The nunnery's tower is so strongly built --
Into it they lead the bride of Heaven;
They have broken the staff of judgement,
And immure her into a walled grave. --

  A noble lord rides over the heath:
"What has that poor maiden done to [harm] you?
And though it cost me my life, well then -- so be it,
Death, or the lovely one as my own and free!" --

  The wind, it blows so gently, so quietly;
The weather-vane sings the old lay --
"What echoes do dully? Is it the pounding of a hammer?" --
It must well echo [into]1 the grave of the nun.

  The wind roars so wildly around the tower --
"Weather-vane, what is it you sing into the storm?"
""I sing a sad song of the rose,
For you she glowed, for youshe faded [and perished]!""

  Ah, if I could but play
A song so lovely,
As I would 
Gladly devise it;

  From so deep in my soul,
So deep in my breast,
With all my yearning,
Pain, and joy:

  I would play it
All day long,
Then it should blare
Through wood and hedge!

  [I]1 would play it
All night long,
Then it should echo away
So gently -- so gently!

  The birdlets would quickly
Have to learn it,
And the whole forest
Would have to sing it.

  Then she should hear it
From every tree,
And at night they would surround my love
With music in her dreams!

A lad is riding from Radgon Castle,
He is riding his favourite black steed.

His favourite falcon with the red ribbon
Sits proudly upon his right hand.

And around his hat the rosemary, his favourite flower,
Twines itself into a wreath.
           * * *

And when he came to his beloved's house,
He blew into his horn -- then she came out.

"Where, beloved, may I put my horse so it can rest?"
-- ""Tie it to the linden tree, you dear guest.""

"Where, beloved, may I set down my falcon so it can rest?"
-- ""Set it down in my chamber, dear lad.""

"Where shall I plant the rosemary sprig?"
-- ""Plant it upon my heart, oh most dearly beloved of mine.""
           * * *

  The horse at the linden tree refreshes itself with bran,
The falcon stirs its wings and dreams that it were free,
The rosemary sprig on the maiden's breast,
Burgeons into love and blossoms into kisses, in blissful joy.

I am a poor beggar-boy;
My brother is the moon, --
And around him my sisters move,
The clouds pale and blonde.

My father is the tower, the ramshackle one,
That stands by the frog pond; --
And my mother stands [along the road]1,
The old, hollow oak!

I am a poor beggar-boy;
When I have died, --
Then take me and lay me
Into the ditch beside my mother.

There is the broad vault of my crypt:
The [mighty]2 canopy of heaven; --
[Lamenting]3 over me, my sisters, my brother,
Travel through the world. --

  If I knew, my little bell,
When it would toll,
I would have a little bed
Of gold prepared.

  Little bed, golden yellow,
Crystalline coverlet, --
It should please
Me and the lovely one!

  Above it two wreaths
Twined together, --
Because we two are
United by love.

  Above the wreaths
Two waxen candles, --
So that they may
Light up our hearts.

  In both wreaths
Two tulips, bright white, --
Because she is still a maiden,
I [still] a celibate.

  By every tulip
Two white carnations, --
Because our hearts 
Fade [and perish] so purely.

  And upon the carnations
Green ribbons, --
Because we faded away
While we were still so young.

  What saddens your soul, oh Marko,
So that your eyes gaze forth so gloweringly?
What burdens your heart, so that your brow
Is so furrowed and your cheek so paled?
Did hail ruin your crops?
Do you believe that I have grown inconstant in my love?
Or does a vampire suck the blood 
From your heart in the midnight hour? --

  "If hail had ruined my crops,
Next year would likely bring a doubled harvest;
If you had grown inconstant in your love,
New times might well bring [me] new love, too.
But a vampire does suck at my heart,
Night and morning, long, long days
Since Stavila lies in rubble,
Since there are foreign ships at our coasts,
[Since] foreigners roam in our mountains."

  Evil are they who burned Stavila,
Evil the wild guests in our land;
More evil is the vampire in your heart,
For he has likely robbed me of your love.
Otherwise you would come, as usual, to my window,
You would never leave me to wait for you in vain,
Solitary in the quiet nights
Until morning dawns in the distance. --

  "If I did not have to pass Stavila,
When at night I come to you, beloved,
You would not wait for me in vain;
If I did not have to pass the coast
When I part from you in the morning,
You should not doubt my love 
But -- the vampire [in]1 my heart
Never lets me complete the journey to you,
Holds me [as if]2 spellbound by those ruins,
By Stavila's rubble and [heaps]3 of ashes!" --

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

  Marko came to the house of his beloved, --
It was morning, one early morning --
He knocked quietly upon her little window.
The maiden came forth upon the threshold,
Saw her beloved, her so-long missed beloved,
Happily rejoicing, she sank upon his breast.

  "Beloved, fill a goblet of red wine for me, 
Hand it to me yourself,
So that I may drink once more from your hands,
Which have so often faithfully cared for me;
So that I may once more kiss your warm lips,
Which so often refreshed me sweetly."

  The maiden hastens to her father's cellar,
Quickly she brings a goblet of red wine,
Amiably, she passes it to her beloved.
Marko takes the full, foaming goblet,
Lifts it high: "Oh, noble drink of heroes!"
He winds his arms about the slender maiden,
Kisses her: "And oh sweet draught of love!"

  But suddenly, pale [and] aghast, the maiden 
Twists herself free from her beloved's arms.
Marko, Marko, tell me what has happened?
Your coat is moist with nighttime dew,
Your garments are wet with fresh blood,
Your bayonet, your hand are stained with blood,
And -- oh God -- from out of your wounded bosom
Warm blood wells! -- Did you struggle
With the shepherds over a horse in the forest?
Did you fight with robbers along the road?
Or did you, in the dark chasms 
Of the mountains, slay a wolf?

  Then with proud spirit, Marko responds:
"I struggled for a noble steed,
[ ... ]
Our free right is a noble steed!
[ ... ]

  Thus [spake] Marko. And he raises the goblet,
Drinks the full fire of the hero's drink:
"This, oh maiden, is my last drink!"
[ ... ]
"This, oh maiden, [is] our last kiss!
[ ... ]
Let a grave be dug for me beside Stavila,
Let them sing old songs of heroes
When [they]4 lower me into my grave!
Plant roses over my heart,
Grapevines in a circle round my burial mound,
And at my head an oak tree;
For as I -- in the arms of true love
With the goblet full of noble wine
For [the good righteousness, for]5 holy [freedom]6 --
Few men die such a blessed death!"

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

  Upon the marshland by Stavila,
Upon the [open country]7, where the ashes
Lie strewn about by the wind --
Ashes of Stavila's cottages --
Stands an oak tree, old and gigantic,
Flows a clear water-spring in the meadow.
Overnight the leaves have
Wilted [and fallen from]8 the oak tree,
Overnight the waters 
Of the spring have grown red.

  By the oak tree, by the water-spring
A corpse is lying upon his back.
A bullet hit his throat
And his heart was penetrated by a bayonet.
For three long, long days he has been 
Lying there in the sand of the water-spring,
Lying there in the hot, burning sun
And in the cool dew of the night.

  His eyes are not shut, they seem
Still to be glimmering maliciously[.]
They gaze up toward the oak tree,
And the green foliage is wilting.
His wounds are not closed,
Red blood is still flowing from them,
Flowing [everywhere]9 into the water-spring
And the waters are growing red.
[ ... ]
Thus for three long days he has been 
Lying there in the sand of the water-spring,
Lying there in the hot, burning sun
And in the cool dew of the night.

[ ... ]
“Ye who fled into the forests,
Ye who fled into the mountains,
When the torches of the Venetians 
Fell upon Stavila's rooftops,
Hasten hither! -- Beside yonder oak,
By the water-spring near Stavila,
You may look upon a corpse!
It is the captain of the Venetians
[ ... ]
It is the evil Venetian,
Who with his disreputable comrades
Drove away our herds,
Who [raped]10 our daughters,
Who enslaved our sons,
Who burned our cottages!
Hasten hither! -- In the hot sand
He is lying in his blood,
Lying alone, and his hordes [of comrades]
Fled far across the sea!"

  Thus called the throng of shepherds
Into the forests, into the chasms.
Those who heard it, those who came,
Now stand in a circle around
The corpse at the water-spring.
[ ... ]

[ ... ]
They dig a deep pit,
[ ... ]
And in it they bury the corpse
Of the hated Venetian.
And, oh wonder! once more the wilted foliage
Of the oak grows green and shady,
As refreshing as in former days
Flows the water-spring, clearly and purely!

  But suddenly, pale [and] aghast, the maiden 
Twists herself free from her beloved's arms.
Marko, Marko, tell me what has happened?
Your coat is moist with nighttime dew,
Your garments are wet with fresh blood,
Your bayonet, your hand are stained with blood,
And -- oh God -- from out of your wounded bosom
Warm blood wells! -- Did you struggle
With the shepherds over a horse in the forest?
Did you fight with robbers along the road?
Or did you, in the dark chasms 
Of the mountains, slay a wolf?

  The maiden hastens to her father's cellar,
Quickly she brings a goblet of red wine,
Amiably, she passes it to her beloved.
Marko takes the full, foaming goblet,
Lifts it high: "Oh, noble drink of heroes!"
He winds his arms about the slender maiden,
Kisses her: "And oh sweet draught of love!"

[ ... ]