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"A helmet o' goud I well may ha'e; 25 But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may."

"And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me?

Then sickness and pain shall follow thee!"

She's smitten Sir Oluf--it strak to his heart; He never before had kent sic a smart; 30

Then lifted him up on his ambler red; "And now, Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride."

And whan he came till the castell yett, His mither she stood and leant thereat.

"O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my ain dear son, 35 Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan?"

"O well may my lire be wan and blae, For I ha'e been in the elf-womens' play."

"O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my son, my pride, And what shall I say to thy young bride?" 40

"Ye'll say, that I've ridden but into the wood, To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good."

Ear on the morn, whan night was gane, The bride she cam wi' the bridal train.

They skinked the mead, and they skinked the wine: 45 "O whare is Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?"

"Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood, To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good."

And she took up the scarlet red, And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead! 50

Ear on the morn, whan it was day, Three likes were ta'en frae the castle away;

Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair, And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care.

And lightly the elves sae feat and free, 55 They dance all under the greenwood tree!


(Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 92.)

"I have seven ships upon the sea, Laden with the finest gold, And mariners to wait us upon;-- All these you may behold.

"And I have shoes for my love's feet, 5 Beaten of the purest gold, And lined wi' the velvet soft, To keep my love's feet from the cold.

"O how do you love the ship," he said, "Or how do you love the sea? 10 And how do you love the bold mariners That wait upon thee and me?"

"O I do love the ship," she said, "And I do love the sea; But woe be to the dim mariners, 15 That nowhere I can see."

They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but one, When she began to weep and mourn, And to think on her little wee son. 20

"O hold your tongue, my dear," he said, "And let all your weeping abee, For I'll soon show to you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy."

They had not sailed a mile awa', 25 Never a mile but two, Until she espied his cloven foot, From his gay robes sticking thro'.

They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but three, 30 When dark, dark, grew his eerie looks, And raging grew the sea.

They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but four, When the little wee ship ran round about, 35 And never was seen more!


We are indebted for the following recension of _Constantine and Arete_ to Mr. Sophocles of Harvard College. It is constructed from Fauriel's text, combined with a copy in Zambelios's [Grk: Aismata Demotika], and with a version taken down from the recitation of a Cretan woman. The translation is by the skilful hand of Professor Felton.

We may notice by the way that several versions of this piece are given by Tommaseo, in his _Canti Popolari Toscani_, etc. iii. 341.

[Grk: Manna me tous ennia sou huious kai me te mia sou kore, Ten kore te monakribe ten polyagapemene, Ten eiches dodeka chronon k' helios den sou ten eide, 'S ta skoteina ten elouges, 's t' aphenga ten eplekes, 'S t' astre kai 's ton augerino to' ephkeianes ta sgoura tes. 5 He geitonia den exere pos eiches thygatera, Kai proxenia sou pherane apo te Babylone.

Hoi okto aderphoi den theloune, kai ho Kostantinos thelei; "Dos tene, manna, dos tene ten 'Arete 's ta xena, Na 'cho k' ego paregoria 's te strata pou diabaino." 10 "Phrenimos eisai, Kostante, m' aschem' apilogethes; An tyche pikra ge chara, poios tha mou tene phere?"

To theo tes banei engyte kai tous hagious martyrous, An tyche pikra ge chara na pae na tes ten phere; Kai san ten epantrepsane ten Arete 's ta xena, 15 Erchetai chronos disephtos kai hoi ennia pethanan.

Emeine he manna monache san kalamia 's ton kampo.

'S ta ochto mnemata dernetai, 's ta ochto myrologaei, 'S tou Kostantinou to thaphtio anespa ta mallia tes; "Sekou, Kostantinake mou, ten Arete mou thelo; 20 To theo mou 'bales engyte kai tous hagious martyrous, An tyche pikra ge chara na pas na mou ten pheres."

Kai mesa 's ta mesanychta ap' to kibouri bgainei.

Kanei to sygnepho alogo, kai t' astro salibari, Kai to phengari syntrophia kai paei na tene phere. 25 Briskei ten kai chtenizountai oxou 's to phengaraki.

Apomakria ten chairetaei kai apomakria tes legei.

"Gia ela, Aretoula mou, kyrana mas se thelei."

"Alimono, aderphaki mou, kai ti 'ne tout' he hora!

An en' chara 's to spiti mas, na balo ta chrysa mou, 30 Kai an pikra, aderphaki mou, na 'rtho hos kathos eimai."

"Mede pikra mede chara; ela hos kathos eisai."

'S te strata pou diabainane, 's te strata pou pagainan, Akoun poulia kai kiladoun, akoun poulia kai lene; "Gia des kopela omorphe na serne apethamenos!" 35 "Akouses, Kostantake mou, ti lene ta poulakia?"

"Poulakia 'ne kai as kiladoun, poulakia 'ne kai as lene."

Kai parakei pou pagainan kai alla poulia tous legan; "Ti blepoume ta thlibera ta paraponemena?

Na perpatoun hoi zontanoi me tous apethamenous?" 40 "Akouses, Kostantake mou, ti lene ta poulakia?"

"Poulakia 'ne kai as kiladoun, poulakia 'ne kai as lene."

"Phoboumai s' aderphaki mou, kai libanies myrizeis."

"Echtes bradys epegame kato 's ton Hagianne, K' ethymiase mas ho papas me to poly libani." 45 Kai parempros pou pegane, kai alla poulia tous lene; "o the megalodyname, megalo thama kaneis!

Tetoia panorea lygere na serne apethamenos!"

T' akouse pale he Arete k' erragis' he kardia tes; "Akouses, Kostantake mou, ti lene ta poulakia? 50 Pes mou pou 'n' ta mallakia sou, to pegouro moustaki?"

"Megale arrostia m' heureke, m' errexe tou thanatou."

Briskoun to spiti kleidoto kleidomantalomeno, Kai ta spitoparathyra pou 'tan arachniasmena; "Anoixe, manna m', anoixe, kai na ten Arete sou." 55 "An esai Charos, diabaine, kai alla paidia den echo; He dolea Aretoula mou leipei makria 's ta xena."

"Anoixe, manna m', anoixe, k' ego' mai ho Kostantes sou.

To thio sou 'bala engyte kai tous agious martyrous, An tyche pikra ge chara na pao na sou ten phero." 60 Kai hoste na 'bge 's ten porta tes, ebgeke he psyche tes.]


O mother, thou with thy nine sons, and with one only daughter, Thine only daughter, well beloved, the dearest of thy children, For twelve years thou didst keep the maid, the sun did not behold her, Whom in the darkness thou didst bathe, in secret braid her tresses, And by the starlight and the dawn, didst wind her curling ringlets, Nor knew the neighborhood that thou didst have so fair a daughter,-- When came to thee from Babylon a woer's soft entreaty: Eight of the brothers yielded not, but Constantine consented.

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