From the Russian of Pushkin.
On the shawl, the black shawl with distraction I gaze,
And on my poor spirit keen agony preys.
When easy of faith, young and ardent was I,
I lov'd a fair Grecian with love the most high.
The damsel deceitful she flatter'd my flame,
But soon a dark cloud o'er my sunshine there came.
One day I'd invited of guests a gay crew,
Then to me there came creeping an infamous Jew.
"With thy friends thou art feasting" he croaked in my ear--
"Whilst to thee proves unfaithful Greshenka thy dear."
I gave to him gold and a curse, for his meed,
And I summon'd a thrall, ever faithful in need.
Forth rushing, I leap'd my tall courser upon,
And soft pity I bade from my bosom begone.
But scarcely the door of Greshenka I view'd
When my eyes became dark, and a swoon near ensu'd.
Alone to a far remote chamber I pac'd,
And there an Armenian my damsel embrac'd.
My sight it forsook me--forth flash'd my sword straight,
But I to prevent the knave's kiss was too late.
The vile, headless trunk I spurn'd fierce with my foot,
And I gaz'd on the pallid maid darkly and mute.
I remember her praying--her blood streaming wide--
There perish'd Greshenka, my sweet love there died.
The shawl, the black shawl from her shoulders I tore,
And in silence I wip'd from my sabre the gore.
My thrall, when the evening mists fell with their dew,
In the waves of the Dunau her fair body threw.
From that hour I have seen not her eyes' beamy lights,
From that hour I have known no delectable nights.
On the shawl, the black shawl with distraction I gaze,
And on my poor spirit keen agony preys.