Kosovka djevojka
The Kosovo Maiden

Serbocroatian English
Uranila Kosovka devojka,
uranila rano u nedelju,
u nedelju prije jarka sunca,
zasukala bijele rukave,
zasukala do beli lakata,
na plećima nosi leba bela,
u rukama dva kondira zlatna,
u jednome lađane vodice,
u drugome rumenoga vina;
ona ide na Kosovo ravno,
pa se šeće po razboju mlada,
po razboju čestitoga kneza,
te prevrće po krvi junake;
kog junaka u životu nađe,
umiva ga lađanom vodicom,
pričešćuje vinom crvenijem
i zalaže lebom bijelijem.
Namera je namerila bila
na junaka Orlovića Pavla,
na kneževa mlada barjaktara,
i njega je našla u životu,
desna mu je ruka osečena
i lijeva noga do kolena,
vita su mu rebra izlomljena,
vide mu se džigerice bele;
izmiče ga iz te mloge krvce,
umiva ga lađanom vodicom,
pričešćuje vinom crvenijem
i zalaže lebom bijelijem;
kad junaku srce zaigralo,
progovara Orloviću Pavle:
»Sestro draga, Kosovko devojko!
Koja ti je golema nevolja,
te prevrćeš po krvi junake?
Koga tražiš po razboju mlada?
Ili brata, ili bratučeda?
Al’ po greku stara roditelja?«
Progovara Kosovka devojka:
»Dragi brato, delijo neznana!
Ja od roda nikoga ne tražim:
niti brata, niti bratučeda,
ni po greku stara roditelja;
mož’ li znati, delijo neznana,
kad knez Laza pričešćiva vojsku
kod prekrasne Samodreže crkve
tri nedelje tridest kaluđera?
Sva se srpska pričestila vojska,
najposlije tri vojvode bojne:
jedno jeste Milošu vojvoda,
a drugo je Kosančić Ivane,
a treće je Toplica Milane;
ja se onde desi na vratima,
kad se šeta vojvoda Milošu,
krasan junak na ovome svetu,
sablja mu se po kaldrmi vuče,
svilen kalpak, okovano perje,
na junaku kolasta azdija,
oko vrata svilena marama,
obazre se i pogleda na me,
s sebe skide kolastu azdiju,
s sebe skide, pa je meni dade:
›Na, devojko kolastu azdiju,
po čemu ćeš mene spomenuti,
po azdiji, po imenu mome:
evo t’ idem poginuti, dušo,
u taboru čestitoga kneza;
moli boga, draga dušo moja,
da ti s’ zdravo iz tabora vratim,
a i tebe dobra sreća nađe,
uzeću te za Milana moga,
za Milana, bogom pobratima,
koj’ je mene bogom pobratio,
višnjim bogom i svetim Jovanom;
ja ću tebi kum venčani biti.‹
Za njim ide Kosančić Ivane,
krasan junak na ovome svetu,
sablja mu se po kaldrmi vuče,
svilen kalpak, okovano perje,
na junaku kolasta azdija,
oko vrata svilena marama,
na ruci mu burma pozlaćena,
obazre se i pogleda na me,
s ruke skide burmu pozlaćenu,
s ruke skide, pa je meni dade:
›Na, devojko, burmu pozlaćenu,
po čemu ćeš mene spomenuti,
a po burmi, po imenu mome:
evo t’ idem poginuti, dušo,
u taboru čestitoga kneza;
moli boga, moja dušo draga,
da ti s’ zdravo iz tabora vratim,
a i tebe dobra sreća nađe,
uzeću te za Milana moga,
za Milana, bogom pobratima,
koj’ je mene bogom pobratio,
višnjim bogom i svetim Jovanom;
ja ću tebi ručni dever biti.‹
Za njim ide Toplica Milane,
krasan junak na ovome svetu,
sablja mu se po kaldrmi vuče,
svilen kalpak, okovano perje,
na junaku kolasta azdija,
oko vrata svilena marama,
na ruci mu koprena od zlata,
obazre se i pogleda da me,
s ruke skide koprenu od zlata,
s ruke skide, pa je meni dade:
›Na, devojko, koprenu od zlata,
po čemu ćeš mene spomenuti,
po kopreni, po imenu mome:
evo t’ idem poginuti, dušo,
u taboru čestitoga kneza;
moli boga, moja dušo draga,
da ti s’ zdravo iz tabora vratim,
tebe, dušo, dobra sreća nađe,
uzeću te za vernu ljubovcu.‹
I odoše tri vojvode bojne.
Nji ja danas po razboju tražim.«
Al’ besedi Orloviću Pavle:
»Sestro draga, Kosovko devojko!
Vidiš, dušo, ona koplja bojna
ponajviša a i ponajgušća,
onde j’ pala krvca od junaka
ta dobrome konju do stremena,
do stremena i do uzenđije,
a junaku do svilena pasa,
onde su ti sva tri poginula,
već ti idi dvoru bijelome,
ne krvavi skuta i rukava.«
Kad devojka saslušala reči,
proli suze niz bijelo lice,
ona ode svom bijelu dvoru
kukajući iz bijela grla:
»Jao jadna! Ude ti sam sreće!
Da se, jadna, za zelen bor vatim,
i on bi se zelen osušio.«
The Kosovo maiden arose,
arose early on Sunday,
on Sunday before the radiant sun,
rolled up her white sleeves,
rolled them up to her white elbows,
on her shoulders she bears white bread,
in her hands two golden goblets,
in one cold water,
in the other red wine;
she goes to flat Kosovo,
then walks, young, upon the killing field,
upon the killing field of the honourable prince,
she turns over the heroes in their blood;
whichever hero she finds in life,
she washes his face with cold water,
she sacramentally offers red wine
and supports him with white bread.
Chance chanced to lead her
to the hero Orlović Pavle,
to the prince’s young standard-bearer,
and she found him in life,
his right hand is cut off
and his left leg to the knee,
his higher ribs are shattered,
his white lungs are visible;
she removes him from that pool of blood,
she washes his face with cold water,
she sacramentally offers red wine
and supports him with white bread;
when the hero’s heart began to beat,
Orlović Pavle speaks:
“Dear sister, Kosovo maiden!
How vast is your misfortune,
that you turn over heroes in their blood?
Whom do you seek, young, upon the killing field?
Either a brother, or a brother’s son?
Or perchance an elder parent?”
The Kosovo Maiden speaks:
“Dear brother, unknown warrior!
I seek no one of my kin,
neither a brother, nor a brother’s son,
nor perchance an elder parent;
might you know, unknown warrior,
when Lazar gave communion to his army
at the beautiful church of Samodreza
for three weeks with thirty monks?
All the Serbian army took communion,
lastly three battle voivods:
one is Miloš the voivod,
and the second is Kosančić Ivan,
and the third is Toplica Milan;
at that time I happened across the doors,
when voivod Miloš was walking,
a beautiful hero on this world,
his sabre drags upon the cobblestones,
a silken kalpak, overlaid with feathers,
on the hero a mottled mantle,
around his neck a silken kerchief,
he turns and looks at me,
from himself he removes the mottled mantle,
from himself he removes, then gives it to me:
‘Here, maiden, a mottled mantle,
by which you will remember me,
by my mantle, by my name:
Here! I go to perish, my soul,
in the camp of the honourable prince;
pray to God, my dear soul,
that I return healthy to you from the camp,
and may good fortune find you, too,
I will wed you to my Milan,
to Milan my blood-brother by God,
who made me a brother by God,
by high God and saint John;
I will be your kum at the wedding.’
Behind him goes Kosančić Ivan,
a beautiful hero on this world,
his sabre drags upon the cobblestones,
a silken kalpak, overlaid with feathers,
on the hero a mottled mantle,
around his neck a silken kerchief,
on his hand a golden ring,
he turns and looks at me,
from his hand he removes the golden ring,
from his hand he removes, then gives it to me:
‘Here, maiden, a golden ring,
by which you will remember me,
and by the ring, by my name:
Here! I go to perish, my soul,
in the camp of the honourable prince;
pray to God, my dear soul,
that I return healthy to you from the camp,
and may good fortune find you, too,
I will wed you to my Milan,
to Milan my blood-brother by God,
who made me a brother by God,
by high God and saint John;
I will be your ručni dever.’
Behind him goes Toplica Milan,
a beautiful hero on this world,
his sabre drags upon the cobblestones,
a silken kalpak, overlaid with feathers,
on the hero a mottled mantle,
around his neck a silken kerchief,
on his hand a torque of gold,
he turns and looks at me,
from his hand he removes the torque of gold,
from his hand he removes, then gives it to me:
‘Here, maiden, a torque of gold,
by which you will remember me,
by the torque, by my name:
Here! I go to perish, my soul,
in the camp of the honourable prince;
pray to God, my dear soul,
that I return healthy to you from the camp,
and may good fortune find you, too,
I will take you for a faithful love.’
And the three battle voivods departed.
I seek them upon the killing field today.”
But Orlović Pavle spoke:
“Dear sister, Kosovo maiden!
You see, my soul, those battle lances
piled highest and also thickest,
there the blood of heroes fell
up to the stirrups of that good horse,
to the stirrups and to the girth,
and to the heroes’ silken girdles,
there all three perished,
but rather go to the white court,
do not bloody your skirts and sleeves.”
When the maiden heard these words,
tears spill along her white face,
she goes to her white court
wailing from her white throat:
“O wretch! Only evil is your fortune!
If I, a wretch, were to grasp a green pine,
even it, green, would wither.”