HAROLD. How he trembles! He's frightened out of his senses—Fear? What is it? A word not to be found in the articles of war—a soldier's only vocabulary!
SONG—HAROLD.
Fiery Mars, thy votary hear!
Weave for me a wreath of glory!
When I rest upon my bier,
Let my memory live in story!
Aid my sword in time of war!
In my country's cause I wield it—
Only with the breath I draw,
Will I to the foeman yield it!
[Exit.
Scene III.
SOPHIA MANSFIELD's apartments in the Porcelain Factory. Enter SOPHIA.
SOPHIA. 'Tis done. My vase is finished, and in the possession of the overseer. How is it with me? Although my fortunes are suspended by a single thread, an unaccustomed buoyancy pervades my bosom. Are these emotions precursors of victory, or has the love of Laniska given me a new existence, and tinged the world once more with hues of paradise? How new and fresh and strange are all he things here about my heart! This is his gift—a simple flower! He said it is an emblem of love. It is not so. Love does not perish thus!—Love can not be a flower.
SONG-SOPHIA.
Ah! Love is not a garden-flower,
That shoots from out the cultured earth;
That needs the sunbeam and the shower,
Before it wakens into birth:
It owns a richer soil and seed,
And woman's heart supplies them both,
Where it will spring, without a weed,
Consummate in its growth.
These leaves will perish when away
From either genial sun or shower;
Not so will wither and decay
Celestial Love's perennial flower.
'Tis our companion countless miles,
Through weal or woe in after years;
And though it flourishes in smiles,
It blooms as fresh in tears!
(Enter FREDERICA.)
FREDERICA.
My dear Sophia, I am overjoyed to learn that you have completed your vase.