, oh thou unknown warrior;
When for three whole weeks to all his army
Prince Lazar the Sacrament was giving
By the hands of thirty holy fathers,
In the splendid church of Samodreha?
When Lazar and all the Serbian army
There the Holy Sacrament have taken,
Three Voyvodas last of all did enter:
First of them was Milosh, the great warrior,
Ivan Kossanchich was close behind him,
And the third, Toplitza Milan, followed.

“I by chance stood then within the doorway
When there passed young Milosh, the great warrior,
In the whole world no more splendid hero;
On the ground his clanking sabre trailing,
Silken cap with proudly waving feathers,
Many-coloured mantle on his shoulders
And around his neck a silken kerchief.
Then he gazes round and looks upon me,
He takes off his many-coloured mantle,
Takes it off, and gives it to me, saying:--
‘Here, oh Maiden, is my coloured mantle,
By it thou wilt keep me in remembrance,
By this mantle shall my name live with thee.
Now, dear Maid, must I go forth and perish
There where camps the noble Prince’s army;
Pray to God for me, dear Maid, my sister,
That I may come back again in safety.
And that all good fortune may attend thee
I will marry thee to my friend Milan,
Him whom God has given me as brother,
My friend Milan who is my sworn brother.
In God’s name and good Saint John’s, I promise
I will be a groomsman at they wedding.’

“Ivan Kossanchitch was close behind him,
In the whole world no more splendid hero;
On the ground his clanking sabre trailing,
Silken cap with proudly waving feathers,
Many-coloured mantle on his shoulders
And around his neck a silken kerchief,
On his hand a golden ring is shining.
Then he gazes round and looks upon me,
Takes the golden ring from off his finger,
Takes it off and gives it to me, saying:--
‘Here hast thou my ring of gold, oh Maiden,
By it thou wilt have me in remembrance,
By this gold ring shall my name live with thee.
Now, dear maid, must I go forth to perish
There where camps the noble Prince’s army;
Pray to God for me, dear Maid, my sister,
That I may come back again in safety.
And that all good fortune may attend thee
I will marry thee to my friend Milan,
Him whom God has given me as brother,
My friend Milan who is my sworn brother.
In God’s name and good Saint John’s, I promise
I myself will give thee to the bridegroom.’

“Then Toplitza Milan follows after,
In the whole world no more splendid hero;
On the ground his clanking sabre trailing,
Silken cap with proudly waving feathers,
Many-coloured mantle on his shoulders
And around his neck a silken kerchief,
On his hand a golden ring is shining
And upon his arm a golden bracelet.
Then he gazes round and looks upon me,
From his arm he takes the golden bracelet,
Takes it off and gives it to me, saying:--
‘Here, oh Maiden, is my golden bracelet,
By it thou wilt have me in remembrance,
By this gold ring shall my name live with thee.
Now, dear maid, must I go forth to perish
There where camps the noble Prince’s army;
Pray to God for me, dear soul, my darling,
That I may come back again in safety;
Then, dear Maid, that good luck may attend thee,
I will take thee for my true belovéd.’

“And then went away these mighty leaders,
And to-day I seek them here, oh brother,
Seek them here, upon the field of battle!”

Pavle Orlovitch then makes her answer:
“Oh dear sister, Maiden of Kosovo,
Dost thou see, dear soul, those battle-lances
Where they lie most thickly piled together?
There has flowed the life-blood of the heroes;
To the stirrups of the faithful horses,
To the stirrups and the girths it mounted,
Mounted to the heroes’ silken girdles,
And the three have fallen there together.
Now return thee to thy fair white castle
Lest thy skirts and sleeves with blood be spattered.”

To the hero’s words the maiden listens,
Down her white face are the fast tears falling;
She returns then to her fair white castle.
From her white throat pour her lamentations:
“Woe is me, what fate I bear within me,
I but touch the young and tender sapling
And the fair green pine must surely wither.”

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