The Ring

From Vuk’s Collection

THE STREAMLET rippled through the mead, beneath the maple-tree;

There came a maid down to that stream—a lovely maid was she;

From the white walls of old Belgrade the maid came smilingly.

Young Mirko saw, and offered her a golden fruit, and said:

“Oh, take this apple, damsel fair, and be mine own sweet maid!”

She took the apple, flung it back, and said, in angry tone:

“Neither thine apple, sir, nor thee! Presumptuous youth, begone!”

The streamlet rippled through the mead, beneath the maple-tree;

There came a maid down to that stream—a lovely maid was she;

From the white walls of old Belgrade the maid came smilingly.

Young Mirko saw, and offered her a golden brooch, and said:

“Oh, take this brooch, thou damsel fair, and be mine own sweet maid!”

She took the brooch, and flung it back, and said, in peevish tone:

“I’ll neither have thee nor thy brooch! Presumptuous youth, begone!”

The streamlet rippled through the mead, beneath the maple-tree;

There came a maid down to that stream—a lovely maid was she;

From the white walls of old Belgrade the maid came smilingly.

Young Mirko saw, and offered her a golden ring, and said:

“Oh, take this ring, thou damsel fair, and be mine own sweet maid!”

She took the ring, and slipped it on, and said, in sprightliest tone:

“I’ll have thee, and thy golden ring, and be thy faithful one!”