Page:The Folk-Lore Journal Volume 3 1885.djvu/176

168 On the floors of the folks with broad aprons, In a great stone-house. The Riga flints do not spoil thy feet, Nor the Russian bloody swords wound thee, Nor the Turkish fiery darts. The lord of the manor was thy father, The lady thy mother. The lord's daughters thy sisters, His sons thy half-brothers. There thou knewest where thou didst grow up, Knewest the life thou leddest, Knewest the place where thou should sleep. The goose knows not the place, The duck knows not the little place. Where it shall fall down to die. I perhaps shall die in the bog. Left to perish upon the earth, Or breathe out my life upon the hay-mow.

XI. Bridal sonnet. A man in boots comes up to a German. The boor goes in a kind of slipper made of rush-matting, tied fast to his feet by pack-thread.

Yervin is held to be the most fertile province in Esthonia. The condition of the peasants here is, in general, better than in the other circles. Hence the luxury of a cocked hat. The maiden flatters herself with the hope of marrying a German, consequently to one above her rank, but at length gets nothing better than a boor from Yervin. Now to the song itself:—