Orval, or The Fool of Time :: :: University of Virginia Library

Djoul, the Turk, on a morning in May,
When every bird is brilliant in feather,
And every flower in blossom is gay,
To celebrate sweetly the merry May weather,
From dawn to dusk, in dance and play,
Call'd a hundred matrons and maids together.
And the fairest maiden of all, that day,
Was the maid Bolozànovitch loved, they say.

He sought her all a summer noon,
And on to eventide;
He sought her under the summer moon,
Through all the country wide,
Till at nightfall he came, in the mist and murk,
To the lighted house of Djoul, the Turk.

“Djoul, Djoul with the raven hair!
Give me a shift of linen fair,
Such as thyself art wont to wear
On the day when the glad new moon is born;
Paint me the eyebrow with antimony;
These bronzèd cheeks with white and red
Colour; and comb me, and curl me the head;
Hang me over the shoulders free
Silken tresses two or three,

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Such as by matron or maid are worn;
Bind me the brow with a golden braid,
And clothe me, anon, in the clothes of a maid
From head to foot, with many a fold
Of the milk-white tunic flowing and full;
And give me a distaff of gold
And a ball of Egyptian wool;
Then suffer me thus 'mid the maidens to move,
That I may speak to the maiden I love.”

Djoul, the Turk with the raven hair,
Laught as she listen'd, and granted his prayer.
She clothed him in clothes of a maid,
Comb'd him and curl'd him the hair,
Painted his dark face fair,
Over his long limbs laid
Many a milk-white fold
Of vesture flowing and full;
Then gave him a distaff of gold,
And a ball of Egyptian wool;
And when he was trickt, and pincht, and padded,
And painted, and plaster'd, to look like a lass,
Because he yet lookt like the knave that he was,
This good counsel she added:

“Bolozànovitch, knave, take note!
When anon, 'mid our women ye stand,
The old women take by the hand,
And kiss on their finger tips;
The young women kiss on the lips;
But for those that are maidens and girls,
You shall kiss them under the throat,
And over the collar of pearls.”

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Bolozànovitch gladly (the knave!)
Gave heed to the counsel she gave,
And of all, as she bade him, took note.
The old women each on the finger tips
He kist, and the young women each on the lips,
And the maidens under the throat.

Maidenlike thus 'mid the maidens he moved,
Drooping the eyelid over the ground;
But when he came to the maiden he loved,
He made her a little red wound
Just in the soft white fold
Of her slender throat. Then she
Cried out to the women around,
“Strike! strike with your distaffs of gold,
The knave who has wounded me!
For this was not a woman. Behold,
'Tis the knave Bolozànovitch, he!

For Gul, the Turk word, meaning rose.