That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes,
Should'st e'er demean thee as a love-sick maiden;
And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself
Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever
Be destin'd to await him, yet, with sacrifices
The highest love can bring, must pay for it.
[Exit Countess.
THEKLA (who during the last speech had been
standing evidently lost in her reflections.)
My sad presentiment to certainty.
And it is so!—Not one friend have we here,
Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves!
O she said rightly—no auspicious signs
Beam on this covenant of our affections.
This is no theatre where hope abides.
The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here.
And love himself, as he were arm'd in steel,
Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death.
(Music from the banquet-room is heard.)
There's a dark spirit walking in our house,
And swiftly will the Destiny close on us.
It drove me hither from my calm asylum,
It mocks my soul with charming witchery,
It lures me forward in a seraph's shape,
I see it near, I see it nearer floating,
It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power—
And lo! the abyss—and thither am I moving—
I have no power within me not to move!
(The music from the banquet-room becomes
louder.)
