C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Black Shawl

Translation of Thomas Budd Shaw

LIKE a madman I gaze on a raven-black shawl:

Remorse, fear, and anguish,—this heart knows them all.

When believing and fond, in the springtime of youth,

I loved a Greek maiden with tenderest truth.

That fair one caressed me—my life! oh, ’twas bright;

But it set, that fair day, in a hurricane night.

One day I had bidden young guests, a gay crew,

When sudden there knocked at my gate a vile Jew.

“With guests thou art feasting,” he whisperingly said,

“And she hath betrayed thee—thy young Grecian maid.”

I cursed him and gave him good guerdon of gold,

And called me a slave that was trusty and bold.

“Ho! my charger—my charger!”—We mount, we depart,

And soft pity whispered in vain at my heart.

On the Greek maiden’s threshold in frenzy I stood:

I was faint, and the sun seemed as darkened with blood.

By the maiden’s low window I listen, and there

I beheld an Armenian caressing the fair.

The light darkened round me; then flashed my good blade—

The minion ne’er finished the kiss that betrayed.

On the corse of the minion in fury I danced,

Then silent and pale at the maiden I glanced.

I remember the prayers and the red-bursting stream—

Thus perished the maiden—thus perished my dream.

This raven-black shawl from her dead brow I tore—

On its fold from my dagger I wiped off the gore.

The mists of the evening arose, and my slave

Hurled the corpses of both in the Danube’s dark wave.

Since then, I kiss never the maid’s eyes of light,

Since then, I know never the soft joys of night.

Like a madman I gaze on the raven-black shawl:

Remorse, fear, and anguish,—this heart knows them all.