'Apprentices three-score there were, and craftsmen five and forty,
For three long years they laboured sore to build the bridge of Arta;
All the day long they builded it, each night it fell in ruin.
The craftsmen fall to loud lament, th' apprentices to weeping:
"Alas, alas for all our toil, alack for all our labour,
That all day long we're building it, at night it falls in ruin."
Then from the rightmost arch thereof the demon gave them answer:
"An ye devote not human life, no wall hath sure foundation;
And now devote not orphan-child, nor wayfarer, nor stranger,
But give your master-craftsman's wife, his wife so fair and gracious,
That cometh late toward eventide, that cometh late toward supper."
The master-craftsman heard it well, and fell as one death-stricken;
A word anon he writes and bids the nightingale to carry:
"Tarry to don thy best array, tarry to come to supper,
Tarry to go upon thy way across the bridge of Arta."
The nightingale heard not aright, and carried other message:
"Hurry to don thy best array, hurry to come to supper,
Hurry to go upon thy way across the bridge of Arta."
Lo, there she came, now full in view, along the dust-white roadway;
The master-craftsman her espied, and all his heart was breaking;
E'en from afar she bids them hail, e'en from afar she greets them:
"Gladness and health, my masters all, apprentices and craftsmen!
What ails the master-craftsman then that he is so distressèd?"
"Nought ails save only that his ring by the first arch is fallen;
Who shall go in and out again his ring thence to recover?"
"Master, be not so bitter-grieved, I will go fetch it for thee;
Let me go in and out again thy ring thence to recover."
Not yet had she made full descent, not halfway had descended;
"Draw up the rope, prithee goodman, draw up the cable quickly,
For all the world is upside down, and nought have I recovered."
One plies the spade to cover her, another shovels mortar,
The master-craftsman lifts a stone, and hurls it down upon her.
"Alas, alas for this our doom, alack for our sad fortune!
Three sisters we, and for all three a cruel fate was written.
One went to building Doúnavi, the next to build Avlóna,
And I, the last of all the three, must build the bridge of Arta.
Even as trembles my poor heart, so may the bridge-way tremble,
Even as my fair tresses fall, so fall all they that cross it!"
"Nay, change, girl, prithee change thy speech, and utter other presage;
Thou hast one brother dear to thee, and haply he may pass it."
Then changèd she her speech withal, and uttered other presage:
"As iron now is my poor heart, as iron stand the bridge-way,
As iron are my tresses fair, iron be they that cross it!
For I've a brother far away, and haply he may pass it."'
But while the most famous examples of sacrifice to genii are connected with bridges, the custom in a less criminal form than
