Page:The Ballads of Marko Kraljević.djvu/51

 A strange custom hath Momčilo, Each holy Sunday in the morning He riseth early and goeth on hunting to the lake; With him he taketh his nine dear brothers, And his twelve brothers' sons, And forty henchmen from the Castle; And when the eve of Sunday is come, I will singe the wings of Jabučilo, I will seal up the keen sword, I will seal it fast with salt blood, That it may not be drawn forth of its sheath: Thus shalt thou slay Momčilo." When this letter came to the King, And he perceived what the writing told him, He was filled with joy. Straightway he gathered a mighty host. And came with the host to Hercegovina; He led them forth to the level lake And lay in a bushment in the greenwood. When now the eve of Sunday was come, Momčilo went to his bedchamber And laid him down on the soft pallet; Soon after his wife entered in also, But she would not lie on the soft pallet; Down her cheeks she wept hot tears, Wherefore Vojvoda Momčilo asked of her: "Vidosava, my faithful wife. What great grief is thine That thou criest tears down?" And Vidosava his wife made answer: "Lord and Master Momčilo Vojvoda, No ill-fortune is come upon me, But I have heard a wondrous marvel, I have heard—I have not seen— That thou hast a horse Jabučilo, Jabučilo a wingéd horse, But on thy horse have I seen no wings,