Sweetheart, come, and let us kiss each
But, O tell me, where shall be our meeting?
In thy garden, love, or in my garden?
Under thine or under mine own rose-trees?
Thou, sweet soul, become thyself a rose-bud;
I then to a butterfly will change me;
Fluttering I will drop upon the rose-bud;
Folks will think I’m hanging on a flower,
While a lovely maiden I am kissing!
ST. GEORGE’S DAY.
To St. George’s day the maiden prayed;
“Com’st thou again, O dear St. George’s day!
Find me not here, by my mother dear,
Or be it wed, or be it dead!—
But rather than dead, I would be wed!” 
UNITED IN DEATH.
Two young lovers loved each other fondly,
And they washed them at the self-same water,
And they dried them with the self-same napkin.
One year passed, their love was known by no one;
Two years passed, and all the world did know it,
And the father heard it and the mother;
And their love the mother would not suffer,
But she parted the two tender lovers.
Through a star the youth sent to the maiden:
“Die, O love, on Saturday at evening,
I, thy youth, will die on Sunday morning.”
And they did as they had told each other;
Died the maiden Saturday at evening.
Died the youth on Sunday morning early;
Close together were the two then buried;
Through the earth their hands were clasped together;
In their hands were placed two young green apples.
Little time had passed since they were
O’er the youth sprang up a verdant pine-tree,
O’er the maid a bush with sweet red roses;
Round the pine-tree winds itself the rose-bush,
As the silk around a bunch of flowers.
But not all the female Servian songs exhibit so much tenderness. That their usual gentleness and humility does not always prevent these poor oppressed beings from sometimes taking the lead in domestic affairs, one would be apt to conclude from the following ballad:
Come, companion, let us hurry
That we may be early home,
For my mother-in-law is cross,
Only yestreen she accused me,
Said that I had beat my husband;
When, poor soul, I had not touched him.
Only bid him wash the dishes,
And he would not wash the dishes;
Threw then at his head the pitcher,
Knocked a hole in head and pitcher;
For the head I do not care much;
But I care much for the pitcher,
As I paid for it right dearly;
Paid for it with one wild apple,
Yes, and half a one besides.