fellow-robbers:

“Comrades mine! mine own beloved comrades!
I have heartfelt longings for my mother.
Let us, comrades! now divide our treasures,
And let each go home and seek his mother.”
Willingly they listened to his counsel;
And, as each received his destined portion,
Many a loud oath swore they in their gladness:
By their brothers swore they, and their sisters.
And Nenad, their leader, piled his treasure,
And again address’d his fellow-robbers:

“Comrades mine! mine own beloved comrades!
I no brother have—no sister have I;
But I swear by the eternal heaven,
Be my right hand smitten by the palsy,
Let my good steed’s mane be shrunk and shrivell’d,
My sharp sabre rust within its scabbard,
If I add one para to my treasure!”

So the robbers all their gold partition’d.
Sprung Nenad upon his own good courser,
And he hasten’d to his aged mother.

Cordial was the greeting, great the gladness;
Hospitality made cheerful welcome:
And, while seated at the feast together,
Nenad whisper’d to his aged mother:
“Mother mine! thou venerable woman!
If it be no shame before the people,
If it be no sin in God’s high presence,
I will ask one question, O my mother!
Tell me why thou gav’st me not a brother?
Tell me why I had no little sister?
When we each received our treasure-portion,
Each in earnest and in eager language
By his brother swore, or by his sister;
I could only swear by my good weapon,
By myself, and by the steed I mounted.”

Then his mother laugh’d, and laughing answer’d,
“Thou, my son, dost talk a little wildly;
For, indeed, a brother have I given thee;
Long before thy birth Predrag had being:
Only yesterday the sad news reach’d me,
That he is become a highway robber,
In the verdant forest Garevitza,
Where he is the leader of the bandits.”
Then Nenad his mother answer’d quickly,
“Mother dear!  O thou most honour’d woman!
Now thou must another dress prepare me,
Skirted-short, and forest-green the colour,
That the forest trees I may resemble.
I will go, and I will see my brother,
So my inner longings may be silenced.”

Then his aged mother made him answer:
“Play not, son Nenad, with words so idle;
So thou wilt be sacrificed.”—But, reckless,
Little cared Nenad for mother-counsels;
But he did whate’er his spirit prompted.
He was clad in new short-skirted vestment
Of green cloth, the green that dyes the forests;
So a forest tree Nenad resembled.
Then he sprung upon his faithful courser;
On they sped, to seek his distant brother,
And to still his spirit’s inward longings.

And he spoke not—no! his lips were silent;
Spoke not to his steed, nor to his falcon.
When he reach’d the forest Garevitza,
Loud he cried, as cries the grizzled falcon,
“Garevitza! verdant mountain forest!
Dost thou then possess a youthful hero?
Dost thou hide Predrag, my only brother?
Are there other heroes in thy thickets?
Are there fellow-comrades of my brother?”
Near at hand, beneath a shading fir-tree,
Sat Predrag, the golden wine enjoying.

When he heard that voice within the forest,
Thus he call’d upon his bandit-comrades:
“Now, ye comrades mine! beloved brothers!
Hide ye in your ambuscades, and listen
To that voice,—the voice of unknown warrior;
Smite him not; but take his treasures from him,
And then bring him to your chief in safety.
Woe to him who does not thus obey me!”

So they issued forth, just thirty bandits,
In three companies; in each ten bandits:—
By the first ten, lo! he pass’d unheeded;
No one moved to interrupt his progress;
No one bade him halt, or bade his courser:
Each one bent his bow and held his arrow;
And Nenad, with courtesy address’d them:
“Draw not! draw not! brothers of the forest!
God preserve you from the impassion’d longing
That impels me now to seek my brother
O’er the weary world, a tired one, wandering.”
So in peace and undisturb’d he passes;
To the next embattled ten advances.
All their bows are bent, their arrows ready;
And Nenad thus speaks, and passes forward:
“Draw not! draw not! brothers of the forest!
God preserve you from the impassion’d longing
That impels me now to seek my brother
O’er the weary world, a tired one, wandering.”
So in peace and undisturb’d he passes;
To the next embattled ten advances,
With their bows all bent, their arrows ready.
Then impatient rage the youth possesses,
And he rushes on the thirty heroes.
Ten his trusty sabre soon has vanquish’d,
Ten his steed into the dust has trampled,
And the third ten drives he to the forest,
To the forest by the frigid water.
Then Predrag, the bandit chieftain, heard it.
“Help us, now, Predrag! our valiant leader!
For there is a brave and unknown warrior:
He has overwhelm’d thy valiant comrades.”
Swiftly sprung Predrag upon his feet, and
Seized his bow, and seized his arrows swiftly;
To the ambuscade he straightway hastens:
Draws his arrow,—makes his bow-string ready:—
Oh! sad destiny! ill-fated arrow!
Wing’d by fate, the hero’s heart it pierces!
Like a falcon springs Nenad, loud screaming.
Loudly scream’d he to his starting courser:
“Woe! woe! woe! thou hero of the forest!
Brother! brother! woe! the Lord will smite thee!
Thy right hand shall be struck dead with palsy;
That right hand which sped the arrow forward!
Thy right eye shall leap forth from thy forehead;
That right eye which saw my heart blood sprinkled!
Let the impassion’d longings for a brother
Trouble thee as they a brother troubled!
O’er the weary world, a lone one, wandering,
Now has stumbled on his own perdition!”

When Predrag had heard these words unwonted,
Lo! he sprung up from the pine, inquiring,
“Who art thou, and who thy fathers, hero?”
Then the wounded youth thus feebly answer’d:
“Ask’st thou who I am, and who my fathers?
Wilt thou own me? wilt thou claim my kindred?
I am young Nenad—a hapless hero!
I had once one venerable mother,
And one brother, too, Predrag—one brother:
He my elder and my only brother,
Whom to seek through all the world I wander
Forth, to still my soul’s impassion’d longings;
But to-day ’tis ended—and I perish!”

When Predrag thus heard his brother’s language,
Misery-stricken pull’d he forth the arrow;
Bent him o’er the young and wounded hero;
Took him from his horse, and gently seated
Nenad on the grass:—“And is it, brother!
Is it thou, indeed?—Thine elder brother,
Thy Predrag, am I:—but sure not mortal
Are thy wounds:—O let me tear asunder—
Let me tear thy shirt—and let me bind them!
Let me bind thy wounds—O let me heal them!”

Then to him the wounded youth:—”Thank heaven!
Thou, thou art Predrag—thou