Christine. Could I but see the false, perfidious Lenox, and upbraid him with his cruelty! [She is in great uneasiness, pauses occasionally, and looks into the tent—her comrade is watching her. Lenox sings within.]
Shall the pleasures of life unknown fade away,
In viewing those charms so lovely and gay?
Shall the heart which has breath'd forth rapturous flame,
Be hid from the world and unsought for by fame?
Thus spoke the fond Roscoe to Scylla the fair,
As he gaz'd on her charms, with a love-soothing care:
Hear now the last wish, that fondly I sigh,
I'll conquer in love, or in battle I'll die.
He girded his armour and flew to the field,
Determin'd while life flow'd never to yield;
The foe was subdued, but death's cruel dart
Was aim'd at the valiant and fond Roscoe's heart:
But the blow was defeated—he lived to enjoy
The sight of his Scylla, no longer so coy,
And his laurels fresh bloom'd, as she smil'd on the youth,
And gave her fair hand in reward for his truth.
Christine. Ha, that false voice! I can no longer bear it! [Throws down her gun, and is about entering the tent, when her comrade, who has been attentively regarding her movements, rushes over and seizes her.]
Soldier. Where are you going?
Christine. Unhand me this instant!
[Struggles.
Soldier. Guards, there!