Militza

Long and lovely are Militza’s eyebrows, And they overhang her cheeks of roses— Cheeks of roses, and her snowy forehead. Three long years have I beheld the maiden, Could not look upon her eyes so lovely— On her eyes—nor on her snowy forehead. To our country dance I lured the maiden, Lured Militza,—lured her to our dances, Hoping to look on her eyes so lovely.

While they danced upon the greensward, verdant In the sunshine, sudden darkness gather’d, And the clouds broke out in fiery lightning, And the maidens all look’d up to heaven,— All the maidens—all, except Militza. She still look’d on the green grass, untrembling, While the maidens trembled as they whisper’d:

“O Militza! thou our friend and playmate, Art thou overwise—or art thou silly? Thus to look upon the grass beneath us, And not look up to the heaven above us, To the clouds, round which the lightnings wind them.”

And Militza gave this quiet answer: “I am neither overwise nor silly. Not the Vila, not the cloud-upgatherer; I am yet a maid—and look before me.”