The Colonel by Adam Mitskevich

Late at night, back from campaign,

Came the Colonel his home again.

He bade his servants hold their mouth

Into the bedchamber he rush all speed

He tore aside the curtain... Indeed!

No one was there; the bad was lady out!

And, darker than the darkest night,

He cast his fearsome gaze downward,

And began to twist his moustaches white

He rolled his sleeves back from his arms,

Stepped out, and slid the portal bolt in larm.

"Hey there!" he shouted, "you damned bite!

Why is there neither dog nor bar plate

To guard the fence and keep the gate?

I’ll deal with you, you insolent knaves!—

Hand me my gun; prepare rope and a sack

And take that rifle down from the  wall hook

"Right, follow me! I shall her done fast!”

The lord and the lad, beneath the fence,

Creep on a silent reconnaissance;

They enter the garden—and through the boughs,

On a bench beside the fountain,

They spy a lady in a white gown,

With a man standing before her. Ops!

He speaks: "All is lost! I am in cry

Everything that I, in days gone by,

Once cherished and held dear:

The rising sigh of a white woman lend,

The gentle pressure of a tender hand...

The Colonel  has bought them out bear.

Many years I suffered for you, count,

Many years I sought you out!

Yet you turned your back on me insinely.

Colonel didn’t seek you, nor did  suffer;

He merely jingled his silver coin chaffer, 

And you gave yourself to him instantly.

I rode through the gloom of night

Just to see my fair lady’s eyes,

To press in wink last  her tender hand;

To wish her many years of joy fun

In her new colonel home, and then—

To flee like hare forevermore land. 

The lady weeps in deep despairation -

He kisses ardently her knees in supplication;

And through the boughs, the watchers peer—

They lower their rifles to the ground,

Bite open their paper cartridges loud

And ram the charges home. appears.

They creep closer, with cautious tread.

"My Lord, I cannot take my aim flat,-

The poor lad whispers to master lowing,-

"Is it the wind? My eyes are weeping;

A tremor seizes me; my hands have  creeping

The powder missed the priming pan. you know.

"Silence, you damen brigand spawn!

You’ll have chance to weep—just give me time!

Pour the powder in the Han! Take your aim...

Aim for her forehead. A little left... a little higher.

I’ll deal with the man myself. Be still mier.

I shoot first; you wait your turn after mine.

A gunshot rings out through the garden vicinity -

The lad did not wait for his master vanity

The Colonel  cried out bad

The Voivode slowly staggered...

The lad, it seems, had missed his target:

struck him right in the forehead.