Hassan Aga’s Wife’s Lament

What’S so white upon yon verdant forest? Is it snow, or is it swans assembled? Were it snow, it surely had been melted; Were it swans, long since they had departed. Lo! it is not swans, it is not snow there: ’Tis the tent of Aga, Hassan Aga; He is lying there severely wounded, And his mother seeks him, and his sister; But for very shame his wife is absent.

When the misery of his wounds was soften’d, Hassan thus his faithful wife commanded: “In my house thou shalt abide no longer— Thou shalt dwell no more among my kindred.” When his wife had heard this gloomy language, Stiff she stood, and full of bitter sorrow.

When the horses, stamping, shook the portal, Fled the faithful wife of Hassan Aga— Fain would throw her from the castle window. Anxious two beloved daughters follow’d, Crying after her in tearful anguish— “These are not our father Hassan’s coursers; ’Tis our uncle Pintorōvich coming.”

Then approached the wife of Hassan Aga— Threw her arms, in misery, round her brother— “See the sorrow, brother, of thy sister: He would tear me from my helpless children.”

He was silent—but from out his pocket, Safely wrapp’d in silk of deepest scarlet, Letters of divorce he drew, and bid her Seek again her mother’s ancient dwelling— Free to win and free to wed another.

When she saw the letter of divorcement, Kisses on her young boy’s forehead, kisses On her girls’ red cheeks she press’d—the nursling— For there was a nursling in the cradle— Could she tear her, wretched, from her infant? But her brother seized her hand, and led her— Led her swiftly to the agile courser; And he hastened with the sorrowing woman To the ancient dwelling of her fathers.

Short the time was—not seven days had glided— Short indeed the time—and many a noble Had our lady—though in widow’s garments— Had our lady ask’d in holy marriage.

And the noblest was Imoski’s Cadi; And our lady, weeping, pray’d her brother: “I exhort thee, on thy life exhort thee, Give me not, oh, give me not in marriage! For the sight of my poor orphan’d children Sure would break the spirit of thy sister!”

Little cared her brother for her sorrows; He had sworn she should espouse the Cadi. But his sister pray’d him thus unceasing: “Send at least one letter, O my brother! With this language to Imoski’s Cadi: ‘Friendly greetings speeds the youthful woman; But entreats thee, by these words entreats thee, When the Suates shall conduct thee hither, Thou a long and flowing veil wilt bring me, That, in passing Hassan’s lonely dwelling, I may hide me from my hapless orphans.’”

Hardly had the Cadi read the letter, Than he gather’d his Suates together, Arm’d himself, and hasten’d t’wards the lady, Home to bring her as his bridal treasure.

Happily he reach’d the princely dwelling, Happily were all returning homeward, When toward Hassan’s house they were approaching, Her two daughters saw her from the window, Her two sons rush’d on her from the portal: And they cried, “Come hither! O come hither! Take thy night’s repast with thine own children!”

Sorrowfully Hassan’s consort heard them; To the Sarisvat she thus address’d her: “Let the Suates stay, and let the horses Tarry here at this beloved portal, While I make a present to the children.”

As they stopp’d at the beloved portal, Presents gave she unto all the children. To the boys, boots all with gold embroider’d; To the girls, long and resplendent dresses; And to the poor baby in the cradle, For the time to come; a little garment.

Near them sat their father, Hassan Aga, And he call’d in sorrow to his children: “Come to me, poor children! to your father; For your mother’s breast is turn’d to iron, Closed against you, harden’d ’gainst all pity.”

When these words were heard by Hassan’s consort, On the ground she fell, all pale and trembling, Till her spirit burst her heavy bosom At the glances of her orphan children.