Poems by George Pope Morris - BestLightNovel.com
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He'll never win her, woo her as he may. Count Laniska will look to that.
[HAROLD, CORPORAL and party retire into tents.
(Enter KARL, in great agitation.)
SONG--KARL.
Confusion!--Again rejected By the maid I fondly love!
Illusion!--In soul dejected!
Jealous fears my bosom move.
Dear Sophia!--Hope's deceiver!
Whom I love; but love in vain!
Can I to my rival leave her?
No--the thought distracts my brain!
Love--revenge!--Oh, how I falter!
Pa.s.sion's throes unman me quite: Now he leads her to he alter-- How I tremble at the sight!
Hold, tormentors! cease to tear me!
All in vain I gasp for breath!
Hated rival--scorn I bear thee Which can only end in death!
(HAROLD advances.)
HAROLD.
Karl, what ails you?
KARL (aside.) Observed! (To HAROLD.) An infirmity I've had from my youth upward. I shall be better presently.
HAROLD.
You tremble like one with the ague.
KARL.
We Hungarians have not your tough const.i.tution, comrade: besides, the weather is chilly--it freezes me to the bone.
HAROLD.
It's the weather within, Karl. Repair to the factory, and sun yourself in the bright eyes of Sophia Mansfield! That will warm you, especially if Count Laniska happens to be by to stir up the fire of your jealousy--eh?
KARL.
You have a sharp wit, which I lack, comrade.
HAROLD (sarcastically.) And I've another thing which you lack--COMRADE.
KARL.
What may that be?
HAROLD.
A clear conscience, my old boy!
[Exit HAROLD into tent
KARL.
Does he suspect? No--sleeping and waking I have concealed this (his arm) d.a.m.ning evidence of my guilt. The mark of Cain I bear about me is known to none, and the secret dies with me.--For that young Pole, Sophia scorns me; but let him beware!--My revenge, though slow, is sure!
(KARL turns to go; but perceiving Count Laniska advancing, he retires to a tent.
Enter LANISKA, who notices KARL in the distance.)
SONG--LANISKA.
When I behold that lowering brow, Which indicates the mind within, I marvel much that woman's vow A man like that could ever win!
Yet it is said, in rustic bower, (The fable I have often heard) A serpent has mysterious power To captivate a timid bird.
This precept then I sadly trace-- That love's a fluttering thing of air; And yonder lurks the viper base, Who would my gentle bird ensnare!
'Twas in the shades of Eden's bower This fascination had its birth, And even there possessed the power To lure the paragon of earth!
(At the conclusion of the song, KARL, is about to retire. LANISKA addresses him.)
COUNT.
Come hither, Karl.
KARL.
I await upon your leisure, count.
COUNT.
I would have some words with you.
KARL.
You may not relish the frankness of my manner.
COUNT.
Indeed!
KARL.
Look you, Count Laniska; I am a plain, blunt, straight-forward, rough-spoken fellow, and a soldier like yourself. I know my rights; and, knowing, will maintain them. It was by the king's permission and authority that I chose Sophia Mansfield for my bride--
COUNT.
She has rejected you.
KARL.
What has that to do with the matter? Women are often perverse, and not always the best judges of their own welfare; and you know she MUST be mine--
COUNT.
Must?--
KARL.
Yes, MUST. I have the king's promise, and Frederick was never known to break his word.
COUNT.
You surely will not marry her against her will?
KARL.
Why not? Sophia is the only woman I ever loved: and now that I have her sure, think you I will resign her?
