 | The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival |  |
III. The Willow.
“Iwuszka, iwuszka, zelenaia moia—”
“Willow, my green willow!”
“Willow, my green willow!”
Bright flows the meadow stream, and o'er it bends the willow;—
There sat the maid I love, and wove her flowers in garlands:
There sits no gentle maid;—O, canst thou tell me, willow,
Where I can find the maid that sat at evening by thee?
There sat the maid I love, and wove her flowers in garlands:
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Where I can find the maid that sat at evening by thee?
Light on the meadow stream there floats a rosy garland;—
Fair maiden wove the flowers, and dropped them in the water.
“Go, garland,” thus she said, “and whisper to my lover:
True ever is thy love,—her heart will ne'er forget thee.”
Fair maiden wove the flowers, and dropped them in the water.
“Go, garland,” thus she said, “and whisper to my lover:
True ever is thy love,—her heart will ne'er forget thee.”
Low droops the willow-tree,—its leaf is pale and yellow:
There flows no meadow stream,—the summer sun has dried it.
Brown all the grass below,—no maiden gathers flowers;
Sits there no more at eve, to weave her flowers in garlands.
There flows no meadow stream,—the summer sun has dried it.
Brown all the grass below,—no maiden gathers flowers;
Sits there no more at eve, to weave her flowers in garlands.
See! on the pebbles lies a soiled and withered garland;—
Such is my withered heart, and so my hope has faded.
False maiden wove the flowers, and cast them in the water;—
Soon dried the stream away, and withered lay the garland.
Such is my withered heart, and so my hope has faded.
False maiden wove the flowers, and cast them in the water;—
Soon dried the stream away, and withered lay the garland.
| The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival | |