Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Shadows
Shadows.
Deep! I own I start at shadows,Listen, I will tell you why(Life itself is but a taper,Casting shadows till we die).
Once in Italy, at Florence,I a radiant girl adored;When she came, she saw, she conquered,And by Cupid I was floored.
Round my heart her glossy ringletsWere mysteriously entwined—And her soft, sweet, loving glancesAll my inmost thoughts divined.
"Mia cara Mandolina!Are we not, indeed!" I cried,"All the world to one another?"Mandolina smiled and sighed.
Earth was Eden, she an angel,I a Jupiter enshrined—Till one night I saw an odiousDouble shadow on her blind!
"Fire and fury! double shadowsOn their bedroom windows ne'er,To my knowledge have been cast byLadies virtuous and fair.
"False, abandoned Mandolina!Fare thee well for evermore!Vengeance," shrieked I, "vengeance, vengeance!"And I thundered through the door.
This event occurred next morning;Mandolina staring sat,Stark amazed, as out I tumbled,Raving mad, without a hat!
Six weeks after I'd a letter,On its road six weeks delayed—With a dozen re-directions,From the lost one, and it said:
"Foolish, wicked, cruel Albert;Base suspicion's doubts resign;Double lights throw double shadows!Mandolina—ever thine!"
"Dear me, what an ass!" I muttered,"Not before to think of that!"—And again I rushed excitedTo the rail, without a hat.
"Mandolina! Mandolina!"When her house I reached, I cried;"Pardon, dearest love!" she answered,"I'm the Russian consul's bride!"
Thus by Muscovite barbarian,And by fate, my life was crossed,Wonder ye I start at shadows?Types of Mandolina lost.