# 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.