Page:The Folk-Lore Journal Volume 3 1885.djvu/169

Rh Shall I complain to the meadow-grass? The meadow-grass will wither: And yet it hears my lamentation, The song of the wretched orphan. Rise up, my loving mother! Rise up, my loving father! Rise up, and shut my box; Make fast the trunk that holds my bridal presents! I cannot rise up, my daughter! I cannot rise up, I am not awake! The green grass is grown over my head; The blades of grass grow thick on my grave, The blue mist of the forest is before my eyes, And on my feet the weeds and the bushes are grown."

An elegy, which, for truth of expression, may be ranked with those of Ovid. Who does not here participate in the bitter reflections of an orphan! She is going to enter on a new condition; and she has no one on whom she can lean. And yet she must make presents! She calls to her parents in the grave, in doleful mockery, "Dear father, help me to shut the great chest which contains my dowry. It is so full that I cannot of myself shut down the cover. Give me, mother, the bridal presents, which the guests are expecting!" But their situation is their sufficient excuse.

If this ballad fails to please on the first perusal, it will certainly meet with better success on the second or third. It is expressive language of nature. The similes of the duck and the pelican (or rather the spoonbill) are probably shocking in our more refined nations, where we are frequently hearing of ostriches, phoenixes, chameleons, and creatures of which nothing is known, in general, except the name. But if we consider, that a poor country-girl is here speaking, who can only take her similes from the objects she is daily conversant with, we shall easily pardon her for using them. After frequently reading the foregoing, we enter into the genius of the poetically-complaining maid: we think with her spirit, sympathise with her feelings, and are pleased with her language, as the language of nature.