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 spring-time of youth, I loved a Greek maiden with tenderest truth. That fair one caress'd 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 knock'd at my gate a vile Jew. "With guests thou art feasting," he whisperingly said, "And _she_ hath betray'd thee--thy young Grecian maid." I cursed him, and gave him good guerdon of gold, And call'd me a slave that was trusty and bold. "Ho! my charger--my charger!" we mount, we depart, And soft pity whisper'd in vain at my heart. On the Greek maiden's threshold in frenzy I stood-- I was faint--and the sun seem'd as darken'd with blood: By the maiden's lone window I listen'd, and there I beheld an Armenian caressing the fair. The light darken'd round me--then flash'd my good blade.... The minion ne'er finish'd the kiss that betray'd. 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 perish'd the maiden--thus perish'd 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 Hurl'd the corses 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! * * * * * The pretty lines which we are now about to offer, are rather remarkable as being written in the manner of the ancient national songs of Russia, than for any thing very new in the ideas, or very striking in the expression. They possess, however--at least in the original--a certain charm arising from simplicity and grace. THE ROSE. Where is our rose, friends? Tell if ye may! Faded the rose, friends, The Dawn-child of Day. Ah, do not say, Such is youth's fleetness! Ah, do not say, Thus fades life's sweetness! No, rather say, I mourn thee, rose--farewell! Now to the lily-bell Flit we away. * * * * *