The Forsaken.

         Ah! ye woods, ye gloomy woods,
            Woods of Miletin,
         Why are ye green
         In winter as well as summer?
         I should be glad, did I not weep,
         Were not my heart troubled;
         But tell me, good people,
         Who would not weep thus?
         Where is my father, my dear father?
         Buried in the earth.
         Where is my mother, my good mother?
         The grass grows over her.
         I have no brothers, no sisters-
         And they have taken away my love.