 | The Seven Champions of Christendom |  |
Scene Third.
—Enchanted Gardens of Ormandine—In the centre is a Loadstone Rock, out of which protrudes the hilt of the magic sword—Dance of Spirits.Enter Ormandine as the dance concludes.
Orman.
Vanish! (Exeunt Dancers)
Enough of revelry a present,
Pleasure I've none for bodings most unpleasant;
But two out of these Seven Champions hated,
Have I, as yet, in my “lock-up” located;
I am not safe till all the other five,
Are in my custody, dead or alive!
My art has raised illusion to distract them,
And by this magnet I may here attract them,
And throw them into the mesmeric sleep
In which St. Denis and St. James I keep.
At present I can do them no more harm,
Their Christian creed defies each pagan charm;
Oh! but for that I'd make each saint a martyr,
And hang St. George up in his own blue garter.
(a Spirit rises)
Now, Spirit!
Spirit.
From Thibet, the great Cham's Court,
I've hither shot—
Orman.
And what is your report?
Spirit.
Bearer of most important news I am.
Made for his prowess champion of the Cham,
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To try the adventure of the magic sword.
Orman.
Lured by the name, no doubt, the Cambrian boaster,
Because for sport, I called it my cheese-toaster;
Well, let him try, into my trap he'll fall,
And find his bait is not the cheese at all.
(harp heard without)
Hark, to those chords! they speak the Welshman nigh,
He'll find some cords much stronger by-and-bye.
(Ormandine and Spirit retire)
Enter St. David and Ap Shenkin with a harp.
Air—St. David—“Jenny Jones.”
I come from the court of the great Kara-Khan, sir—
His champion I am, though St. David of Wales—
To put out the pipe of an arch necromancer
Who fills with his vapours this sweetest of vales.
I own that a glance from the Cham's lovely daughter
To try this adventure put up my Welsh blood;
And as my better half I hope her arms to quarter
With those of my ancestors up to the flood.
His champion I am, though St. David of Wales—
To put out the pipe of an arch necromancer
Who fills with his vapours this sweetest of vales.
I own that a glance from the Cham's lovely daughter
To try this adventure put up my Welsh blood;
And as my better half I hope her arms to quarter
With those of my ancestors up to the flood.
Deep in this leafy glen, green as a leek,
The wizard holds his soirées fantastiques!
Plays all his tricks, deprives, in one séance,
His hapless audience of all clairvoyance;
Makes all mankind his victims or his butts,
And when he can no longer shuffle—cuts.
Deserted now seem these bewildering bowers,
But devils in a bush are all the flowers,
And bent on mischief every branch and bough.
Despite of all I will perform my vow!
Where is the magic sword whose trenchant blade
Has of the loadstone rock a scabbard made,
And so defies the strength of mortal arm
To draw it forth and break the wizard's charm?
The wizard holds his soirées fantastiques!
Plays all his tricks, deprives, in one séance,
His hapless audience of all clairvoyance;
Makes all mankind his victims or his butts,
And when he can no longer shuffle—cuts.
Deserted now seem these bewildering bowers,
But devils in a bush are all the flowers,
And bent on mischief every branch and bough.
Despite of all I will perform my vow!
Where is the magic sword whose trenchant blade
Has of the loadstone rock a scabbard made,
And so defies the strength of mortal arm
To draw it forth and break the wizard's charm?
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It is here, look you!
(pointing to it)
St. Dav.
Ay, I see the hilt!
It is a wicked weapon, by the gilt!
To give the fiend a handle would be hard;
With blade so sharp I must be on my guard;
I'll pluck it out—if I have any luck,
At least it shall not be for want of pluck.
(attempts to pull out the sword)
Ah! as I seize it something seizes me,
I sink in slumber!
(sinks on a couch which moves on from one side)
Orman.
(advancing)
Nabb'd is number three!
Ap Shen.
Pless hur and save hur!
Orman.
Change thy human habit,
And burrow there with brutes like a Welsh rabbit.
(Ap Shenkin disappears, and a Rabbit appears in his place)
Work on, brave spirits, lure them one by one
Into my toils, till brown each wight be done!
Through yon arcades again bright armour glances,
'Tis Anthony of Italy advances;
The hated spark, who with his nostrum famous,
Destroyed that dear old giant, Ignoramus.
One of my Spirits, in fair Una's shape,
He follows blindly and shall not escape;
By beauty's semblance lured, he duty fled,
Nothing can save a warrior so mis-led.
Music—The phantom of Una enters, pursued by St. Anthony.
St. Ant.
Una, my love! what means this sudden flight,
Why dost thou shun thy true and tender knight?
Music—The Phantom points to the sword in the rock.
What dost thou mutely point at? Ah! a sword!
Plunged in the ground, the sign of old, adored
By the wild Scythians, and without a doubt,
You drew me in here but to draw it out.
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(seizes the handle)
What stupor steels my senses o'er?
He sinks on bank, which moves on—Una disappears, and Spirit appears in her place.
Orman.
Featly done, phantom. (Exit Spirit)
Fast is number four!
The charm works well. Ha! what may this forebode,
(looking at his ring)
Why pales my magic carbuncle, that glowed
With joyous fire? Some dangerous combination,
Of hostile powers—and lo! in consternation
My Spirits come!
Enter several Spirits.
Spirit.
With evil we're beset.
Three dauntless champions have together met;
St. George, St. Andrew, and St. Patrick, bound
By kindred ties, and each for arms renowned;
Singly their valour we should fearful find,
What power can resist the three combined?
Orman.
Dissension and distrust between them spread!
Spirit.
Faction tried that in vain—they struck her dead!
Orman.
Still in the power of falsehood we are strong.
Let dire chimeras rise their path along;
Shadows of evil oft will strike alarm,
When evil's self would fail!
Enter St. George, St. Andrew, St. Patrick, with Charley Wag.
St. Geo.
Despair thy charm!
Thus in the name of truth the spell I break!
(pulls the sword out of the rock—Thunder and lightning, a chasm opens at the back, shewing a subterraneous vault, into which Ormandine and Spirits retreat—Scene closes)
My brave companions, from your trance awake!
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They answer not, though 'tis enough to make 'em.
St. Pat.
Perhaps, as I am Irish, I could wake 'em.
St. Geo.
Upon this blade some characters I see!
Char.
Very bad characters they'll surely be!
St. Geo.
(reading)
“Whilst in the vault seven spirit lamps shall shine,
Nought can destroy the power of Ormandine.”
Then if they shine much longer 'tis my fault,
Into the vault undauntedly I'll vault!
Follow your leader, Wag, you I shall want!
Char.
As long as I can wag, depend upon't.
Music—St. George leaps into the vault, followed by Charley Wag—Fiends oppose them with fiery swords—They force their way through—The Fiends attack St. Andrew and St. Patrick, who fight them off as the scene closes.
| The Seven Champions of Christendom | |