The Bard of the Dimbovitza: Rovmanian Folk-songs Collected from the PeasantsJ. R. Osgood, McIlvaine & Company, 1892 - 130 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
answer art fallen art thou beneath birds bodice CARMEN SYLVA child Cobzar cold courser crystal water dagger dance dead woman dead woman's kiss Death deep didst thou distaff dost thou doth dream drink ducats earth ev'ry face fair flowers forest girdle glad grass grave green hair Hast thou hath hear hear my song Heaven Heiduck husband knife laugh lips love the sun luteplayer's house maiden maize morning mother mourn naught necklace neighbour nests never night o'er pitcher pity plain river saith sang shroud sing sister sleep smile songs sorrow soul spindle spring stars sun dropped suns shine bright sweet sweet spring tears tell thee thine thirst thou art Thou snow-white apple-blossom thou wert thou wilt threshold thy blood thy heart veil village voice wander watch weary ween weeping wife wilt thou wind young
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Página 22 - Not so, my hero," the lovers say, "We are those that remember not; For the spring has come and the earth has smiled, And the dead must be forgot." Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave: ''I am content.
Página 23 - ... over the river The plank that sways to her step. The willows bow down their heads, and bend as she passes . . . And morning cometh, and findeth me poor and trembling, Since she hath taken my all from me, even my songs. Yet is she not content, nor will cease from asking, Whether I love her still. / tell the forest the wonders I see in my dreams And the forest loves to hear the tale of my dreaming, More than the song of birds, More than the murmur of leaves.
Página 22 - Not so, my hero," the wind replied, "The fight is done, but the banner won, Thy comrades of old have borne it hence, Have borne it in triumph hence." Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave: "I am content." Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass, And the soldier asks once more: "Are these not the voices of them that love, That love — and remember me?
Página 98 - The river went weeping, weeping, Ah, me, how it did weep ! But I would never heed it, The weeping of the river, Whilst thou were at my breast. The stars, poor stars, were weeping, But I would not hear their weeping, Whilst yet I heard thy voice.
Página 85 - I AM she, that hath borne no children ; Yet there is no one hath cursed me, I look the same as the others. But the nests pity me even ; The sun, the mother of stars, hath compassion upon me, and saith : " O childless woman ! what dost thou with all the days I make bright ? " Mine ear is full of the murmur of rocking cradles.
Página 21 - And flowers bloomed thickly upon his grave, And were glad they blossomed there. And when the wind in the treetops roared, The soldier asked from the deep, dark grave, " Did the banner flutter then ? " " Not so, my hero," the wind replied, " The fight is done, but the banner won, Thy comrades of old have borne it hence, Have borne it in triumph hence." Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave :
Página 20 - Look not upon the sky at eventide, For that makes sorrowful the heart of man ; Look rather here into my heart, And joyful shalt thou always be.
Página 20 - ... plucked a flower from the sward. Yet still the grave would grant her no forgiveness. Then said the woman : " Take at least my tears." " Avaunt ! " the grave made answer. But as she, weeping, turned away and went, Behold, the grave-stone would uplift itself, And the dead man gaze forth, Sending a long look after her, that woman Who weeping went her way.
Página 15 - ... Derbyshire, is a certain holy well. To get full advantage of its help, one has to go between the hours of twelve and three on Good Friday, drink the water thrice, and wish. There is no doubt about the meaning of the following lines from the Bard of Dimbovitza, a collection of Roumanian Folk-Songs : — "There, where on Sundays I go alone, To the old, old well with the milk-white stone, Where by the fence, in a nook forgot, Rises a Spring in the daisied grass, That makes whoso drinks of it love...