The girl, however, pitied me:
«You’ve come too soon, my dear!
But wait awhile» (she gaily smiled),
«Come back another year!»
I departed, broken-hearted,
And in anguish wept.
From the roof the favoured one
Through her window crept.
Many freezing winters passed,
Many summers burned
Hill and field, before at last
Thither I returned.
Mountain maids… How would I fare?
Would I catch their eye?
Of the other suitors there,
None was as old as I.
As before, a pale moon beamed
On the roof-tops flat
And the selfsame girl, it seemed,
At the window eat.
When the men their fur caps threw
In hope her love to share,
I sent my own hat sailing through
The open window there.
Some young suitors mourned their lack
Of luck and stood nonplussed
When their caps came sailing back,
Raising clouds of dust.
Like a crow, that’s shot first go,
So short-lived its fate,
My broad hat flew out and skimmed
To the very gate.
Once again I heard the girl
Break off her merry song:
«You should have come earlier!
Where have you been so long!»
All was as before—the sky
And stars the same… except
It was a younger man than I
That through her window crept.
So all my life I seek the boon
Of love. But cruel Fate
Decrees I either come too soon
Or else arrive too late.
OLD HILLMEN
Our ancients have great dignity,
Few men more sagely speak.
Their honour they rate higher than
The highest mountain peak.
And nobody can ruffle them:
So piercing is their gaze
They only need a single glance
A stranger to appraise.
For centuries they have foreseen
The outcome of a fight,
Known who would fall upon his knees
Or stand, like rock, upright.