University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene First.

—The Brazen Castle of the Enchantress Kalyba.
Enter the Demoniac Household and Guards of the Enchantress, and lastly Kalyba.
Chorus
—March in “La Tentation.”
March—march—march!
Hither come all who take Kalyba's wages!
Cloven foot guards and infernal young pages.
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily march!
Blow your long horns
And make your serpents clamorous—clamorous!
Batter your drums
And flourish your cymbals so gay!
Spite of her scorns
Of Kalyba still amorous, amorous!
Ormandine comes!
In state, a kind visit to pay!

Ormandine enters in a car drawn by Fiery Dragons.
Kal.
Welcome, great Ormandine! and say, what is it
Procures us, sir, the honour of this visit?
Seek you to solve some problem in our art,
Or such assistance as I can impart?
Or finding you had half-an-hour to spare,
Did you drive hither, just for change of air?

Orman.
The potent Kalyba is far too wise
To ask such questions, and require replies.
She knows the motive of my coming well,
And what events the hostile stars foretell;
Or else the scandal's true that I have heard,
And love has made her blind!

Kal.
Love! How absurd!
What will the idle gossips whisper next?
No—for your visit this is a pretext,
By jealousy inspired—come, disgorge
Your spleen in two words.

Orman.
So I will—St. George!

Kal.
Of course; if cause so plain I could not see,
Accounted blind I should deserve to be!
And now, supposing all you've heard be true,
Permit me to inquire—what's that to you?

Orman.
Ungrateful Kalyba! what is't to me?
Think'st thou, unmoved, thy ruin I could see?
Is it not written in the starry skies
That Seven Champions shall in Europe rise,
Whose valiant deeds shall sweep the earth of evil,
And one of them play, with yourself, the devil?

Kal.
It is—and need I tell you what I've done?
Have I not kidnapped every mother's son?
Did I not from their cradles have them caught up,
And here in solitary dungeons brought up,
Spell-bound, their weary lives away to pass,
In chains of adamant and walls of brass?

Orman.
Save one—who roams within your castle free—

Kal.
Within, I grant; but still my captive he,
As fast as either of the other six.

Orman.
No, you are his—and in an awkward fix,
You'll find yourself, as sure as you stand there,
If of that deep young dog you don't take care!

Kal.
Fear not—such care of him I mean to take,
That you shall not a victim of him make.
So, from your double face pull off the vizard,
And stand confessed, a jealous-pated wizard!
Who hates, because I love the beauteous boy,
And would your rival, not my foe, destroy.

Orman.
I tell you danger in the stars I've read—

Kal.
Add to your information, “Queen Anne's dead!”
Trot back to Tartary, most sage Manchoo,
Such is my counsel, in return to you.
I'm truly grateful for your friendly warning,
And wish you—very heartily—good morning!

Orman.
Farewell, for ever, Kalyba! I see
You'll catch a Tartar, but 'twill not be me!

(music—Exeunt Ormandine, Guards, &c.)
Kal.
No doubt he meant that speech to be pathetic.
That Tartar is, to me, tartar emetic!
Let him once more but dare to interfere,
And I will send him off with, in his ear,
The most gigantic flea that ever skipped,
Or, like a syllabub, may I be whipped!
Now to refresh my spirits with the sight
Of my young hero, who so longs to fight;
I must for him a box of soldiers find,
To pitch into, whenever he's inclined.
(uproar without)
Heyday! who's kicking up that dreadful row?
Somebody's pitching into some one now!
Speak! who is being pounded in a mortar?

Page.
It's Master George, madam, punching the porter!

Kal.
The porter! what, a giant?

Page.
He don't care—
He'd punch Old Nick himself, if he were there!

(Giant looks over the wall, crying)
Giant,
Ow! If you please I won't stop in my place,
If that young scamp's to go it at this pace,
Because I said the gate he mustn't pass,
He up and called me a great stupid ass.
And when I tried to push him back, ecod, he
Knocked almost all the breath out of my body.

(cries)
Kal.
(aside)
The brave young rogue! Well, there, don't make that noise!
The lad has spirit, and boys will be boys!
But 'twasn't pretty of him, I admit—
Go back, sir, to your lodge—I'll see to it!

Giant.
Mind, ma'am, if you can't make him more compliant,
You'll please to find yourself another giant.

Kal.
Begone!
(Exit Giant, grumbling)
One would suppose, to hear that sot,
There was no other giant to be got!
I know of twenty, taller, stouter, near
To whom that porter would but seem small beer!
Tell Master George to come to me.

Enter St. George.
St. Geo.
Behold him.

Kal.
What eyes he has—I've not the heart to scold him.

St. Geo.
Now, what d'ye want me for?

Kal.
One moment, dear—
My pet is too impetuous, I fear—
You've struck my porter—

St. Geo.
Well, then, why did he
Prevent my going out, the world to see?

Kal.
He had my orders, love, and did his duty.

St. Geo.
I don't care! see if I don't spoil his beauty.
Just let him wait till I grow up, that's all,
And won't I serve him out!

Kal.
You'll make me call
My spirits up, to bind you over, boy,
To keep the peace,

St. Geo.
Your spirits I'll destroy,
War, war, no peace! I'll be a soldier—

Kal.
Stay—

St. Geo.
St. George for England! forward! charge! hooray!

Kal.
Be a good boy, and Kalyba but stay with,
And you shall have a sword and shield to play with.

St. Geo.
A helmet too?

Kal.
A beautiful and bright one.

St. Geo.
With crimson feathers—I won't shew a white one!

Kal.
Enter my armoury—choose what you will.
(aside)
Arm'd, I've no doubt, he'll look more killing still.

(waves her wand—The gates at back open and discover the armoury)
St. Geo.
Oh, what a jolly lot of swords and lances,
And all the things one reads of in romances;
Here is a suit, that seems just made to suit me!

Kal.
(aside)
And you're a beau Love made I'm sure to shoot me!
Without my leave, he's with my heart levanted,
The witch bewitched, th'enchantress quite enchanted.
(aloud to him)
Too captivating captive, I surrender
At indiscretion. Lo, to thee I tender
My magic wand—use all its wondrous powers,
Reign paramount within these brazen towers,
Let pleasure hold here a perpetual orgie,
For Kalyba, and her sweet Georgy Porgy!

St. Geo.
Insidious sorceress, against your charms
I'm armed in proof, though a mere child in arms!
For noble deeds ordained, a youth precocious,
Long have I marked, and loathed your wiles atrocious!
First will I use my power to set free
My six companions in captivity.
Equipped for battle, gallant friends, appear.

(waves wand—Flourish—Enter the other Six Champions in complete armour)
Kal.
Furies and fire, I've made a blunder here!
Give me my wand again, vile traitor!

St. Geo.
Never!
You've cut this wicked stick of yours for ever,
And so will I, as soon as I have done with it!
But first I'll have a famous bit of fun with it.
Your hour has come, and I know what's o'clock;
Thus to their base I make your turrets rock!
(the Castle changes to rocks—St. George touches a portion and a chasm appears)
Between us, you'll observe, there is a split;
Do me the favour to walk into it.
You ne'er meant these good knights should see the day!
Good night to you, ma'am; turnabout's fair play!
Kalyba enters the rock, which closes on her.
So that account is closed! (to St. Patrick)
My brave young Paddy,
Your hand! (to St. Andrew)
and yours, my bonnie Highland laddie,
(to St. David)
My dauntless David, and my trusty Tony, (to St. James)

My Spanish don, (to St. Denis)
and my gay Gallic crony,
Your hands! May all our nations thus be found,
Link'd in true friendship, whilst the world goes round.
But come, there's business for us all to do;
And more, perhaps, than we can well get through.
There never was a time when gallant knights
Were more required to set the world to rights!
Monsters of all sorts are abroad, in heaps,
From monster meetings down to monster sweeps—
Giant oppressors upon foreign shores,
Horrible brutes, and most prodigious bores,
Rapacious harpies, who on minors prey,
Syrens, who sing the souls of men away!
Fatal delusions, moral and political,
That vex the Globe, and make the Times more critical.
Go forth, then, Champions, over land and water,
Defend the right, and give the wrong no quarter!
Air—St. George—“Lucia di Lammermoor.”
Each to his task, and be renowned in story!
St. George for England, to increase her glory!

(Exit)
St. And.
Andrew for Scotland, to swell her Exchequer!

(Exit)
St. Dav.
David for Wales—to look after Rebecca!

(Exit)
St. Den.
Denis for France—who's had some awkward rubs,
From the wild men, who sway terrific clubs.

(Exit)
St. Ant.
And Anthony for Italy—I hope
To find some Romans left, if not a Pope!

(Exit)
St. James.
St. James for Spain—intriguers vile to banish,
Spaniards who feel for nothing but the Spanish!

(Exit)
St. Pat.
St. Patrick then for Ireland, I suppose,
But what's to be done with it—Heaven knows!

(Exit)

Scene Second.

—An Oasis in the Deserts of Arabia—In the centre a mulberry tree.
Enter St. Denis.
St. Den.
Well may they call this Araby the blest!
I've found, as yet, no wrong to be redrest.
Soft! here comes one in such a shabby weed,
He wants redressing very much indeed!
Enter Aile-de-Pigeon.
Who are you, friend, your name and station—say?

Aile.
Aile-de-Pigeon, from Paris—Perruquier.

St. Den.
A perruquier! what brought you to a nation
Where wigs are never worn?

Aile.
Fraternization.
I sailed from Marseilles with a bold crusader,
Of whom I knew no more than Abdel Kader.
But I had money—he had not a sous,
And so 'twas settled I should pay for two.

St. Den.
And what was he to do for you in turn?

Aile.
Why, that exactly I could never learn,
Whilst the cash lasted.

St. Den.
And when that was flown?

Aile.
He had flown too—and so I've never known.

St. Den.
Pauvre Pigeon! and these rags which I view—

Aile.
Are his old clothes; he took mine which were new.

St. Den.
Take both your money and your clothes—the thief!

Aile.
Pardonnez moi—the crime in his belief
Was mine—all property is counted theft.
No man's all right till he has nothing left.

St. Den.
Is this the new philosophy of France?
Against it will St. Denis break a lance!
Aile-de-Pigeon, your champion here you see.
From Paris, you must sure know St. Denis!

Aile.
St. Denis! Sir, of you I've often read,
But always thought till now, you wore your head
Beneath your arm.

St. Den.
An image merely, friend,
To shew you must not on your head depend
In countries where, to speak without a scoff,
It's one day heads up and the next, heads off!
But come, if to take service you've a mind
I want a squire—

Aile.
Sir, you're very kind.
I'm tired of equality, and so
Jump at proposals, made so apropos!

St. Den.
I'll get you into better habits soon.
But I have travelled far this afternoon
And need some slight refreshment and repose;
Yon branches proffer shade, and food disclose.
Gather me some of that rich tempting fruit,
The whilst I make a pillow of the root.

Music—Aile-de-Pigeon gathers some mulberries as St. Denis seats himself under the tree—Aile-de-Pigeon hands him down some of the fruit, but the instant St. Denis has tasted it, he disappears, and a Stag is seen in his place.
Aile.
(retreating hastily from the tree)
Air—Aile-de-Pigeon—“Maitre Corbeau.”

Voice
. (from tree)
Listen!

Aile.
Ha! listen! Well, I do. Who spoke?

Voice.
The tree!

Aile.
The tree! come, that is a good joke!
It's some one locked up in a trunk.

Voice.
You're right!
A vile enchanter did it out of spite;
But lose no time! Go find a rose, and make
Your master eat it, and the spell will break.

Aile.
A rose! I'll never rest till one I find!
(hunting horns in the distance)
But hark! the hunter's horns are on the wind!
Oh, quickly hide your horns, my dearest master,
Or I foresee some terrible disaster.

Voice.
Go seek the rose, and leave the deer to me,
My boughs are bent on sheltering him, you see.

(the boughs of the tree gradually droop over the Stag and conceal him)
Aile.
Sensitive plant, you are a friend in season,
I'll trust your leaves, although your fruit is trees-on.

(Exit)
Enter Katchim and Huntsmen.
Chorus
—“Guillaume Tell.”
We all went out a hunting,
The break of day before,
In hopes to stop the grunting
Of a most enormous boar!
Tantarara—tantarara!
But he made it soon appear—
Tantarara—tantarara!
We'd got the wrong pig by the ear—
Till a young knight
To our delight
Into his spare rib poked a spear!

Enter Slaves, Art-i-Chok, and Zuliemah in a litter or palanquin.
Katchim.
Commander of the Faithful, mighty Caliph,
Your servants hope for ever that you may live,
And they to see you—

Art.
Speak

Katchim.
Great sir, without
Your leave, I dare not.

Art.
Get on, or get out!

Katchim.
The orders of my Sovereign are fulfilled.
The boar that bothered us so long is killed!

Art.
By whom?

Katchim.
A stranger knight, who came incog.,
And went against him—the entire hog.

Art.
Set him immediately our face before!

Katchim.
Dread Sovereign, which—the stranger or the boar?

Art.
Both, for each might be both—

Katchim.
Approach!

Music—enter Arabs, bearing the head of a gigantic Boar, and followed by St. James.
Katchim.
Behold,
O King! the trophy and the victor bold!
To be rewarded handsomely he claims.

Art.
What art thou?

St. James.
Caliph, I am called St. James,
Champion of Spain.

Art.
By Mahomet's grandmother,
He is an infidel!

St. James.
You are another!
The deed is done, and I demand the prize!

Art.
Seize him, and bind him to yon tree—he dies!

(they obey)
St. James.
I've killed a great boar, but this is a greater!
Is this your gratitude, you pagan traitor?

Art.
For the short time you'll draw it, spare your breath!
We'll grant one favour—you may choose your death!

St. James.
Then by a maiden's hand let me be shot!

Katchim,
How very sentimental, is it not?

Art.
Agreed! And fortunately here's our daughter;
She's a toxopholite of the first water!
Zuliemah, darling, take your bow and arrow,
And shoot him as you would a young cock-sparrow!

Zulie.
Alas, dear father, see, my arm's not steady,
For he has shot me through the heart already!
Oh, pardon him, or see your daughter fall
On her own dart!

(suiting the action to the word)
Art.
Stop! that won't do at all.

Zulie.
Between your vengeance and your daughter choose!

Art.
Oh, my paternal fondness you abuse!
Release the infidel, and let him go.

(he is unbound)
St. James.
(to Zuliemah)
To you I dedicate the life I owe.

Art.
That dedication is not by permission!
Hence, of your life take off this new edition.
March!

(Exeunt Art-i-Chok, Zuliemah, and Suite)
St. James.
Air—St. James—“Isabelle.”

Enter Leporello.
Lep
Señor!

St. James.
Ha!

Lep.
May you live a thousand years!
My mistress, Zuliemah, 'twixt hopes and fears,
Sends you these flowers, which in their orthography
Mean, she will fly with you through all geography,
Cutting the Koran, as she cuts her tether,
And so embrace your faith and you together!

St. James.
Delicious flowers, back to that fairer flower,
And beg she'll name the day, and fix the hour!
First at St. James's Church we'll tie the knot,
Then off to Spain, as fast as we can trot.

Lep.
To Spain! Oh, St. Jago!

St. James.
Hold, good fellow.
Are you a Spaniard?

Lep.
Sir, I'm Leporello.

St. James.
How, Leporello! What, the very zany
Who lived some time ago with Don Giovanni!
What wind has blown you, pray, so far from Seville?

Lep.
Why, when my master, sir, went to the devil,
I can't say that I felt inclined to follow him.
So, soon as I had seen the trap-door swallow him,
I bolted, and to Barbary went over.

St. James.
What made you to that barbarous land a rover?

Lep.
Alas, señor, in many things to me,
Spain seems more barbarous than Barbary.
Kept by her own flies in perpetual blister,
By turns Christino, Carlist, Progresista;
Whilst liberty in strong convulsions lingers,
Monarchs make matches, but to burn their fingers;
With fluctuating funds, and constant fetters,
Mock patriots and bona-fide debtors,
'Tis hard to say who've most care on their shoulders,
Those held in bonds, or those who are bond holders.

St. James.
Castile is famed for honour still, I hope?

Lep.
Castile, at present, is more famed for soap.

St. James.
Fine tempered blades Toledo still displays?

Lep.
They're not quite so good-tempered now-a-days.

St. James.
Poor Spain, a champion yet from wreck may save her,
But first to liberate my fair enslaver!

Lep.
Leave me alone for that, good señor mine,
I've had some practice in the eloping line;
I'll aid her to decamp from watch and warders,
And be your aide-de-camp till further orders.

Duo—St. James and Leporello—“Giovinetti.”
Then/I'll away to the lady and say 'tis my/your glory
To bear her from her Saracen pa,
“As the bul-bul is true to the rose” the old story, old story,
You/I can say to her—et cetera, et cetera,
That we'll start by the next ship will sail if
The start we can get of the Caliph,
And happy to be I/you can't fail if
Beloved by the fair Zuliemah, Zuliemah!

(Exit Leporello)
Enter Aile-de-Pigeon.
Aile.
I've beaten every bush to find a rose;
Not e'en a dog's one in the desert grows!
Wonder of wonders! who is this I see?
My master retransformed—great St. Denis.

St. James.
St. Denis! no, I am St. James of Spain.
What know you of my friend in arms?—explain.

Aile.
Oh, sir, to save him, you by fate are sent, sure!
He's had the most remarkable adventure!
He took a fancy to some ripe mulberries,
But they turned out to be vile black-art cherries.
Changed to a stag, behold the gallant knight!

(parting the boughs and shewing the Stag)
St. James.
I'm absolutely staggered at the sight!
What can restore his blood to circulation,
In human form, from this state of stagnation?

Aile.
Eating a rose—there's one in that bouquet!

St. James.
The rose my love gave with her heart away!
Yet, in such cause, to hesitate were sin!

(gives rose to Aile-de-Pigeon, who gives it to the Stag.)
Aile.
Eat, sir, and jump for joy out of your skin.

The Stag disappears, and St. Denis is seen in his place.
St. Den.
My brother champion, and my liberator!

St. James.
Of this vile deed, who was the perpetrator?

Voice.
(from the tree)
Let me out, and I'll tell you in a minute.

St. James.
A talking tree!

Aile.
There is some Miss Tree in it!

St. James.
Then let her out by all means.

St. Den.
So I would, man,
If I but knew the way.

Voice.
Then, like a good man,
Don't spare the tree, but fell it at a blow,
With your good sword.

St. Denis.
“Mont joie!” then, be it so!
It seems ungrateful to the boughs that hid me,
But, by their leaves, I'll do just as you bid me,

Music—He strikes the tree with his sword—It sinks and discovers the Princess Mora.
Mora.
Thanks, noble champion, a Princess am I,
The daughter of the King of Thessaly,
Boxed up for seven years alone to pine,
Because I boxed the ears of Ormandine,
A necromancer then at Court the fashion,
Who dared confess to me his lawless passion.

Enter Ormandine.
Orman.
Who ventures mighty Ormandine to name?
Ah! fiends and fire, 'tis lucky that I came.

St. Den.
Fair Princess, I your champion am for life.
Away!

St. James.
Stop! I would also take a wife.

Enter Leporello and Zuliemah.
Lep.
And here she is, sir, ready to be taken!

Zulie.
Oh! fly, my love, before my father waken!

(going)
Orman.
Not quite so fast.

St. Den.
S'death! quickly clear the course, sir, or—

Orman.
You are a saucy one, but I'm a sorcerer.

Mora.
'Tis Ormandine himself!

St. James.
The wizard slay!

Orman.
Fiends of the desert, hearken, and obey.
Simoon and sand-storm darken earth and sky,
And sweep my captives off to Tartary!

(Music—Storm—Enter Demons—The Knights, their Ladies, and Attendants are borne off by Ormandine and Storm Fiends)

Scene Third.

—Hall in the Giant's Castle—Arch in centre, closed by curtains.
Enter Lazzarone.
Laz.
Who'd serve a giant? There can be no doubt,
The way to serve him is to serve him out!
And so I would, before he was much older,
Had nature made me just a trifle bolder.
But I confess that, in my composition,
Courage has been a singular omission;
And in my cranium, as described by Gall,
Combativeness I cannot find at all!
Air—Lazzarone—“Non piu mesta.”
Here comes the lady, who, with voice and lute,
Lulls every night to sleep the monstrous brute!
One of the King of Thrace's seven daughters.
The other six are swans on yonder waters;
Poor spell-bound birds, with no hope their release of;
Their only crime, they wouldn't be made geese of.

Enter Una.
Una.
Good Lazzarone! I'm in such a flurry—
Where is the Giant?

Laz.
Gone out in a hurry—
Called for his seven-league boots, before I'd black'd 'em,
And pulled them on so hard he almost crack'd 'em;
Put on his great great coat, that wasn't brushed!
Shouldered his awful club, and out he rushed!

Una.
That's some relief, for know, to my amazement,
I saw just now, whilst peeping from my casement,
The nicest young man, standing in the garden,
Who most politely bowed, and begged my pardon;
But having heard of our sad situation,
He'd come to offer us emancipation.

Laz.
Emancipation! a poor silly youth,
Who wouldn't fill the giant's hollow tooth!
Dissuade him, madam, from the rash endeavour,
Or we shall be in a worse scrape than ever!

Una.
No! for this beating heart with love is quite full!
I've let him in—

Laz.
You have! for something frightful!

Enter St. Anthony.
St. Ant.
For something handsome, rather say, you lout,
For I'm let in to let this beauty out!
Words I have none to speak my admiration,
St. Anthony ne'er had such a temptation.

Laz.
St. Anthony!

St. Ant.
Of Italy.

Laz.
Evviva!
Oh, then in you I must be a believer!
From Naples, I, Povero Lazzarone,
Forced by stern fate from mirth and maccaroni;
Slave to a monster who delights to beat me,
And tells me to be thankful he don't eat me!

St. Ant.
Destroy the wretch!

Laz.
It's easy to say do it;
His skull's so thick, no pickaxe could break through it!

Una.
His heart's so hard, no dagger need he dread!

Laz.
His neck's so stiff, you can't cut off his head;
Whilst yours he'd twist as easy as a pigeon's!

St. Ant.
I bring a wond'rous charm from happier regions,
The gunpowder of intellectual progress,
That floors the giant, and eats up the ogress;
Lay to it but the train of education,
And fire it with the spark of emulation,
A blaze of light these gloomy walls will rend,
And put to brutal ignorance an end!

Una.
Quick, where's the charm?

St. Ant.
Already in the mine.
Beneath his chair, placed there by hands divine,
I'll lay the train, and wake the electric spark
That shall achieve your liberation.

(two loud knocks)
Una.
Hark!

Laz.
Oh, murder, there's his thundering double knock,
It gives my nervous system such a shock!

Una.
He has come home to supper.

St. Ant.
Let him sup,
After his blow out, shall come his blow up.

Music—They retire—The curtains of the centre arch open and discover the Giant seated at a table.
Giant.
How now! my supper, slaves, I'm hungry—zounds!
Why isn't it on the table, lazy hounds?
Quick, or I'll gobble you up, one and all!
Slaves enter with supper, which they place on table.
I've walked a thousand miles to make a call
On my friend, Ormandine, to talk about
These seven young vagabonds, but he was out.
Confound it! I'm not easy in my mind;
Where'er I go some of these boys I find
Are setting folks agog for knowledge, freedom,
Peace, commerce, and all things to good that lead 'em!
There'll be an end soon of these dear dark ages,
War be unknown, and labour gain fair wages,
No slaves to trample on, no weak to plunder—
What's to become of all great rogues, I wonder?

Laz.
(aside and peeping)
I long to see what will become of one.

Giant.
What, ho! you slaves; there, take away, I've done.
(Slaves remove plates)
Where's Una?

Una.
(advancing)
Here, my lord.

Giant.
I want my nap!
Sing.

Laz.
(aside)
It will be your dirge, I hope, old chap.

Una.
What shall I sing, sir?

Giant.
Something very grand—
That means, which nobody can understand,
And consequently everybody's praising;
How fast I sleep through it, is quite amazing.

Una.
(aside)
I'll sing a ballad, taught me by my mother,
The stupid brute don't know one air from t'other!
National Ballad—Una—To its own air.
Hark, how he snores! asleep already fast.

Laz.
There is a match for him, I hope, at last.

Una.
Now at a blow, Sir Knight, our bondage end.

St. Ant.
Here goes!

Laz.
And up goes our extensive friend!

(an explosion—The Giant and building disappear, and change to

Scene Fourth.

—Coral Grotto and Fairy Lake—Six Swans are discovered on the lake, with golden crowns on their heads, and golden collars and chains round their necks.
Laz.
St. Anthony for Italy! bravo!
'Twas a toss up, but we have won the throw.

Una.
Oh, gallant champion, crown your noble deed,
See where my sisters for their freedom plead.

Laz.
Their swan-like necks are yet as free from red scars,
As swan-down boas, bought at Swan and Edgar's!
But when foul Ormandine learns what you've done,
With swan shot he'll bring swans down every one!

St. Ant.
Alas! fair maiden, useless here my aid is,
I have no power to help these poor young ladies!
(trumpet without)
A trumpet? who comes hither—friend or foe?

Laz.
Oh, signor! such great news!

(bagpipes)
St. Ant.
Those sounds I know!

Enter St. Andrew, Bagpiper, and King of Thrace.
St. And.
Your friend and brother!

Una.
And I know that face!
My royal father!

St. And.
Yes, the King of Thrace.
Wandering within a wilderness hard by,
I found him piping his paternal eye;
And pitying the poor old Pagan's pucker,
Proposed to give his seven daughters succour;
Provided he would change for ours his creed,
To which he for himself and heirs agreed.
You, my brave friend, the Giant's goose have cooked,
I to re-dress his swans by fate am booked;
Instead of Pagan fowl, be Christian fair!
Sink swans—and rise the darling ducks you were!

Chorus—Invisible Spirits—“Scots wha' hae.”
Swans that bitter tears have shed,
Swans that weary lives have led,
Sink into your watery bed
And shake your feathers there.
Now's the time of day, my flowers,
Of Ormandine we brave the powers;
Rise at this command of ours—
Ladies as you were!
“The Lass of Gowrie.”
See, they rise in all their charms!
They've dropped their wings, and shoulder'd arms,
While Scotland's ancient music warms
To life the fairy waters,
Starting from their grottoes round,
Wondering nymphs with lilies crown'd,
Dance to that inspiring sound,
As they were Scotland's daughters!

Music—During which the Swans sink, and in their place Six Princesses appear, gorgeously attired, seated in mother-of-pearl shells—Dance of Water Nymphs.