Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1747

It is his evil genius and mine. Our evil genius! It chastises him Through me, the instrument of his ambition; And I expect no less than that Revenge E'en now is whetting for my breast the poinard. Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime Has, in the moment of its perpetration, Its own avenging angel—dark misgiving, An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. He can no longer trust me. Then no longer Can I retreat—so come that which must come. Still destiny preserves its due relations, The heart within us is its absolute Vicegerent.

[To TERZKY.]

Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel

To my state-cabinet.—Myself will speak to

The couriers.—And dispatch immediately

A servant for Octavio Piccolomini.

[_To the _COUNTESS, who cannot conceal her triumph.]

No exultation! woman, triumph not!

For jealous are the Powers of Destiny.

Joy premature, and shouts ere victory,

Encroach upon their rights and privileges.

We sow the seed, and they the growth determine.

[While he is making his exit the curtain drops.]

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