Ben King's Verse/Sofie Jakobowski

Little Sofie Jakobowski, - Handsome as a forest flower, Dwelt alone with Gokstad Pfouski Ivan Ruric Romanowski, In the palace of the tower, Of the ancient tower of Ivan, Dwelt she in the long ago, Near by where the frozen Volga Sleeps beneath its weight of snow.

Now, it seems old Gokstad Pfouski Ivan Ruric Romanowski Had a passion for the maid, And was very much afraid That perhaps she might get frisky— Fall in love with John Zobiesky ; So he locked her in the tower Oft for many a weary hour. He, the old decrepit sinner, Kept her locked up growing thinner, Many a week and month she staid In that tower, and often laid Down to rest upon the cold Marble floor, so I am told By an old Slavonic story That is gray and bald and hoary ; ' Tis a legend that's so weird Soft winds gently comb its beard. Little Sofie Jakobowski Was the fairest of the fair ; Eyes that seemed halfway confessing, Yet would keep you coldly guessing, Hair that in each wavy fold Tales of witchery unrolled— Being that old Angelo Traced in cloisters long ago ; Lips, those liquid lips who dew Is tinctured with the rose's hue ; Cheeks afire with the glow Of maidenhood ; a neck of snow. Hoping, grieving, sighing, praying For her lover, disobeying When she dared old Gokstad Pfouski Ivan Ruric Romanowski,

Even hoping to the end For her little Polish friend. Now it might be said if any Maid had lovers she had many ; Old traditions name a score. Put perhaps a dozen more On the little maiden's list, For her charms who could resist? She could bring them from Siberia, Hindostan, or far-off Syria, From the Deutscher Zuyder Zee To the rat-rice-fed Chinee. There was little Moses Khan From the village of Kasan, Vadlimir, and Max Pulaski, Peter Ulrich, and Hydrasky, Isaac Ozam of Torique, One Jim Bogado, a Greek, And a soldier, Peter Hensky, Of the noted Prebojenski; Kutusoff and Fedorovitch, Little No Account von Storitch, Seizendorf, and Jake Zebatzki, Romanoff and Ruffonratzsky, This is but the half of them— ' Herr von Freitag Stobelpem, And a Jew that sent her Rhine wine, Moses Aaron Eiffel Einstein; He from Hong Kong, Sam Wing Lee, Drinkee Alice Samee Tea; Isawwiskey and Tschenimsky, Waronetski and Chewbimsky, And two nase a yentlemen, Yohn and Ole Petersen.

She could bring them, I presume, From the far-off land of doom, Each with one intent to woo her, Ardent, doing homage to her, Sending presents from Australia, Nuggets from the Himalaya Mountains, rings and souvenirs Enough to last a hundred years ; Arrows almost every hour Carried presents to the tower. Don't you think it quite a sin They had to shoot their presents in? Think of how a despot's power Kept her locked up in a tower. She the fairest little maiden

Dwelling on this side of Aidin ; Wouldn't any lover plunge in To the deepest Russian dungeon, Or become a serf and work Out his life at Nedjikerk To kidnap from yonder tower That sweet little Russian flower? So I would, so did the frisky Nihilist, young John Zobiesky. Now the father of Zobiesky Manufactured awful whisky, But young John took more delight In making bombs and dynamite, And he entertained the Russians With a series of concussions Till they wanted him so bad That it made all Russia sad. Once I think he came not far From blowing up "the only" czar, But he had a most surprising Way of hiding and disguising— Never man as yet had found him, Never army could surround him. Probably he had a mascot— Born a regular Russian Tascott.

John Zobiesky seemed contented When he had them all fermented 'Round the palace. Near the gate Cossack soldiers stood up straight, Guarding with their guns and sabers One another from their neighbors; Over there one can't resist The thought to praise the nihilist. Every day and every hour You feel the despot's potent power; Every day you want to shoot Some old potentate and scoot; So with John. One day he saw Another way to break the law. Listen! John was discontented, And his smart brain soon invented With saltpeter and corrosives Something awful in explosives. Then with heart chuck full, elated, Little John sat down and waited— Waited for the somber curtain Of the night to make him certain That he might not be discovered Or his hellish plans uncovared, Waited till a cloudy pall Hung its mantle over all, And Stygian darkness reigning far Hid each peeping, tell-tale star, That lately had begun to nod From Omsk to Nijni-Novgorod. Then he stole up to that tower, Just beneath his lady's bower. Fearlessly he placed enough Of that paralyzing stuff In the chinks and the foundation Of that tower to blast a nation. Then he sat him down and wrote Forty letters—make a note. He wrote forty, understand, Wrote them in a woman's hand. " I love only—only you ; Come to-night, sweet love. Adieu ! " Signing with a heart aflame, Sofie Jakobowski's name.

One dark night when all was still On frosty turret, dome and hill, Forty suitors came in season, Knocked, and—I don't know the reason- Walked right in the door; it swung Open, then it closed and sprung; Every lover seemed to fare The same, for they were prisoners there They were in beyond a doubt, With no chance of getting out. Now the risky John Zobiesky Had the Cossacks drunk on whisky, And guards with their long sabers, Rested sweetly from their labors. Sofie Jakobowski, frisky, Looked down on her John Zobiesky; John Zobiesky gazed at Sofie And he longed to gain the trophy. Sofie, up there in the casement, Throwing kisses towards the basement— John Zobiesky at the basement Hurling kisses to the casement. But he has no time to lose; Fixing up that deadly fuse, Now he hurls a line up till It reaches Sofie's window sill. Scarcely had she made it fast When the maiden stood aghast ! Startled at what stood before her— John Zobiesky, her adorer.

Don't get anxious ; I must own John and Sofie were alone. And I know a Russian kiss Is not such hard-frozen bliss. ' Twas the first in years that they Had thus embraced—the time that way— So they occupied the present Till the night had grown senescent; And they wondered oft how fared The lovers down below that shared The palace of old Gokstad Pfouski Ivan Ruric Romanowski.

"Hark !" cried Sofie, "'tis the hour When Moscow's bell in yonder tower Peals a knell, and we must fly, Or else together we must die. Ah, look! through yonder gate I see That demon—and he comes to me— The wretch that locks and keeps me here From month to month and year to year." Up jumps the risky little frisky Nihilist, young John Zobiesky. A kiss upon her lips, his hand Upon his breast as if to brand His vow: "You say, 'He comes to me;' You cry: ' He comes! He comes ! To thee I swear by yonder moonlit snow He comes!' Just watch and see him go." Then with Sofie on his shoulder— Never fear that he can't hold her— Through the window, down the rope, The nihilist and maid elope. Not a moment do they lose, Save to stop and light the fuse. Slowly on its path it crawls Toward the gray old castle walls, Past the Cossacks with their sabers, Still at rest from recent labors, And the noble body guard— They are snoring just as hard. A flash! A roar! and Moscow rumbles, And the tower of Ivan tumbles. Up skyhigh went Godstad Pfouski Ivan Ruric Romanowski, Also little Moses Khan Of the village of Kazan ; Vadlimir and Max Pulaski, Peter Ulric, and Hydraski; Isaac Ozam of Torique, One Jim Bogado, a Greek, And a soldier, Peter Henski, Of the noted Prebojenski ; Kutuseff and Fedorovitch, Little No Account von Stovitch, Seizendorf and Jake Zebatzski, Romanoff and RufFonratzski, This is but the half of them, Herr von Freitag Stobelpem And a Jew that sent her Rhine wine, Moses Aaron Eiffel Einstein, Drinkee Alice Samee Tea— He from Hong Kong—Sam Wing Lee, Isawwiskey and Tschenimsky, Waronetzski and Chewbimsky, And two nase a yentlemen, Yohn and Ole Petersen.