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82
Poems: Narrative.
THE BLACK SHAWL.
III. 83.
I gaze demented on the black shawl
And my cold soul is torn by grief.
When young I was and full of trust
I passionately loved a young Greek girl.
The charming maid, she fondled me,
But soon I lived the black day to see.
Once as were gathered my jolly guests
A detested Jew knocked at my door.
Thou art feasting (he whispered) with friends
But betrayed thou art by thy Greek maid.
Moneys I gave him and curses,
And called my servant the faithful.
We went: I flew on the wings of my steed;
And tender mercy was silent in me.
Her threshold no sooner I espied
Dark grew my eyes, and my strength departed.
