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 :5^-«S^?r;^rv^-^^'S5«^*W^^~>--^^^km:i^'s^".'»^i^^ 
 
 MARINA. 
 
 THE 
 
 FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A]^ OPERATIC ROMANCE, 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 AS REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 WORDS AND MUSIC BY 
 
 WILLIAM MCDONNELL. 
 
 PRICE, 15 CENTS. 
 
 PUBLISHED m STRANGE & CO., MUSIC PUBLI8NERS, 120 KINO-ST., TORONTO. 
 
 PRINTED AT THE CANADIAN POST PRINTING OFFICE. 
 1884. 
 
 a^ 
 
 n • ^ ■ ■ 
 
 jD'vw ijXxi^ •. ■^j:ikd 
 
^— ^^n 
 
 
 F] 
 
 Enti 
 tibe yea 
 Agriculi 
 
4. 
 
 Mi- -1^1^ 
 
 MARINA, 
 
 THE 
 
 FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 AN OPERATIC ROMANCE, 
 
 TN THRIVE ACTS. 
 
 WORDS AND iXlUSIC BY 
 
 WILLIAM MCDONNELL. 
 
 Entered acoordint; to Act of Pai-liament of the Dominion of Canada in 
 ttie year 1883, by WILLIAM McDONNELL, iu the office of the Minister of 
 Agriculture. 
 
^miMP 
 
 
 OPERATIC ROMANCE 
 
 T'., ■■ ' - 
 
 OF 
 
 MARINA, 
 
 THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Stephen, 
 
 Barton, 
 
 Harry, 
 
 Sir Richard Ford, 
 
 Captain Ford, 
 
 Sergeant of the Ghenadieus 
 
 Queen's Messenger. 
 
 Marina, 
 
 Anna, 
 
 Lady Ford, 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 A Young FiHherman. 
 An Old Fisherman, Father of Marina. 
 
 A Fisherman. 
 
 Failicr of Captain Ford. 
 
 Officer in the Arm v. 
 
 The Fisherman's Daughter. 
 
 • Her Friend. 
 
 Mother «f Captain Ford. 
 
 Fishermen, Soldiers, Maidens, Etc., Etc. 
 
 Scene 
 
 Mi 
 
 I 
 (1 
 1 
 
 ARGUMENT. ' 
 
 Stephen, a younK fisherman, is in love with Marina, the flsherman's 
 daughter, who does not return his affection. Anna, her friend, loves 
 Stephen, but he can give her no encouraKament. Whru Si^nphen becomes 
 fully satisfied that Marina can be nothing more than his friend, be 
 abandons the occupation of a fisherman, enlists, and is sent to India. 
 After thin Marina leaves homo and becomes lady's maid to Lady Ford, 
 in Sir Richard Ford's house. Their only son, Captain Ford, is an oflicer 
 in the Army, on foreign nervico. tio gets leave «tf absence and returns, 
 brioRing Sti'phcn, a Roldler of his own regimental company, with him. 
 Captain Ford meei4 Marina in his father'^ house and falls in love with 
 her. (Stephen, jealous of thoir intimacy, and believing that Captain 
 Ford has ilishonurabio inleiitions toward her, fires at him, but giveshim 
 only a nlight wound. Siephnn then attempts suicido, but is prevented 
 from its conuniBsion bj' Marina. He is subsequently arrested, tried by a 
 court>martial and condemned to be shot. Great influence is brought in 
 his favor l)y Sir Richarc' Ford, Captain Ford and others, and a pardon is 
 received just as he is being led ofT for execution. Anna's faithfulness 
 and constancy have at lant won his afTections, and Captain Ford obtains 
 the hand of Marina, the llbherman's daughter. 
 
 D 
 
 All. 
 
MARINA 
 
 THE 
 
 FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 TER. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Fisherman, 
 of Marina. 
 Fipherraan. 
 ptain Ford. 
 I the Army. 
 
 8 Daughter. 
 Flcr Friend, 
 pptain Ford. 
 
 I flsberman's 
 friend, loves 
 hen becomes 
 ft friend, be 
 nt to India. 
 Lady Ford, 
 is an ofticer 
 Eind returns, 
 y, with him. 
 in love with 
 bat Captain 
 ut f!;iveBhim 
 is prevented 
 id, tried by a 
 t brought in 
 I a pardon io 
 faithfulness 
 B'ord obtains 
 
 Scene Ist. — A sea view, fishenmn's boats, nets, etc. Harry ami 
 fishermen weariwj sou' -imsters, blue jackets, jerseys, longfisfier- 
 men's hoott, etc. Some mending nets, etc., etc. 
 
 Openin(! Chokuh. 
 
 Now dawns the day, we mnnt away, 
 
 To reacli our ground out in the bay, out in the bay, 
 
 The wind is fair, we'll hoist each sail, 
 
 And scud before the fav'ring gale; 
 
 And when far out our lines we'll throw, 
 
 And let our trusty anchors go, 
 
 Or spread our nets in one wide sweep, 
 
 To catch the fishes of the deep. 
 
 Solo. But should the wind or sky or sea. 
 
 For our industry adyerse be, all adverse be, 
 We'll by our cheerful firesides stay, 
 • Till wind or storm shall pass away, shall pass away ; 
 
 Duett. Or, while we mend each net or sail, 
 Wtj'll listen to the rushing gale. 
 And patient wait till each stout boat, , 
 la once more on the waves afloat. 
 
 All. Then let us go, the sky is clear, 
 
 We'll catch the breeze and outward steer, and outward steer. 
 
 We'll hoist each sail, each line we'll cast, 
 
 And spread our nets while day shall last, while day shall 
 
 lasbj 
 And homeward then we'll turn once more. 
 To greet our waiting friends ashore. 
 Then hoist each sail, yo ho, yo ho. 
 Haul in the well filled nets, yo ho, 
 Yo ho, yo ho, yo ho, we go. 
 
 {'f/iey motion as if pulling a rope*) 
 
Fnter Barton. 
 
 Barton. That's the way, my goo<l lads, that's tho way. When 
 a sailor or fishorman Hinsfs "yo he," it is a kind of ovidenoe that 
 he's willing to start ofl', and I see all heie are ready. 
 
 Hakuy. We are all ready. 
 
 BNSEUDLE. 
 
 Yes, we're ready, calm and Pteady, 
 Yes, we're ready, one and all ; 
 Yes, we're ready, calm and steady. 
 Yes, we're ready, ready all. 
 
 Harry. Yes, we're ready; but where is Stephen 1 He has not 
 been here for more than a week. What's come of him 1 
 
 Barton. Well, he is not of a mind to come witli us to-day 
 — but 'tis so now every day. Something's amiss with the lad. 
 His mother, poor body, is fretting on his account. She says he 
 oares no more for boats or sails or nets, that she's afeard, from 
 what he says, that he wants to travel to foreign parts. 
 
 All. (Surprised.) To foreign parts ! 
 
 All. 
 
 To foreign parts the iad will go. 
 
 Heigh ho, heigh ho. 
 To foreign parts the lad will go. 
 
 Heigh ho, heigh. 
 To foreign parts the lad will go, 
 Harry. Twenty l)roken hearts or so, 
 All. The sad result we ail shall know. 
 Heigh ho, heigh ho. 
 
 To foreign parts the lad will gq. 
 
 Heigh ho, heigh ho. 
 To foreign parts the lad will go. 
 
 Heigh ho, heigh. 
 To foreign parts the lad will go, 
 Harry. Twenty girls will feel such woe, 
 A.LL. They'll all become old maids, we know. 
 
 Heigh ho, Stephen. - 
 
 Harry. What has come over him, friend Barton? 
 
 Barton. 1 cannot tell. His mother thinks that his mind is 
 somewhat aatray. 
 
 Harry. 'Tis rather his heart. That has been astray for some 
 time. His mind is wandering and he likely wants to follow it. 
 
 Barton. His mother thinks he has taken a dislike to the sea, 
 
my. When 
 denoe that 
 
 He has not 
 n? 
 
 us to-day 
 kh the lad. 
 e says he 
 feard, from 
 
 is mind is 
 
 y for some 
 bllow it. 
 to the sea, 
 
 and that if ho cannot get ofi' any other way he'll go and enlist — he 
 may have done so already. 
 
 All. (Surprised). 'List, and become a soldier ! 
 
 Harrt. What ! a soldier with a red ooat ] 
 
 Sings. A red red ooat this lad will wear, 
 
 His bear skin cap will make one stare, 
 
 He'll stand erect with shoulders square; 
 
 You'll scarcely see his close cropped hair, 
 All. His martial look will almost scare. 
 
 A gun and bayonet he will bear, 
 
 The nation's foes he then will dare, 
 
 Besides, good lord, how he will swear. 
 
 He'll soon strut round without much care, 
 
 A soldier will have time to spare. 
 
 Barton. Yes, a red coat soldier, but if he gets to be one — and 
 their enemies know that they fight like furies — ^don't reproach him, 
 for he might turn and snap worse than a shark. 
 
 Harry. Well, if he would rather wear a red coat than a blue 
 jacket, what can we tliink 1 But mates, (turning to his comrades) 
 I know there's something wrong, and 'tis this — If one I know 
 only says the right word he will never leave this work. 
 
 All. What one ? 
 
 Harry. Why, wo all know. 
 
 All. Not all of us. 
 
 One 1 don't know, tell me. 
 
 AxarHER. Tell me. 
 
 Another. Tell me. 
 
 One after the Other. (They Sing.) 
 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell m^. 
 Harry. I cannot tell. 
 
 The Others (as before). Tell me, tell wie, tell me, tell me. 
 Harry. I must not tell. 
 
 The Others. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me. 
 
 Harry. I should not tell. 
 
 The Others. Tell me, tell me, tell ww, tell me. 
 
 Harry. Perhaps I'll tell. 
 
 (They all crowd near Harry.) 
 
 Harry. Well, this 1 can tell. He is head oyer heels in love 
 with Marina, still to no purpose. But there is Anna love sick 
 for him (why is she not so for me?; yet Stephen only throws a 
 wet blanket over her flame. Poor girl ! 
 
 One. Try one of them yourself, Harry. 
 
 Harry. One 1 Faith I'd try them both, but it's no use, they 
 don't cai'e for me. 
 
a 
 
 One. Do not «IeB|mir, lliUTv. 
 
 Haiikv. No, I won't »l('H|»iiir: noitlmr will 1 hioak my Hoart 
 ovpi" it. My ai>iM!tito hIihII not Hiifl'cr for that. Hut poor ytoplion 
 ifl in H bail wav — Hick all ovor. 
 
 Hauuv tilnyH, 
 
 If one I know would juut but nay, 
 "Stay, Stoplion, do not go away," 
 Uo'd novor go, full well 1 know — 
 
 ClIOIUH. 
 
 He'd never, never, ncvei go. 
 Haruy. 
 
 If one I know would juKt come here, 
 And Ray to Stephen, ••have no fear." 
 
 A Mi. 
 
 If she'd come hero, if nhe'd come here, 
 And say to Htephon, "have no fear," 
 His doubts would fly and then wo know 
 He'd novel', never go. 
 
 Barton. 
 
 He might not go, he will not stay, 
 For that ons word she'll never say. 
 
 Chorus. 
 For that one word she'll never say. 
 Harry. 
 I know the one you mean ; she is your daughter. 
 Can you not entreat the pretty maiden 
 Stephen's wish to meet. 
 
 All {except Barton.) 
 
 His daughter, yes, 'tis so. 
 
 Cannot friend Barton say, 
 "My child, speak fair ; my child, speak fair, 
 
 He must not go away." 
 
 The maiden will submit, 
 
 If ho but says to-day, 
 "My child, take carc! ; my chihi, be fair, 
 
 Keep Stephen at the Bay; 
 
 Keep Stephen at the Bay. 
 
 Barton! No, 1 shall never dictate to her in matters of the 
 heart. If she cannot say to me, "Fathoi*, I like Stephen as well 
 as he likes me," I will not press her to do so. 
 
 4.LL. Nobly spoken. 
 
iioart 
 tophon 
 
 tho 
 well 
 
 OllouuH {cxcrpt liartnn.) 
 
 Nobly Huid, he Iohvob her frou to chooHo, 
 Nor IiHve her neck in an unhappy noose. 
 
 Harry. Tf he can't get yonr daughtor, then let him tako the 
 other one. That's whiit I HhouM do. 
 
 All. Ha, hn, ha, hn, ha, hii ! 
 
 Barton. I wish ho would consent to make Anna happy. I 
 fear it would l)0 usoloss to hint anything to hiiu about her lUi he 
 loves another. Yet ho holds hor in high imteoni. 
 
 Harhy {coajidmitially to liiirton). Speak to hor about nu'. 1 
 don't mean your daughter — but just as you like. I'd make one 
 or the other ever so hupi)y. 
 
 Barton, f believe in a free choice. I shall not say a word. 
 
 Haruy. Not a word. 
 
 All Sinu (except Barton). 
 
 Not a word will he say, 
 
 Not a word will he write. 
 Lot her choose whom she raav, 
 
 Whether black, brown or white. 
 
 SoNQ. — Barton. 
 
 I'll never tell the lips to speak, 
 
 Words which tho heart can never fri'me, 
 Noi '.yould I like a tyrant seek, 
 
 To force or. love another name. 
 Whene'er the heart cannot be free. 
 
 Its faith will prove a mockery, 
 
 Its faith will prove a mockery. 
 
 What sorrow comes ia after yeai-s, 
 
 To those who vows will falsely make, 
 Each hollow pi-omise brings but tears, 
 
 When souls from sordid slumber wake. 
 Love cannot livo without being free, 
 
 Its strength lies in its purity. 
 
 Its strength lies in its purity. 
 
 All Sing (except Barton). 
 Those honest words are spoken well, 
 IjOvo only can in pure heaits dwell, 
 If e'er 'twas bought, 'twas but in nam&, 
 Its passing shadow only came. 
 
 Harry niiKja. 
 What can we do, what can we do, 
 To keep a man so tried and true. 
 
8 
 AiL. So tned and tme, so tried and true. 
 
 Harry. 
 
 We have another maiden here, 
 
 And many still will say, 
 That she would die for Stephen, 
 But her heart is thrown away. 
 
 I know her well what bliss 'twould be, 
 If she would only fancy me. 
 
 All, 
 
 If she did,'If she did, < > would quickly agree. 
 
 \ XT \ would quickly agree < [ should very soon see. 
 
 Harry. Well, as I am one of those sea gulls for whom nobody 
 cares, I shall perhaps be an old bachelor. 
 
 All. 
 Nobody cares for poor Harry, 
 He still is left out in the cold, 
 . "lis likely he never will marry, 
 
 But bachelor be when he's old. 
 
 Harly. From all I can sfio Stenhen is likely to l)e one also. 
 But how soi'ry one shall bo to lose him. He loves the wrong girl. 
 Now, I could love either. 
 
 All. So you could, Harry. 
 
 Haj^ry. But I have no chance. They are all angels, I suppose. 
 Wei', I must try and find a common mortal. If that fails I'll 
 take even a mermaid. 
 
 SON(i. 
 
 I'll take a mermaid wife, 
 
 If I can get no other, 
 Nor have a word of strife, 
 
 Wif;h filher or witli brother. 
 Bnb slioiild she be a flirt, 
 
 Or think more of another, 
 I'd feel but little hurt, 
 
 If I could get her mother. 
 Then deep down in the deep, deep, deep, 
 . My injured feelings smother. 
 Cnouus. 
 Away down in the deep, deep, deep, 
 
 )'Hk ) ^"J"'*^'^ feelings smother. 
 
Harry. 
 
 I'll taku a mermaid wife, 
 
 And live close by soim.* river, 
 I'll lead a quiet Ufe, 
 
 Though Horaetimos I might shiver, 
 To see her swim and dive 
 
 And bring up littde fishes, 
 Then eat thera all alive ,, .^ . 
 
 And never wash the dishes; 
 Then plunge down in the deep, deep, deep, 
 
 Regardless of my wishes. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Then plunge down in the deep, deep, deep, 
 
 Regardless of | ^^ | wishes. 
 
 I'll take a mermaid wife, 
 
 And some no doubt will wonder. 
 How 1 can keep alive, 
 V , 4 While with her I plunge under 
 
 ' The great big rolling waves — 
 
 The steeds she oft seems holding, 
 , , And live down in green oaveH, 
 
 My eyes her charms beholding, 
 Away down in the deep, deep, deep. 
 Where none can hear her scolding. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Away down in the deep, deep, deep, 
 Where none can hear her scolding. ' 
 
 Barton. This is an unhappy affair. How I wish that Anna 
 was Stephen's choice; how changed matteis would be. Yet, though 
 he is not her lover, he is her best friend and holds her in higli 
 regard. 
 
 Harry. He is always praising her and I know his raother 
 would like to have her for a daughter. Any way, I'd like to be 
 somebody's son-in-law. 
 
 (Sings.) I'd like to bo a son-in-law, 
 To some rich lady fair. 
 Who had a handsome daughter. 
 
 With ten thousand pounds her share, 
 
 Just ten thousand pounds for her share. 
 
 » 
 One. Tliat would not last you long, Harry. 
 Harry. Oh, yes, it would, that is, by close economy. 
 
 IX I 
 
 ■Hi.f hi, 
 
Wttto™* a -billing, to » »^^ 
 „ .V Well get her for me. .md if you pre.. ".'V^y 
 lS:;"i.tor«i&.o«ta.Ullin«. 
 
 All SiNO. 
 p^hi„h.rd and he'll be wUtog, 
 
 ^°,^houta.hiUin«anvd.y 
 
 BAETON. See, here she con.M. She loo „,,„.) 
 
 Jr2.d aside until Aep.»». ,^^,i c.) 
 
 rtlo^tim" H^w ^»^ « *rpLT /::t l secret hear 
 
 Su^^n."^rr*:w-'-^^> 
 
 Song— Anna. 
 How sad, how sad, that he must go away, 
 Sow dark will seem the uoon-da^; 
 NohoF,-o3oy.butcareandpam, 
 
 Till he i-etums again. 
 
 My throbbing heart i^ fiH^^ with^*'"' 
 My eyes grow dim with many a tear. 
 
 And gloomy is my way, 
 Till he returns again. 
 
 Ah must a maid her love for ever hide. 
 From him who is her heart's pnd. 
 She must not speak, she caanot tell. 
 But keeps her secret well. 
 
 Mv throbbing heart is filled with fear, 
 SyW-o- dim with many a tear. 
 
 And gloomy is my way. 
 Till he returns again. 
 
11 
 
 Ah, soon he'll leave, perhaps will ne'er come back, 
 O'er wild waves will be his track. 
 And when afar he will not see 
 How lonely I shall be. 
 
 M iiU 
 
 Ui' 
 
 
 JU'»' «l. 
 
 My throbbing heart is fillf/i with fear, 
 
 My eyes grow dim with many a tear, 
 
 And gloomy is my way, , ; ,v / 
 
 Till he returns again. o\ a^ < 
 
 {A alight noise is heard, and sfie is startled.) 
 
 Anna. Somebody must be near by. I hopo no one has heard 
 me. I must leave this. I shall go and see him again. 
 
 {She retires.) 
 
 {Enter Barton, Harry and Others.) 
 
 Barton. Lads, we have overheard her story. Name it not to 
 any one. It is too sacred for retail, she is to be pitied. 
 All. Yes, she is to be pitied. 
 
 Barton Sings. 
 
 Pity the suffering maid. 
 
 Who cannot tell her love, 
 Whose heart is sore afraid. 
 
 Like some poor stricken dove. 
 Who sighs alone by night and day, 
 And hides her grief fram all away. 
 
 Chorus. " ' 
 
 Who sighs alone by night and day. 
 And hides her grief from all away. 
 
 Ko man with honest heart, >'. : . .^ 
 
 Should lightly speak her name, 
 Or blame her for a part 
 
 Which brings no blush of shame. 
 She who can love so strong and true. 
 Must win respect from me and yon. v i 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 She who can love so strong and true, 
 Must win respect from me and you. 
 
 Harry. I think there is something in this love business I 
 don't quite understand. 
 
 Ond. I don't think you do, Harry. 
 
 '■i\ 
 H 
 
 ■M 
 
I i 
 
 12 
 
 Habby. Why should she think more of Stephen than of any 
 other handfiome young ff^How — tlmn ot me, for justance 1 
 
 khh. Than of you ! ha, ha, ha, Im. 
 
 Babton. Keep dear of trouble, Harry. It wouUl be well for 
 Stephen il' love was as great a myHtery to him as it seems to be to 
 you — hut here he comes himself. 
 
 (Enter Stephen, drensed as a fisherman: he hows to Barton and 
 to the others.) 
 
 St!2PHEN. I suppose you are waiting for me. 
 
 Harry. We are. 
 
 StEPHEN. I conte to say that you must not delay on my 
 account, for I must go oft' in anofch«*i' direction to-day. I must 
 indeed. 
 
 Harry. And leave your old friends'? 
 
 One. And me ? 
 
 Another. And me 1 
 
 Another. And me ? 
 
 Stephen. Yes, lads, T must leave you all. I need not explain 
 at present, but leave I must; fate has it so. 
 
 Barton. We are sorry to hear this, Stephen. You have been 
 almost a stranger of late. You were generally ready to start with 
 the first boat. 
 
 ensemble. 
 
 He was ready to start in the vei y first boat, 
 He would shove out from shore and be quickly afloat, 
 Then up went the sail, though the wind should be high. 
 And the craft o'er the waves like a sea-bird would fly. 
 
 "When the morning light spread o'er the waters so clear. 
 He oft took to the helm and far outward would steer, 
 Or he bent to an oar with a pull stout and strong. 
 And all kept time together while he sung a song. 
 
 Stephen. 
 But now I leave both sail and oar, 
 
 And landsman-like will stay ashoie, 
 Though I may still hear wild winds roar, 
 
 A fisherman I'll ne'er be more. 
 
 No neyer, never, never more. 
 
 A LL. What do you mean ? 
 
 Stephen (Taking Barton's hand, sings.) 
 
 My kind old friend, my trusty men, 
 I come to tell you we must part, 
 
 l > 
 
13 
 
 I cannot say we'll meet again, 
 
 To IpftVfi you painn me to the heart, 
 
 Foi- I may ^o to (Ustant lamln, 
 Wlien orders come I must oliey. 
 
 ShouUl tliesH to-morrow reach my hands, 
 1 cannot wait another day. 
 
 Ah, how I still would linger here, 
 
 Where happy thoughtless days I spent; 
 I knew no grief, I had no fear, 
 
 But days of brightness came and went. 
 At last dark clouds around were spread, >?•• t 
 
 And future gloom seemed in the air, 
 My hoi)es, my fondest hopes, were dead, 
 
 I felt the ])img» of deep despair, 
 So now I cannot, will not stay, 
 
 I'm ordered off and must obey. 
 
 And if again, in distant years, 
 
 I should leturn to this dear shore, 
 I might but realize my fears. 
 
 To find that I could see no more 
 Those trusty friends, so kind to me, 
 
 To find that they were dead or gone. 
 How lonely thsn my heart would be. 
 
 To know that I was here alone. 
 Yet now I cannot, will not stay, 
 
 I'm Ordeied off and must obey. 
 
 All. 
 
 What ! oi'dered off and must obey, 
 And must obey, and must obey ? 
 
 Stephen. Yes, ordered off and must obey. 
 
 Barton. 
 Strange words are these, can it be true 
 What we have heard concerning you 1 
 
 All Sing (eoccept Stephen). 
 
 Say is it true, and to this has it come. 
 
 That soldier you will be and march on merrily, 
 And bound at the sound of the trumpet and the drum. 
 
 Harry (recit.) 
 
 Please tell us now, great, noble, valiant sir. 
 Before you leave us or from here you stir, 
 Are you to be a trumpeter or drum-beater ? 
 
! I 
 
 II' 
 
 14 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Yes, I rauat march and that report is true, 
 For I'm novr here to bid yon all adieu, 
 And when far off [ never shall forget, 
 The boat and sail, and line and spreading net. 
 
 All. 
 
 Come, stay with us, keep on that honest dress, 
 Nor change for soldier's coat, canteen or mess. 
 
 Stephen. > 
 
 I cannot stay, but I will change it here, 
 And in my own true colors now appear. 
 Here I at last must leave this kind disguise. 
 And stand a soldier just before your eyes. 
 
 (H« JUngs off coat, cap, etc., and is seen in the uniform of a 
 
 British Grenadier.) 
 
 (Anna hurriedly enters foUmned hy a number of village maids. 
 They evince great surprise at seeing Stephen in soldier's 
 untform. 
 
 Anna (excitedly). Oh, Ood, what has he done. 
 Maxdkns. Tis true, what will Marina say ? 
 Anna. Yes, what will she say when she knows this, 
 blame herself forever. But here she comes. 
 
 She wUl 
 
 L! 
 
 {EiUers Marina, s/te looks at Stephen astonished, and runs to 
 
 Anna, taking her hand.) 
 
 Marina {to Anna). Am I to blamo for this 1 I now see what 
 he has done. How unfortunate ! 
 
 Anna. Oh, Marina, it is true, alas, too true ! 
 
 Duett — Marina and Anna. 
 Oh, God, what has he done 1 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, too true, 
 Now home and frinds he'll shun. 
 And me and you. 
 
 And he may roam where dangers round are spread, 
 In foreign lands an exile he may tread. 
 He may pass years far from his native shore, 
 He soon must leave, we ne'er may see him more. 
 
 Oh, God, what has he done 1 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, too true, 
 Now home and friends he'll shun, 
 
 And me and you. 
 
 I 
 
16 
 
 He is no longer free, 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, too true, 
 He leaves both you and me, 
 
 And all he knew. 
 
 O'er oceans wide he'll soon be borne away, 
 We'll scarcely know another happy day, 
 In some far land 'mid scenes of blood and strife. 
 Struck down by foes, he may yield up his life. 
 
 < He is no longer free, 
 
 Alas 'tis true, too true, 
 He leaves both you and me, 
 And all he know. 
 
 Harry. Sue, Stephen, what you have done. I could not get 
 up half such a ferment. Here they are runnning aftei you by the 
 dozen. If I were about to start for Gibraltar to-morrow not one 
 of them {pointing to t/ie Maidens) would say "dear Harry, stay." 
 Not one of them. 
 
 Stephen. How this distresses me, but it cannot now be helped. 
 
 Sings. It cannot now be changed, I must away. 
 
 Away from friends that I have held so dear, 
 Here with you now I can no longer stay. 
 But still for me you need not have a fear 
 
 Harry (aside.) I'm madly jealous. I almost wish I was a 
 soldier. {To his conwades.) Here, lads, we must give up our 
 fishing for to-day. Let us go and haul up the boats. {To StepJiten.) 
 We shall meet you at the barracks and see you off. 
 
 ENSEMBLE. 
 
 We shall not go out to-day 
 And the fishes in the bay, 
 May all dart around and play, 
 While we go see you away, 
 For we are rather shaken 
 . By the strange step you have taken. 
 
 Harry. Rather a quick step, isn't it 1 Lads, let us step toe; 
 we will go and haul up the boats. {Harry and his comrades exeunt.) 
 
 (STfiFUBN, Marina, Anna and Barton advaixce to C, The Maidens 
 cluster behind, conversing and looking at Stephen.) 
 
 Stephen. This is, I suppose, quite unexpected. 
 
 All {except Maidens). It is indeed. 
 
 Marina. To me it is. I im sorry you cannot remain. 
 
16 
 
 Anna. And so am I, and no aie wc «li. (Aside.) Alad, pool* 
 Stephen .' {HiqUn.) 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Iluw yiid iliiu parting ib to inu, 
 
 Oil, noiiu can toll; oh, iioik! cun tull, 
 
 For now I uiu no longer i'tvc, ' 
 I know it well, I know it well. 
 
 Anna (aside) sinp. 
 
 No longer free, how sad to me. 
 
 Mahina. 
 Painful to nie that he's not frew. 
 
 Bauton. 
 Ah, how diutrusBing thib to see. 
 
 Duett— Makina and Anna. 
 
 We all agveo 'tis sad to part. 
 And sunder ties which l)iud the heart, 
 No matter where the wand'i'er goes. 
 Through pleasant vales or mountain snows. 
 
 Qcaktetxe— Marina, Anna, Stephen and Bakton, 
 
 Or o'er the wild waves or placid lake, 
 His niom'ry never can forsake, 
 Each early scene and early friend. 
 These linger on till life shall end.- 
 
 Stephen. 
 Tis sad to part, perhaps no more 
 To see again your native shore, 
 Or on return, when years have fled. 
 To find your faithful friendb all dead. 
 
 Quartette. 
 And sadder still to part with one 
 Who oft will sigh when you are gone. 
 Nor court another's flatt'ring smile, 
 When you are distant many a mile. 
 
 All. 
 
 We all agree 'tis sad to part, 
 And sunder ties which bind the heart, 
 Each early scene and early friend, 
 In mem-ry lingers to the end. 
 
17 
 
 Anna( to Barton aside.) Cannot we ge"; I'ini fre?. If I hnd 
 money he should soon be at liberty. 
 
 Marina {to Barton aside). I have just overheard Anna. We 
 have money enough saved. We can pay for his discharge. 
 
 Barton {to Marina). He would never accept that 
 
 Barton {to Marina.) 
 
 Yea know, my child, the reason why 
 
 That Stephen will depart, 
 But come what will, I'll never try 
 * To force him on your heart. 
 
 Sono (Stephen to Marina.) ^ 
 
 Dear maid, I think of happy days, 
 
 Which near to thee weie spent, 
 And of the bright and cheerful rays 
 
 Thy prasence evw lent. 
 To think of thee was bliss indeed, 
 
 While hope I could descry, 
 But thin has passed away with speel — 
 
 You know the reason why. 
 
 Marina. What, I? What, I? 
 
 Stephen. Oh yes, you k^now the reason why. 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 I mu»b nut love, oh, could I quell 
 
 The flame within my breast, 
 Or break the strange and cruel spell 
 
 That robs my soul of rast, 
 1 could away with peaceful mind, 
 
 But now, alas, I sigh. 
 To Ipavo my heart and hope behind — 
 
 You know the reason why. ^ ,; 
 
 Marina. What, I? What, I ? 
 
 Stephen. Oh yes, you know the reason why. 
 
 Marina. 
 
 Ah nie, ah me, thai I should know 
 What causes thee such heavy woe, 
 And bids thee future hope forego. 
 And bids thee future hope forego, 
 But Hoon I shall depai*t and leave all heie, 
 My youthful home and every objecb dear. 
 
1* 
 
 All (to Stephen.) 
 
 Oh, would that you could stay, and here reiiiaia, 
 Nor wander from us to some distant shore, 
 
 Nor give yonr true And tried friends anxious pain, 
 To think that tliey may never see you more. 
 
 Oh, would that you could stay, but if it be 
 That you must go, we shall remember thee, 
 
 [f you must go, we shall remember thee, 
 
 fiARTON. Hark! {alllisteit. T/ie gouiid o/ small drums Iieard 
 in t/ie duta/nce.) 
 
 {Ths sound of ajifeand drum playing *'Tfte Girl I Left Behind 
 Me,** and t/ie tramp of approaching men are fieard in tfte 
 distance. 
 
 Stephen {aloud.) This must be the squad coming for me. 
 
 (All listen again. A number o/ grenadiers and maidens with flags, 
 etc., fteaded by aflfe and drum, enter. As they get on the stage 
 tfie orchestra play tfie ^'British Grenadiers." The men ma/rch 
 around tfte stage till tfie tune is ended, Steplien sakUes them. 
 Tftey tlian form a line and keep step, advancing and receding 
 while singing.) 
 
 We are the British Qrsnadierb, 
 A jovial set who have no fears, 
 We are the British Grenadiers, 
 
 March on, march on, away. 
 Though we can charge, and fire, and fis(ht, 
 We'd rather dance nnd sing all night. 
 Than wound or kill a foe through spite, 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah, hnnvh. 
 
 Ghoeus. We are the British Grenadiers, 
 
 A jovial set who have no fears, . 
 We are the British Grenadiers, 
 March on, march on, away. 
 
 We are the British Grenadiers, 
 B«ceived by girls and all with cheers. 
 We are the British Grenadiers, 
 
 March on, march on, away. 
 And if to battle we must go^ 
 We'll never crush a fallen foe, . 
 But lift him up and let him go, 
 , Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. 
 
19 
 
 OiiORUH. We are the British Qrenadiem, 
 
 A jovial tiot who have no fean, 
 We are the British Orenadiem, 
 March on, march on, away. 
 
 Sergeant (to Stephen.) 
 Well, my brave lad, here we are now for you, 
 I'm xlad to see that yoa are ready, too. 
 A prize to yoa in battle-field may fall — 
 A silver medal or a leaden ball. 
 
 Stephbn (to tlie Sergeant). 
 Indeed, kind sergeant, I do not; care which. 
 Perhaps the latter will make me most rich. 
 (To Anna, taking funr hand.) 
 Dear friend, my mother I shall leave to you, 
 Like me, she knows your heart is good and true. 
 Anna (to Stephen). 
 Till you come back, near her I here shall stay. 
 
 Stephen (to Anna). 
 Alas, whon shall that be, when, who can say 1 
 
 Anna (to Stephen). 
 Not long, I hope; you'll let us from you hear. 
 
 Stephen (to Anna.) 
 Yes, my good girl, of that you need not fear. 
 
 SoNO— Stephen. • 
 
 ( fVhile singing he makes corresponding drill movements. ) 
 
 I'm enlisted in the British ranks, 
 
 And, in my drill, must go through curious pranks; 
 
 Must keep "eyes right,' and then stand quite erect, 
 
 Wheel to the right, i orders so direct. 
 
 Or if "left wheel," m st face the other way. 
 
 Not long in one position can you stay. 
 
 A new reeve H they always like to tease — 
 
 'Tis now "attention," now 'tis "stand at ease." 
 
 "Forward" is heard, and forward you must go. 
 Or if "Retire," you must not be too slow, 
 "Prepare to charge," and down your bayonets fall, 
 "Make ready, fire," and o£P you send the ball. 
 A soldier's life attractive is to some. 
 Who like to hear the trumpet and the drum. 
 If I now fail, it shall not be my fault, 
 I'll do my duty till death bids me halt. 
 
 Stephen (to Sergeant.) I'm ready, sergeant; letusno longerstay. 
 
 Sergeant. All right, my man. {To the rnen.) Left wheel ! 
 Quick march, away. 
 
20 
 
 (They march twice around the atn^e, the ontidvnit waving time imth their 
 
 flaqn, and einijing) 
 
 These Hre the Bntish Gi>eiiit(]if>i-fi, 
 
 With tiear-skin oapv, huH ^ntw and spears, 
 
 ThesM are the Biritish Growidwn, 
 
 Don't they look proud and gtty ? 
 And when to dinnor thoy >dl go 
 Roast beef will inert a mortal foe, 
 No mercy then they ever show, 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah, hnrrnli. 
 
 (Exeunt all u-hih ringing tke first verse of the aong. Stdphkn marches 
 in tlit rear hettieen Marina arul A^NA, followed by miulens waving 
 thiir Jlays. CurtatH.) 
 
 (U 
 
 Si 
 
 End op Act T. 
 
 u 
 a 
 
 I 
 
their 
 
 n 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 St'KNK IsT — A ptirlour or tlrannng room. 
 
 ^Lady Ford HfateJ at a talk. Marina nnmng ntar bif. Enter 
 Sir Richard Ford, in lively vwod, /tolling out a letter. 
 Lady Foil) ami Marina rtW. IJemiyn: 
 
 Hnro U good newR, u lett(>i' junt to hand, 
 
 Hh hiiH arrived in Iuh own natiyo Innd. 
 
 Our Ron iH on Inn way and he will noon be here, 
 
 We may cheer up, wo my cheer up, 
 
 And now no longer fear. 
 
 Both {in lively mood). 
 
 We may cheer up, may cheer up, 
 And now no lonafer fear. 
 
 8iR Rioii'o. A day or leHS may bring him home once more, 
 Among his friendH on his own native Hhore, 
 A few hourH now at moat perhapa 'twill only be, 
 When our brave lad, when our brave lad, 
 We hero again shall aee. 
 
 Both. Our soldier lad, our soldier lad, 
 We here again shall see. 
 
 Lady Ford. What delightful news. My dear son to be with 
 us so soon. 
 
 Sir Kich'd. Yes, Dick is coming back all safe and sound, not 
 a head, or a leg, or an arm missing. 
 
 . Lady Ford {to Marina). Back after about four long years, 
 Marina. 
 
 Marina. A long time, indeed. It must be delightful intelli- 
 gence for your ladyship. 
 
 Sir Rioh'd. Pleasant, delightful, glorious; of course it is. I 
 feel joyfully excited. lEvincen delight.) 
 
 Lady Ford. He may be here now at any moment. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. At any momertt. I can scarcely restrain myself. 
 In fact we should do nothing but sing or dance till he comes back. 
 (He skips about.) 
 
 Lady Ford. Well, thank goodness, the war is over. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Yes, over for a while. But you know there must 
 be soldiers and periodical wars or else the human race would — 
 
28 
 
 would — that is to say, thero would bfi too many of us if we were 
 all let die a natural death. 
 
 Lady Ford. Shocking ! Dreadful to think of. But the war 
 is over at last. 
 
 Sin Rich'd. Over for the present. Anyway as Dick has his 
 head on his shoulders, I hope he will have no more to do with 
 bayonets, or bullets, or bombshells. 
 
 Lady Ford. Shocking ! Not if I can help it. 
 
 Duett — Sir Rtch'd and Lady Ford 
 
 The war is over and jieace proclaimed, 
 Some haye won honors, some are maimed 
 And many have fired their last shot. 
 How soon their names will be forgot, 
 
 Trio {with Marina). 
 
 But one comes free from wounds or pain. 
 He will be welcome home again, 
 But one comes free from wounds or pafn, 
 He will be welcome home again. 
 
 Duett. What anxious hours by night and day, 
 We've spent since he has been away. 
 What painful rumours oft were spread, 
 That he was found among the dead. 
 
 Trio. But back he comes across the main. 
 
 He will be welcome home again. 
 But back he comes across the main, 
 lie will be welcome home again. 
 
 Sir Bichard. Well, Dick knows what a welcome we shall 
 give him. After all his wandering he will find no place like his 
 early home. It was here where he was boni. 
 
 Lady Ford. Yes, here, and now after his long travels, he is 
 about to return to his birth-place. 
 
 Sir Bich'd. Why, it seems to me but yesterday since he was 
 racing around here as a boy, trundling his hoop, and like other 
 chaps of his age, quite mischievous at times. 
 
 Lady Ford. Oh, never very mischievous. — But, Marina, what 
 a lonely time we have had since he has been away. 
 
 Mahika. No doubt, your ladyship. 
 
 Lady Ford {to Marina.) You, of course, like others, have 
 formed an attachment for the home of your youth. That is 
 mostly associated in the mind with the fairest pictures of the 
 memory. 
 
 Mab 
 shaded 
 looking 
 on eari 
 
 Ch( 
 
 Cb 
 
 Si 
 not 
 skil 
 
 I 
 posi 
 our 
 
 S 
 one 
 
ie were 
 
 I the war 
 
 '*i;h" 
 
 Marina. Yes, my lady, the cottage in which I was born was 
 shaded by an old oak tree, under which I used to sit at evening 
 looking out at the sea. I still think it is the most beautiful place 
 on earth. 
 
 Song — Marina. 
 Sweet home of youth, sweet humble cot, 
 
 Beneath the spreading tree, 
 The great old oak where birds awoke. 
 
 To sing their songs to me. 
 The lark on high, in the blue sky. 
 
 Seemed like a singing star. 
 The thrush's note around did float, 
 To hail Aurora's car. 
 
 Chorus. Sweet home of youth, sweet humble cot. 
 Beneath the spreading tree, 
 The great old oak, where birds awoke 
 To sing their songs for me. 
 
 Those beauteous dawns and pleasant days 
 
 Are now for ever past. 
 The pictures bright that met ray sight, > 
 
 Could not for ever labt. 
 Friends, one by one, went off alone, 
 
 Bliss once they brought to me; 
 Still they are near, for ever dear, 
 
 In my fond memory. 
 
 Chorus. Sweet home of youth, etc., etc. 
 
 How oft in dreams those scenes survive. 
 
 Which gave a charm to life; 
 The sunny hours and shaded bowsrs, 
 
 So far from care and strife. 
 Such scenes will come in sleep to some, * 
 
 Such visions cheer my way. 
 They disappear yet still bring near 
 
 Hope for another day. ' 
 
 Chorus. Sweet home of youth, etc., etc. 
 
 Sir Bich'd (to Marina.) Capital ! Lady Fay's daughter could 
 not sing half so well, though her aristocratic voice was trained by 
 skilled professors. 
 
 Lady Ford (irritated, to Sir Rich'd.) Shocking 1 One in your 
 position should not speak in that way. We should be proud of 
 our aristocracy. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Aristoorac7 ! Fudge. (LaugJis.) Oh, of course, 
 one in my position should be cautious. {Struts conaequentiaUy.) 
 
 M« 'I 
 
 'H 
 
^4 
 
 tt will not do to make the lower orders too familiar with avis^o- 
 oratic defects. Ha, Im ! 
 
 Lady Ford. Shocking ! Certainly not. A line should be 
 drawn somewhere. 
 
 Sib Rich'd. Well, draw on that line and we shall drag to the 
 surface some of our not very remote ancestors. My grandfather 
 was but a lamplighter — yours you know was a — a — a butcher. 
 
 (Lady Ford starts, put« her fingers to Iter ears, ami cries, Oh, 
 
 Shocking !) 
 
 SONO. 
 
 SiBjRiru'D. My father was in humble sphere, 
 Lady Ford. Your brain I'm suve is rocking, 
 Sir Rich'd. And youis a butcher was, my dear, 
 Lady Ford {putting Iter fingers to Iier ears.) 
 
 Oh, shocking, shocking, shocking f 
 
 Both {putting their finqers to tfieir ears). 
 
 Ob, shocking, shocking, shocking ! 
 
 Sir Ri(;h'd. My mother often earned her bread. 
 
 Lady Ford. I fear the truth your mocking 
 
 Sir Rich'd. She worked with yarn both grey and red. 
 
 Lady Ford. Don't say she knit a stocking. 
 
 Both, Oh, would that not be shocking, 
 
 Oh, shocking, shocking, shocking. 
 
 Lady Ford. How dreadful ! There is no use talking to you 
 to be cautious of what you say, you are so selfish and willful. 
 
 Song — Sir Richard. 
 
 I am a selfish, willful man, 
 1 seize the largest part I can. 
 Of every pleasure m this life 
 And share it with my loving wife. 
 Yet scill through all this mortal span. 
 She will say I'm a selfish man. 
 
 fei 
 
 Lady Ford. 
 
 Marina. 
 
 Both. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. 
 
 A sblfish man, a wilful man. 
 He's not a selfish, wilful man. 
 But after a!l, say what you can, 
 What man is not a selfish man ? 
 But, after all. say what you can, 
 What man is not a selfish man. 
 
 A fi;iherniau's a se/^tish raan. 
 
lld be 
 
 io the 
 rather 
 
 pr. 
 
 , Oh, 
 
 25 
 Srn RifHARP. 
 
 The miser hides his bags of gold, 
 Nor opens them though he grows old, 
 What wealth I have I mostly spend, 
 To cheer my wife or help my friend^ 
 Yet still through all this mortal span, 
 She will say I'm a selfish man. 
 
 Lady FoKD. Sometimes a selfish, wilful man. 
 Marina. He's not a selfish, wilful man. 
 
 Both. But after all, say what we can. 
 
 What man is not a selfish mani 
 
 But, after all. say what we can, 
 
 What man is not a selfish man. 
 Sib Rich'd. A fisherman's a sc^^fish man. 
 
 Sir Rk'h'd. Dear wife, let us not talk of selfishness. I pre- 
 fer to sina: now, even were it but to join in a simple chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 • •• : ^' :\\ . /■ - .■ '- 
 
 A sweet little chorus, 
 Without notes liefore us, 
 
 May just get our voices in tune, 
 We will then sing together. 
 Of daisies or heather. 
 
 Or of the bright beams of the moon. 
 
 ( WhiU singing Capt. Ford enters unperceived, and steps on tip-toe 
 behind tliem, joining in singing the last three lines and repeat- 
 ing alone the last line. Bearing another voice they turn 
 around in surprise and discover the captain. Marina is 
 astonished. 
 
 Lady Ford. My dear son ! My dear Richard ! (s it possible % 
 {They embrace.) How glad I am to see you after your long 
 absence. (Lady Ford leans on his arm.) 
 
 Sir Rich'd (seizing his hand). Ton my soul we are, Dick^ 
 very glad to see you, very glad. I knew you would be here soon. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Not so soon as I wished. I often longed to be 
 back again. 
 
 Lady Ford. 1 am sure of that, dear Richard. How I have 
 wished and prayed for your return. 
 
 Capt. Ford. No place like home and old England after all. 
 
 Lady Ford. What a delightful surprise. But we expected 
 you. Your letter has only just been received. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Indeed. Then I might have brou|ht it m^sell, 
 
 
26 
 
 Sir Eich'd. Faith you might. Well, here you ave, Dick — but 
 {to Lady Fobd) look at him. Dark as a Hi doo or Hottentot. 
 We will keep you anyway until you get your natural color again. 
 
 Lady Ford. Yf^s, for a long time. How glad to meet. 
 
 ENSEMBLE. 
 
 How glad to meet once more again, 
 What joy to see returning friends, 
 
 Whose absence ever brings the pain, 
 Which only in their presence ends. 
 
 Oh, it is sweet those friends to greet, 
 And know they come back to remain. 
 
 How glad to meet once more again, 
 What joy to see retuiiiing fiiends, 
 
 Whose absence ever brings the pain, 
 Which only in th."ir presence ends. 
 
 Capt. Ford. This getting back is indeed very ])leasant, but 
 (aaidn to Sir Rioh'd) who is our young friend 1 
 
 Sir Ric'h'd. Oh, yes. This little excitement has made me 
 forgetful. Dick, this is Marina, or rather Miss Barton. Miss 
 Barton, this is my son, the wanderer just returned. Marina is 
 your mother's special favorite. 
 
 Capt. Ford {botoing to Marina). And a very swee*^ singer as 
 I have just heard. (7'o Lady Ford.) I must compliment you 
 on your choice, motlier. 
 
 Lady Ford {displeased draws the C* ptain axoay. Aside). 
 Shocking ! Oh, what nonsense. She is only my maid — only a 
 fisherman's daughter. 
 
 Capt. Ford {rapturovsly gazing at Marina). His pet dolphin, 
 I imagine. Beautiful, isn't she. 
 
 Lady Ford {aside and displeased). Oh, lolly, folly, Richai'd, 
 to speak that way. Shocking ! She is scarcely more than a 
 domitstic. 
 
 Capt. Ford {to his mother.) Well, if T am a judge, she was 
 born for something higher than that. 
 
 Lady Ford {aside to Captain Ford). Hist ! She will over- 
 hear what you say. You will turn her head. 
 
 C'. PT. Ford {to his mot/ier.) Or rather, from my pre.sent feel- 
 ing, blie will likely turn my heart. 
 
 Lady Ford {hastily). Tut, tut ! Ridiculous ! Shocking ! 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Well, Dick, now that you are back, how long do 
 you intend to stay ? 
 
 Capt. Ford. How long? Oh, a few months or so. I have 
 brought one of our chaps with me, named Stephen. He was once 
 
I— but 
 [entot. 
 liigain. 
 
 & fisiierman, anJ he left tue at London to go down to Dover Ba^ 
 to see some of his old friends. 
 
 (Marina hearinn tida ia greatly surprised. Site steals off" the stage.) 
 
 Lady Ford Yes, I have heard Mavina speak of him. 
 
 Capt, Ford (aside, after luivimj looked around Jar Marina). I 
 see she is gone. (Aloud). Then she may like to see him again; 
 he will soon leturn. He is a brave fellow; he saved our Colonel's 
 life at Cawnpore. 
 
 Sir Kich'u. Then, of course, he is a favorite in the regiment. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Yes; he has been promoted a sergeant. 
 
 Sir Ricu'd. Good. But whac a folly it is that such men are 
 kept from the occupation of civilized life to follow soldiering. 
 
 Lady Ford, Perfect folly. War is degrading. Shocking ! 
 
 Capt. Ford. Not very civilized I admit. Differences among 
 nations should be left to arbitration, not to war. 
 
 Song — Capt. Ford. 
 
 Martial music's loudest swell, ' 
 
 Glancing swords their meaning tell, 
 Thundering guns and shot and shell, 
 Trembling earth, so like a hell. 
 
 Chorus. These to glorious war belong, 
 
 Says each patriotic song. 
 
 Flags, and drums, and guns, and spears, 
 Horae and foot and bombaidiers; ■ , 
 
 Bayonet charge, and groans, and cheers, ' ' 
 Dying men and widows* tears. ,i 
 
 Chorus. These to glorious war belong, > • ' * 
 
 Says each patriotic song. 
 
 Yet shall come the happy d*y, ., > * 
 
 Nation shall to nation say: 
 Let us lling the sword away. 
 And at war no longer play. 
 
 Chorus. Then each patriotic song, • 
 
 ' Shall no further strife prolong. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. These are str-nge sentiments for a soldier. 
 Egad, tlie woi Id moves, Oad soldiers, like others are getting rid of 
 their old notions. 
 
 Sinqs. 
 The soldier and the sailor, 
 Philosopher and tailor, 
 
 Is' 
 
(Humorously). 
 
 fh% patriotic teaoiier, 
 
 And evangelic pteacher, 
 
 Have lately wiser giown. 
 
 They'i'e not so opinionated, 
 
 So dogmKli'- or inAilted, 
 
 It lias been plainly shewn, 
 
 Since Bcience biought some facts to view, 
 
 How \ery little thsy all knew, 
 
 How very little they all knew. 
 
 Now common sense and reason, 
 
 So dreaded once as treason, 
 
 By self-sufficient mo{)eis. 
 
 And superstitions gropers. 
 
 Have made a wondrous change, 
 
 Thought now with boldness takes its flight, 
 
 And daily brings fresh truths to light. 
 
 All startling new t.nd strange; 
 
 And men begin to feel and see, 
 
 That mind is only great when free. 
 
 That is my opinion. Neither men nor mice are great until they 
 are free. Ha, ha. A soldier is hardly a free man. 
 
 Capt. Ford. No; he must be a mere military machine. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. But, Dick, you were always fond of playing the 
 soldier. You were, I might say, born one. Why, you remember 
 when you were only a litt.le fellow that high {holds out his hand), 
 you used to drill us here every day. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Ha, ha. Yes, I remember. • 
 
 Lady Ford. Why, it seems but yesterday. Your father and 
 
 I had to stand in the ranks and march with the rest about the 
 
 room after you. 
 
 Sib Rich'd. And then we had to call in Tom the butler, and 
 Ned the gardener, and Nora the nurae, and men and maids, to 
 form your regiment. (Looks toward the door). By, the bye, see, 
 most of them are just here, one would think they came to attend 
 drill again. (A number of servants are seen at the door.) 
 
 Lady Ford (to Capt. F^rd). They have just heard of your 
 return and wish to welcome you. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Well, I am very glad to see them again. (Ffe 
 goes among them shaking hands.) 
 
 Sir Richard (to tlie servants). We were just speaking about 
 the times long ago, when we all had to please our noble captain 
 by letting him drill and march us about in this very room. 
 
 bERVANT. Yes, Sir Richard, we remember. 
 
89 
 
 Sir lliCH*D. And now, just to humor my whim, let ub have 
 ill thill. Wc have now a real Captain to lead us. Let 
 
 You wish to luaku mo a boy again. Well, I am 
 
 another 
 us try. 
 
 Capt. Foei), 
 willing. 
 
 Servant. So arc we all, sir. 
 
 Sir Rich'd {to the butler.) Tom, go into my study and you 
 will liml hib boy's sword and his drum — I have kept them evor 
 since — and then we shall have a grand review on this a\ispicious 
 occasion. 
 
 (Torn, the butler^ retircH and biinqa the artichs mentiuned. Thc}t form 
 a line, Capt. Fokd, with the drum, in front. Brooms and 
 sticks are nsed for arms. They step to the front, Capt. Fokd beat- 
 ing the drum while the orchestra platj. Thsii form tivos aiui sing 
 while marching around the stage. Lady Foho is seated; laughs 
 and enjoys the scene. •> ■ 
 
 SONO. 
 
 C«lPT. Forti. a soldier's life is the life for me. 
 All marching along so merrily, 
 While roving around from day to day. 
 The drums will beat and the band will play. 
 
 All. Each man is true and is free from care. 
 
 And makes himself hapj»y everywhere. ; 
 
 Choiius. a soldier's life is the life for me. 
 
 All marching along so merrily. 
 
 Sir. Rich'd. He is a noble fellow all will say, 
 And ready for duty every day, 
 He hears the sound of the tiumpet's call, 
 Nor fears a shell or u cannon ball. 
 
 All. He'll laugh or tight, or he'll dance or sing. 
 
 And feels as contented as any king. 
 
 Chorus. A soldier's life is the life for me. 
 
 All marching along so merrily. 
 
 {TJiey form a line, advance, keep step and salute, while the or' 
 chestra repeats the last part of the air.) 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Well, I think we have done pretty well though 
 we have been so long out of practise. Now, Tom, {to tite butler) 
 go and draw some of your best ale and drink the Captain's health. 
 Servant. Thank you, sir. {They retire. iJnter 'Makiha.) 
 Sir Rich'd (to Marina). Ah, you missed our grand review — 
 — one of our old time military displays. But consider yourself 
 enlisted for the next occasion. 
 
 f\ 
 
8() 
 
 Marina. For the peace army I hope, Sir Bichaid. 
 
 Lady Ford. Yes, we shall all join that. 
 
 Capt. Eord, After my uxporience of actual war 1 would be 
 disposed to join also. 
 
 Sir Kich'd. A i>eace aiiiiy t Egad, there may be something 
 in tJat— the aJvantx) guard of the new ideaH. Firing loaves of 
 bread at hungry soldiers might do more to subdue them than 
 sending the usual missiles. A good idt-a. Hope to see it tried 
 some day. 
 
 Lady Ford. I hope it may. It will be the dawn of a bright 
 
 day for tRe world* 
 
 Sir Kich'd. A line bright day, such as we now have. 
 
 Duett — Sir Richard and Lady Ford 
 
 See the dawn of the fair bright morning. 
 
 Now lingering on the mountains high, 
 A thousand mellow notes give warning, 
 
 To tell the glorious sun is nigh. 
 Calmly tlic beauteous rose lies sleeping, 
 
 Still freighted with its load of dew, 
 "While all tlie ether flowers seem keeping. 
 
 The day's tirst roseate steps in view. 
 
 The early lark on high is singing. 
 
 The sunbeams burst on every side. 
 Delighted birds their way aie winging, 
 
 O'er verdant fields and meadows wide. 
 See sparkling streams from rocks are gushing. 
 
 How fragrant is the morning air, 
 The ocean's waves seem gaily rushing. 
 
 Proud of the shining foam they bear. 
 
 And when at night the moon is beaming 
 
 On silent vales and vacant bow'rs, 
 When light from distant stars is streaming, 
 
 As if to cheer the lonely hours. 
 How sweet to hoar the soft wind sighing — 
 
 The [verfumed breath of summer night — 
 And hear the nightingale replying, 
 
 Waiting for dawn with pure delight, 
 
 ( While the duett in being s>mg Capt. Ford converses with Marina, 
 paying lier great attcMiou. Stephen, who has returned, is 
 seen watching them from behind the door of the apartment. 
 
 Capt. Ford {to Lady Ford). Your young friend tells me that 
 she diblikes city life and would prefer to live here in the country. 
 
 I 
 
 sue 
 
 avti 
 
31 
 
 Lady Fonn (nside to Oapt. Ford). The most sensible place for 
 such pel sons. 
 
 SirKicii'd. She h1iow8 her good sonso by keeping clear of 
 artificial fticndMhip and polished inanities. 
 
 . 
 
 SONO — Maiun'a. 
 
 How happy is the village maid, 
 
 Away IVoiu gilded (ashion's maze, 
 In which lier bloom too soon might fade, 
 
 While lost in pleasure's f^iddy ways; 
 But here she ciu see hills of green, 
 
 And verdant slopes that greet the eye, 
 Each hour to her will be seiene, 
 
 As j)eaceful houi-s and days go by. 
 
 How happy is the village maid, 
 
 With sim|>le pleasures quite content, 
 She will prefer the rural shade 
 
 To life in brilliant city spent. 
 I fain would l'!vo near fields and trees, 
 
 And see each day the blushing flow'rs, 
 And scent their fragrance on the breeze. 
 
 There would I spend my leiruire hours. 
 
 Sir Ru;h'd. Indeed, from what I have seen of the world a 
 rural life is the happiest. 
 
 Capt. Ford. I am inclined to think so, too, paviiculavly as 
 such blushing flowers can be found nowhere else. (L'oiomg to 
 Marina. 
 
 Lady Ford (io Capi Ford). Well, then, stay. You havo 
 wandered far enough. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Yes, we shall all stay. 
 
 Duett. — Capt. Fori> and Marina. 
 
 Capt. Ford. Stay, ever stay, 
 
 Both. I will not live in a city, 
 
 Capt. Ford. Co not away, 
 
 Now to lea\o wouM be a pity, 
 Both. Oh, no, T will stay, I'll i-emain, 
 
 Here peace I shall not seek in vain. 
 This ray home, this niy home shall be, 
 With the friends that are still true to me. 
 This my home, this my home shall be. 
 With the friends that are still true to me, 
 
32 
 
 Capt. Ford. Day aft^r day, 
 
 Both. Shall hring iia honrfl of pure jilonsure, 
 
 Capt. Ford. And on life's way 
 
 Ho|io still will be our deureut treasure, 
 Both. Still here, (juite content and resigned, 
 
 No care shall ever cloud the rnind. 
 This my honre, this my home shall be, 
 With the friends that are still true to me. 
 This my hou»o, this my ho<no shall be, 
 With the friends that are still true to mo. 
 
 Sir Rioh'd. Well, this re-union makes this one of the hajv 
 piftst days of my lifo — indeed, perhaps the liappiest, my maniago 
 day, of course, always excepted. 
 
 Lady FoRb. Shocking ! What a story ! Ha, ha ! 1 *'unk 
 you scarcely except that. 
 
 Sir Rk'u'd. Oh, yes, I do. This is summer time, the sky is 
 blue and the sun shines just as brightly as it did on that happy 
 day, long ago. 
 
 Quaetette— Sir Richard, Lady Ford, Capt, Ford and Marina. 
 
 Soft the fragrant winds are blowing, 
 
 Roses blush on every side, 
 Flow'rs around are gaily showing 
 
 Summer iu its early pride. 
 Modest lillies near each bowei. 
 
 Seem to shun noon's tervid glare, 
 Waiting till some genial shower, 
 
 Flings them pearly drops to wear. 
 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 
 Daisies gather. 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 
 Moss and heather. 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 
 Flow'rs together, 
 'TiH the charming summer time. 
 
 When night comes the moon's soft b^ams 
 Around are spread, around are spread, 
 
 And the countless otars on high. 
 
 Their radiance shed, their radiance shed; 
 
 Then the nightingale with mellow song, 
 Sings its lullaby the whole night long. 
 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 Daisies gather, 
 
 {Whil 
 
 Sii 
 to gii 
 
 {A tv 
 
 C 
 
 moi 
 
 this 
 
 g 
 
 sha 
 
p 
 
 ik 
 
 is 
 
 A. 
 
 
 33 
 
 Beauteous Rummer weather, 
 
 Moss and heather, 
 BeauteouH summer weather, 
 
 Flow'rs together, 
 'Tis tlie beauteous summer time. 
 
 ( While t/iep are singing Stephen w seen outsida again, stealthily 
 watching Capt. Ford ami Marina. A servant approacliea 
 and fie retires. Enter a servant wlio whispers to Sir Richard. 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Here, Dick. A number of our people are waiting 
 to give you a welcome. {To the villagers.) Come in. Gome in. 
 
 {A number of villagers in holiday dress enter. Capt. Ford goes 
 among t/iem, and qfter salutations tliey sing.) 
 
 The war is o'er and peace proclaimed. 
 He has come back with honors gained ; 
 What anxious hours by night and day, 
 We've spen*; since he has been away. ' 
 But back he came across the main. 
 He now is welcome Home again. 
 But back he came across the main, 
 He now is welcome home again. , 
 
 Capt. Ford. Indeed, my friends, I am glad to see you all once 
 more. [ know you welcome me home again' and I feel rejoiced on 
 this occasion. , 
 
 Sir Rich'd. Now let us to the grove^ 'tis a beautiful day. We 
 shall celebrate this event outside with a dance. 
 
 Villager. Yes, Sir Richard, that's it, a dance. 
 
 All sing. 
 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 
 Daisies gather. 
 Beauteous s mmer weather, 
 
 Moss and heather, 
 Beauteous summer weather, 
 
 Flow'rs together, 
 'Tis the charming summer time. 
 
 {JSxeunt all.) 
 
84 
 
 SciNi II. — A park or/oreit. 
 
 {Bntw Stephen' Aa»<iVy m «n excited condition, 
 its 1/ dreading pursuit.) 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Ent 
 
 He looks around 
 
 I must flee. I must flee, 
 I hav« tiken tho life 
 Of him who deceived one 
 , Who might have been my wife. 
 
 I muNt flee, I muHt flee, 
 
 For my crime is found out, 
 And new, like Cain of old, 
 
 I mn*it wander about. 
 • 
 (Marina rusJm in greatlt/ agitated. Slie addresses Stephen.) 
 
 ,!: 
 
 Marina. 
 
 Oh, madman, curse the day 
 
 ITou came to set '< me here; 
 You tried to take away 
 
 A life to all so dear. 
 , You know not his kind heart, 
 
 No wiong ho could Commit; 
 To me no treach'j-oua part 
 
 His honor would ))ermit. 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 I took his life, for day by day 
 
 I saw you here together. 
 I often watched ybu both here stray, 
 
 Though foul or fair the weather. 
 His life I took, 'tWas for your sake — 
 
 I felt that you he had betrayed ; 
 But I shall make amends, and take 
 
 My worthless life — farewell, dear maid. 
 
 {Be pulls out a pistol intending to shoot himself.) 
 Marina. 
 
 Stay, stay your hand, unhappy man ; 
 
 {She seizes his arm.) 
 One Clime's enough, go while you can ; 
 He lives — you must from i.ere take flight. 
 The wound you gave was only slight. 
 
86 
 
 Away, escape, he will forgive 
 Vour horrid act, and h-'t you live. 
 
 Enter a corporal and three privates. They muc him by tlta anon.) 
 
 CoRfOUAL — Rkcit. 
 
 Halt ! Htand ! we seizo you for a gi'eat otfoncu, 
 You have to answer and to make dofcucu, 
 Although to you we all have been quito partiul, 
 We now must take you to a high court uuutial. 
 
 (Enter Sir Riouaro, Lauy Ford, anu Oapt. Ford.) 
 
 Reoit. — Sir Richard (to t/ie yuard.) 
 
 Let him escape, we can forgive the deed, 
 For his full pardon we shall intercede. 
 
 Regit. — Lady Fofd. 
 
 Yea, let him go,, we understand it all, 
 His jealous feeling sped the erring balL 
 
 Regit. —Capt. Ford {to Stephen.) 
 
 Though nearly fatal as your act has been, 
 If brought to court, that act I'll try to screen; 
 You've wronged me and your folly may bring woe, 
 But no resentment to you I shall show. 
 
 Regit. — Marina (to tlie guard.) 
 
 His generous captain as you seo. 
 
 Is willing that he should bo free; 
 Oh, gallant men, ptay let him go. 
 And thus a soldier's kindness show. 
 
 Regit. — Cor po ral. 
 
 We dare not, for we orders must obey, 
 And ofT to prison lead him quick away. 
 
 {Exeunt (piard with Stephen.) 
 
 Marina. — Sings. 
 Oh, God, that this should ever be, 
 My heart is full of misery; 
 He loves me, yet, alas, in vain. 
 No love can I return again. 
 And oh, how sad may be the fate, 
 That soon, too soon may him await, 
 Oh, what I'd give his life to save. 
 And keep him from an early grave. 
 
{Looks.) 
 
 '^■ 
 
 Capt. Ford. 
 
 By laws pf war it is decreed, 
 
 That who his captain's life would take, 
 Is guilty of a treach'rous deed, 
 
 Thus strictest martial laws to break; 
 A drura'-head court, which pities not, 
 Says such offender must be shot — 
 But who is it that con^bs this way, 
 Let us hear what she has to say. 
 
 {Erder AKna. She runs to Marina. Tliey embrace.) 
 
 Anna. 
 
 Marina, I have travelled here, 
 I heard the dreadful news; 
 My mind unhappy is with fear, 
 No moment must we loose. 
 I hoped to meet him, but the law, 
 \ At once his flight, perhaps forsaw, 
 
 An4 Stephen, now in prison bound, 
 Must lie upon the cold, damp ground. 
 
 Sir Bich'd. Cheer up, we'll plead his cause and get him free. 
 
 Marina {recit). 
 
 Let us go, Anna, to his cell. 
 
 And thiere this cheering promise tell. 
 
 {ExeurU Anna and Marina.) 
 
 Sir Rjch'd., Here, let us away, too. We shall see to this, and 
 do all that isjpbssible to save him, 
 
 ( ExemU, Sir Richard, Lady Foro. and Oapt. Ford.) 
 
 .SciiNE in. 
 
 A prison cell in gloom. Stephen manacled, is seen in G, sitting 
 at a rough table, upon which his arms are stretclied out and 
 his head resting on them. 
 
 Enter Barton ancf Harrt, in mournful attitude. Prison officials 
 stand hy. Marina and Anna enier soon after and step 
 ^ slowly toward Stephen. T/iey kneel on eitfier side of him. 
 
 Barton sings. 
 
 Wi9 come to take a last adieu, 
 We clung to hope in vain; 
 
)e. 
 
 ad 
 
 nd 
 
 ah 
 tep 
 
 87 
 
 ^^o more can we do n«:r/°f ^^ ^n. 
 Ah ! how this thought gives pain. 
 
 (S.EPHE« stands up, also Marina arul Anna.) 
 Stephen sings- 
 My trial'u o'er, condemned am I. 
 
 Sealed is my fate. 
 Before another hour I die; 
 
 How sad my state. ^ 
 
 Mv dream of nfe will soon u ^ 
 This very day will be my la«t. 
 Soon shall the deep-toned faneralbeU. 
 
 Tnll toll for me, ,, 
 
 Soon shall I have *« bid fai^well. 
 
 To all I see; , i,bi„g heart be stiU; 
 
 Soon shall my **»r°T!! and chill. 
 This living form be dead ana 
 
 All. 
 
 * 1 *v.o Aa.v he left the bay, 
 Alas, tb^ay he ^^^^^ 
 
 He would not stay, "*= 
 
 No more we pray, we only say, 
 
 Alas, alas the day. 
 
 Barton sings. 
 I watched him in hiBchUdW days. 
 
 And boyhood's happy *^"^®' ^^ 
 I saw h£ kind and pleasant ways. 
 
 ^TntUhisma^ood'apnme. ^^ 
 
 To live an honest hfe he s^^v , 
 
 But sorrow came with his nrsi. 
 
 Ah what a sight to see him here, 
 
 T fot4^pra and in chains; 
 
 In fetters ana ^^^^ 
 
 Suit rJl^et an ignominies end. 
 
 Harry {to Stephen) sings. 
 Oh, comrade ever true, 
 We found in you . 
 
 A strong and trusty friend, 
 
 Tjeadv to lend. 
 
 All times a helping hand, 
 
 On sea or land. 
 
as 
 
 ttow freely we could give, 
 
 To hs.ye you live, 
 
 The boats arid nets we own^ 
 
 A. ciowD or thvone, 
 
 To save you from disgrace, 
 
 I'd take your place. 
 
 Marina sings. 
 
 What heart more sad than mine; 
 
 I am the cause of all; 
 Away my life shall pine, 
 
 I wish death's early call. 
 To me all will be gloom, 
 I've sent him to the tomb. 
 
 My soul will feel no peace; 
 
 This sorrow I have brought; 
 I ns'er shall find release 
 ij From the desponding thought; 
 
 Each hour will have its sigh, 
 As days and years pass by, 
 
 Anna sings. • ; 
 
 Why have I lived to see 
 
 This dark and doleful day ? 
 
 What's life to me ? 
 
 'Twill ever be, 'twill ever be. 
 
 But sovrow, but sorrow, but sorrow. 
 
 Day after day my prayer 
 
 Shall be for death's release; 
 
 His woe I'd share, 
 
 Oi* all would bear, or all would bear. 
 
 Tomorrow, tomorrow, to-morrow. 
 
 {She looks at Stbpiien, raising Jher arms in anguish.) 
 
 My heait will break, my heart will break, 
 I'll only ^peak, I'll only speak, 
 Of sorrow, of sorrow, of sorrow. 
 
 All. 
 
 V Alas, the day he left the bay, 
 
 He would not stay, he went away; 
 No more we pray, we only say, 
 Alas, alas, the day. 
 
 (At 
 
 ( 
 
 M 
 (1 
 
 V 
 
 s 
 
 8 
 ( 
 
39 
 
 Now we part for ever, 
 Selth will quickly sever, 
 Ties and feelings, 
 Sweet vevealings, 
 Hearts divided, 
 Fate decided, 
 Each fond token 
 Must he broken, 
 All i» over now. 
 
 J- u^iJ i9 heard outside.) 
 {The tollitu) of a bell ts near 
 
 Rectt.— Barton, 
 
 Hark 'tis the doleful bell, 
 wTknow its meaning well; 
 -Itbidsustakefarewel. ^^^^^, , 
 
 ^"^ HARUV i<^^\^^^;j^T XT sound of tr— •" He^folhwedhy 
 
 Sir Richarp, Lady rui 
 
 Thev raise Awui. ^ others.) 
 
 
 
 sentation of ^^^''^So^f the said Stephen and ^^^ hereby 
 
 others, made °« ^^*"^^^^^ reasons, ^^f^^l^a^said Stephen, 
 for sundry good ^^J/"^^^ of 
 
 afilves accordingly. «aved. you are free. 
 
 B»KTO». Anaetoftaeroy _^ „ gi,e thank. 
 
 t° "~" Oh «hat a Me^ed relief to n.e 1 Ut »» P 
 
 Lady Ford- * "^» 
 He is saved, he 18 free. 
 
 li I 
 
 I 
 
40 
 
 {Tfteif all kneel, Marina and Anna on eitfier aide of Stephen. 
 
 aoldiera stand behind. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We dry our tears this happy day, • 
 Our gloomy fears now pass away. 
 Hope's cheering light again we see, 
 Hope's cheering light again we see, 
 And dark despair from us must flee. 
 From us must flee, 
 Oh, Mercy, where thy blessings shine. 
 The heart is cheered, the heart is cheered 
 By light divine. 
 
 Tha 
 
 A vm 
 
 B. 
 
 (riei 
 
 End of Act II. 
 
 Wl 
 
 bra 
 
 { 
 
 no^ 
 
 in 
 
 C 
 
 a 
 ii 
 
41 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A gea view as in Act I. 
 
 A number of maidens, Jish&rmen and soldiers are seen around in 
 groups conversing. On a rustic bench, at one side. Lady Ford 
 is seated between Marina and Anna. Near the centre Sib 
 Richard, Stephen and Capt. Ford. Enter Barton follow- 
 ed by Harry. 
 
 Barton. Happy day, happy day, welcome all to the bay, old 
 Iriends and new friends together. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Happy day, happy day^ 
 Welcome all here to the b4y; 
 Welcome friends both old and new, 
 We are happy this to do, 
 Happy day, happy day. 
 Welcome all here co the bay, 
 Welcome all here to the bay. 
 
 Barton {taking Stephen by the hand and leading him to Anna.) 
 What a true, fond, and noble advocate^ you have found in this 
 brave girl. 
 
 Stephen (taking Anna's hand). « I know it, I know her value 
 now; her full value. 
 
 Sir Bich'd (to Barton). And what a friend we hnve found 
 in your daughter. 
 
 Lady Ford. An excellent creature. 
 
 Oapt. Ford (aside). I am glad you have discovered it. 
 
 Lady Ford. She is incompaiable. 
 
 Capt. Ford. We must keep her then. {He leads Marina to 
 C. Stephen also leads Anna to G.) 
 
 Harry (aside). This looks like mating. Stephen is satisfied 
 at last. (Looks around.) I wonder if I can find an excellent 
 incomparable creature. Its hard if I can't find one among these. 
 {He goes among t/te maidens.) 
 
 Stephen (to Anna, taking her hand) sings. 
 
 Oh, loving heart and true, 
 I knew not you; 
 
u:. 
 
 it 
 
 Twas in my dark«»t hour^ 
 I felt your power. 
 My heart is now your throne^ 
 Keign there alone. 
 
 How sweet those words to hear^ 
 
 To me how dear;- 
 
 How truly I can say, 
 
 My fears hare passed away. 
 
 This is to me a happy day. 
 
 Both. 
 
 Blest be this happy day, 
 
 We fondly pray; 
 
 And may our future be, 
 
 All harmony. 
 
 We now have but one heart, 
 
 No more we ^j-rt, 
 
 Capt. F(»d (to Marina^ ttikes her kand) sinffo, 
 
 Thou hast my heart, i ask thine hand, 
 
 Here before all, this tow I make : 
 No titled honor, great or grand, 
 Shall ever tempt me to forsake 
 Thine own dear self, if thou wilt b» 
 A true and loving wi£s to me. 
 
 Marina aingf. 
 
 I only am stfi humble maid; 
 
 No dowry can I ever claim, 
 No deed of mine has cast a shade, 
 ' Or bronght to me one blush of shame. 
 
 If knowing this, thou me wilt chose,. 
 Thine offer I cannot refuse. 
 
 Duett. — Capt. Ford and Marina. 
 
 Now doubt and fear have passed away, have passed away,^ 
 Our life shall be like souie calm My, 
 
 And though at times clouds may outspread, clouds m»y outspread^ 
 We'll still hope on, and feel no dread. 
 
 ' While we still hope, our lives shall be, 
 '^ '' AH harmony, all harmony. ■'''''' 
 
 Oh, blissful , hour, when gentle love, when gentle fove. 
 Like home pure spirit from above. 
 
 Flin 
 Wh 
 {Coi 
 
 Wh 
 Am 
 We* 
 
 Nor 
 
 I 
 He 
 
 me. 
 Cap 
 tol 
 ano 
 lose 
 fish 
 whi 
 in ( 
 
43 
 
 Flings o'er each soul that holy spell, that holy spell, 
 Which only true love knows so well. 
 (Coda.) Oh, blissful hour, our lives shall be, . 
 All harmony, all harmony. 
 
 When time has fled with months and years, months and years^ 
 
 And when our life's decline appears, 
 
 We'll calmly watch the setting sun, the setting sun. 
 
 Nor grieve to think our race near run. 
 
 The future still to us will be, 
 
 All harmony, all harmony. 
 
 All. 
 
 Sweet harmony, sweet harmony. 
 How blest together all shall be, 
 , ijiii «'" ■\7ijen purest love our hearts unite, 
 
 And cheering hope looks fair and bright*. 
 Hail to this hour, for now we see, 
 Each union blest with harmony^ 
 With harmony, sweet harmony. 
 
 Harry. Well, well, here is Stephen back again to the bay. 
 He is ac his old trade once more, and if my eyes do not deceive 
 me, he has been already fishing to some purpose; even the gallant 
 Captain has evidently secured a mermaid. What shall I be able 
 to haul in 1 It is, however, plain enough, that one way or 
 another, we all gc a-fishing. Some fish in muddy water and 
 lose their hooks; some pnll np only weeds; . some get only shell- 
 fish; some catch catfinh or dog-fish >. some come across sharks, 
 while others bring to the suiface a golcien dolphin. In fishing, as 
 in everything else, there is often the. strangesc kind of lack. 
 
 Song — Harry. 
 "Spreading thi Net." 
 
 The fisherman's art is one very well known, 
 
 And anis^ient as any that ancient have grown. 
 
 In times far remote, as all scholars have read. 
 
 Some followed this calling to make out their breads 
 
 We also are told by au authorized pen. 
 
 That while some caught fish, there were fishers of men, 
 
 And still their successors are anxious — yon bet. 
 
 To catch human gudgeons, by spreading a net. 
 
 All classes, it seems, are on fishing intent; 
 
 With silver and gilt hooks, wh'at hours have been spent^ 
 
 With all kinds of lines, and with curious oait, 
 
 Poor fishes are hired, till they lie on the plafce. 
 
44 
 
 But catching them thus, is for many too bIomt, 
 To get them by hundreds they hurry to go; 
 A pull in by wholesale is simple — you bet, 
 If one is but skilful in spreading a net. 
 
 Our statesmen, and lawyers, and doctors and all, 
 Are knowingly watching to make a big haul. 
 With fish in the sea, we haye odd fish ashore, 
 And land sharks who gobble them up by the score. 
 We have smooth, pious people, whose meshes scarce fail, 
 To tangle big flounders by head or by tail. 
 We have reverend men, quite meek looking — you bet 
 Who all live like Trojans, while spreading a net. 
 
 But most artful of all, are mermaids so fair. 
 
 Who sing by the sea-side, while combing their hair; 
 
 They sit in the rushes until some queer fish. 
 
 Is. hooked in the gills and flung into a dish. 
 
 What hundreds and thousands have met such a fate, 
 
 And still thousands more will go snatch at the bait; 
 
 For trapping, or fishing, or snaring — ^you bet, 
 
 None equal the ladies in spreading a net. 
 ■■'i 
 The net dance foUowa. Sir RiOHARn, Lady Ford and Bartoit are 
 seated on one dde. Oaft. Ford leads out Mariva, Stephen lec^s 
 ovt Anna. Harrt and the others choose partners. Each female 
 dancer has a small hand net, which is used with graceful motion at 
 intervals in the daiuse. At the conclusion the female dancers form a 
 line in front, Marina and Asna, Capt. Ford and Stbpbbn in the 
 centre the fishermen in the next line behind, and the qreiuidiers in fhe 
 line, behind these. The female dancers wave their nets and salute the 
 audierice. After this, all sing the last ierse of the song * 'Spreading 
 the Net "and salute' as before. 
 
 All. 
 
 But most artful of all, are mermaids so fair. 
 Who sing by the sea-side, while combing their hair. 
 They sit in the rushes until some queer fish. 
 Is hooked in the gills and flung into a dish. 
 What hundreds and thousands have met such a fate, 
 And still thousands more will go snatch at the bait, 
 For trapping, or fishing, or Hnaring — you bet, 
 Kone equal the ladies in spreading a net. 
 
 Finals. 
 
 (CWtom.)