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FOLK-SONGS OF ROUMANIA. 321
Whilst thou were at my breast.
The stars — poor stars — were weeping,
But I would not hear their weeping,
Whilst yet I heard thy voice. Unhappy men drew nigh, and told me of their woe, They said : " We are the sorrow of all humanity." But I had no compassion for human misery,
Whilst thou wert with me still.
Then these, the river with its weeping,
The piteous stars, the miserable men, All prayed the earth's dark depths to take thee from me, That so my woe might understand their woe ; And now — I weep.
Yet weep I not for human misery,
Nor for the stars' complaining,
Nor for the river's wailing.
I weep for thee alone, most miserly,
Keep all my tears for thee ! Now I must rock forever empty arms, That grieve they have no burden any more. Now I must sing, and know, the while, no ears
Are there to hearken.
The birds will ask me, " To whom singest thou ? " The moon look down and ask, " Whom rockest thou ? " The grave will be right proud, while I am cursed,
That I did give her thee. My womb upbraideth me because I gave To Death the gift that once she gave to me,
The gift that sprung from her. Now must I see thy sleep and never know
Whether this sleep be sweet.