Ballad

Playing on the flute was Ivan,
Walking by Dunai.
And Palazhka, drawing water,
Smiled at him on high.

“Ivan, Ivan, my heart’s lover!
Come down; drink with me.
Cider of the apple sparkling
And wine I’ll give to thee.”

Down came he—she on her threshold
Offered poisoned cake:
Jelly of the cranberry,
Venom of the snake.

Came his mother from her sweeping
As in bed he lay:
“Nay, arise now, my son Ivan,
Wheat’s to cut to-day.”

“Lift my head I cannot, Mother,
It is aching so.
Pray thee, dear my Mother, wilt thou
To my comrades go?

“Tell them swift to come anigh me.
Hasten, Mother! Say,
‘Come, if ye would see my Ivan
On his life’s last day.’”

Like fine rain their tears were falling
When his fate they knew—
“Ivan, did Palazhka slay thee,
Ivan, tell us true?”

“Mother, Mother, dear my Mother,
Haste thee now away.
Tell Palazhka—‘Look on Ivan
On his life’s last day.’”

Then his sweetheart entered softly—
Heard Ivan’s demand:
“Oh Palazhka, didst thou slay me?
Was’t thy mother’s hand?”

“Neither I nor yet my mother
Slew thee, laid thee low.
Why didst thou for draught of water
To my neighbour go?”