Good-Looking Lad From Linden Tree Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Blanca! You should know, my girl,
That Jesus is your groom, from cradle.
Young woman, you were conceived
— From a shameful deed.

You shall find sustenance for your days,
At the monastery at St. Anna's,
And save face for me, before the One,
Who, is in Heaven.

"Father, I don't want in any way
My young, joyful spirit to get thirsty;
I'd rather like to hunt and dance.
Let others give up happiness.

I don't want them to cut my hair
— Since it reaches to my heels —
Or to go blind reading some book
In the light-purple smoke of incense."

"Let go of any worldly thought.
I know better what's good for you.
We shall leave tomorrow at daybreak
Headed for the old and saintly monastery."
She hears and she cries.
She feels she wants to run away.
She's overwhelmed by empty thoughts.
— And by an un-named desire.

And weeping, she adjusts the stirrups
— On her white like snow horse.
She caresses its mane,
And crying, she sets the saddle.

She goes with lowered head
And with her hair in the wind;
She doesn't look ahead.
She doesn't look back.

She rides through endless forests
On lost trails on valleys,
When the evening's red ray
Has lowered in the sky.

Lightning flares up the shade of the woods
— All over the place.
She goes across in a rustling of leaves
And hum of bees.

She arrives at a Linden-tree,
— In the middle of the woods.
There, the enchanted spring water,
It sounds gently to the ear.

By the gentle murmur of the waters,
And she sees a young man
Who, is near by
And who rides a black horse.

He looks at her with big dreamy eyes.
He has Linden flowers
On his black hair,
And has a silver horn at his hip.

And he starts to blow the horn slowly
— In an enchanting and moving way.
Her heart swells with pleasure
— At the handsome stranger.

His hair touches her hair.
And then, with a red face
She shuts swiftly her eye-leads,
—Over her virtuous eyes.

But a smile crosses over her mouth,
Which is charming and restrained.
She can hardly open her mouth
— Dried up because of excitement.

When totally awestruck,
She bends towards him,
He stops playing the horn
And speaks to her in a gentle tone.

And he hugs her, while on the horse.
She fights back with one hand.
And she gives in to him anyway.
She feels that her heart is happy.

And she leans on his shoulder
She looks at him with aimless eye
Holding her head with her face up.
While the horses graze near by.

Only the sweet murmur
Of the enchanted water springs
Makes their souls drank,
And it deafens them with its blues.

Then the moon rises out of the forest.
The entire night stops to see the moon's stare.
It pains a dark shadow
On a field, which is white like snow.

The moon lengthens the trees shadows
And it shifts them down while rising on the sky.
But the two lovers go across
They vanish into the forest.

Next day, at the castle, a bit further from the gates,
A horse stands with foams at its mouth.
But its pretty owner with heart of gold,
She was lost into the world.

(1875, February the 1st)