The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chapter 319 : _Laska._ Do you chance to know 235 Who--I--am, Sir?--('Sdeath! how black he looks

_Laska._ Do you chance to know 235 Who--I--am, Sir?--('Sdeath! how black he looks!)

_Bethlen._ I have started many strange beasts in my time, But none less like a man, than this before me That lifts his hand against a timid female.

_Laska._ Bold youth! she's mine.

_Glycine._ No, not my master yet, 240 But only is to be; and all, because Two years ago my lady asked me, and I promised her, not him; and if she'll let me, I'll hate you, my lord's steward.

_Bethlen._ Hush, Glycine!

_Glycine._ Yes, I do, Bethlen; for he just now brought 245 False witnesses to swear away your life: Your life, and old Bathory's too.

_Bethlen._ Bathory's!

Where is my father? Answer, or----Ha! gone!

[_LASKA during this time retires from the Stage._

_Glycine._ Oh, heed not him! I saw you pressing onward, And did but feign alarm. Dear gallant youth, 250 It is your life they seek!

_Bethlen._ My life?

_Glycine._ Alas, Lady Sarolta even--

_Bethlen._ She does not know me!

_Glycine._ Oh that she did! she could not then have spoken With such stern countenance. But though she spurn me, I will kneel, Bethlen--

_Bethlen._ Not for me, Glycine! 255 What have I done? or whom have I offended?

_Glycine._ Rash words, 'tis said, and treasonous of the king.

[_BETHLEN mutters to himself._

_Glycine (aside)._ So looks the statue, in our hall, o' the G.o.d, The shaft just flown that killed the serpent!

_Bethlen._ King!

_Glycine._ Ah, often have I wished you were a king. 260 You would protect the helpless every where, As you did us. And I, too, should not then Grieve for you, Bethlen, as I do; nor have The tears come in my eyes; nor dream bad dreams That you were killed in the forest; and then Laska 265 Would have no right to rail at me, nor say (Yes, the base man, he says,) that I--I love you.

_Bethlen._ Pretty Glycine! wert thou not betrothed-- But in good truth I know not what I speak.

This luckless morning I have been so haunted 270 With my own fancies, starting up like omens, That I feel like one, who waking from a dream Both asks and answers wildly.--But Bathory?

_Glycine._ Hist! 'tis my lady's step! She must not see you!

[_BETHLEN retires._

_Enter from the Cottage SAROLTA and BATHORY._

_Sarolta._ Go, seek your son! I need not add, be speedy-- 275 You here, Glycine? [_Exit BATHORY._

_Glycine._ Pardon, pardon, Madam!

If you but saw the old man's son, you would not, You could not have him harmed.

_Sarolta._ Be calm, Glycine!

_Glycine._ No, I shall break my heart.

_Sarolta._ Ha! is it so?

O strange and hidden power of sympathy, 280 That of--like fates, though all unknown to each, Dost make blind instincts, orphan's heart to orphan's Drawing by dim disquiet!

_Glycine._ Old Bathory--

_Sarolta._ Seeks his brave son. Come, wipe away thy tears.

Yes, in good truth, Glycine, this same Bethlen 285 Seems a most n.o.ble and deserving youth.

_Glycine._ My lady does not mock me?

_Sarolta._ Where is Laska?

Has he not told thee?

_Glycine._ Nothing. In his fear-- Anger, I mean--stole off--I am so fluttered-- Left me abruptly--

_Sarolta._ His shame excuses him! 290 He is somewhat hardly tasked; and in discharging His own tools, cons a lesson for himself.

Bathory and the youth henceforward live Safe in my lord's protection.

_Glycine._ The saints bless you!

Shame on my graceless heart! How dared I fear, 295 Lady Sarolta could be cruel?

_Sarolta._ Come, Be yourself, girl!

_Glycine._ O, 'tis so full here!

And now it can not harm him if I tell you, That the old man's son--

_Sarolta._ Is not that old man's son!

A destiny, not unlike thine own, is his. 300 For all I know of thee is, that thou art A soldier's orphan: left when rage intestine[911:1]

Shook and engulphed the pillars of Illyria.

This other fragment, thrown back by that same earthquake, This, so mysteriously inscribed by nature, 305 Perchance may piece out and interpret thine.

Command thyself! Be secret! His true father---- Hear'st thou?

_Glycine._ O tell--

_Bethlen (rus.h.i.+ng out)._ Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!

Who is my father?

_Sarolta (gazing with surprise)._ Thine? Thy father? Rise!

_Glycine._ Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310

_Sarolta._ His countenance, not his act!