A maiden's curse
Brahms, Johannes
The mother calls, calls to her daughter
Across three mountains:
"Is, o Mara, dear daughter,
The linen bleached?"
Back to her, the young daughter calls
Across nine mountains:
"Nothing is in the water, dear mother,
I haven't dipped the linen yet
For, you see, Jawo has
Muddied the water.
How, then, o dear mother,
Could I have bleached it?
Curse him, mother, dear mother!
I will curse him too.
May God in bright heaven grant
That he might hang himself
On a terrible little tree...
On my white neck!
May God in bright heaven grant
That he might lie imprisoned,
Imprisoned deep in a dungeon...
On my white breast!
May God grant, o lord in heaven,
That he might wear chains -
Wear chains tightly about him...
My white arms!
May God in bright heaven grant,
That the waters might seize him -
That the wild waters might seize him...
And bring him to my house!"