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Poems by George P. Morris

Part 4 out of 6

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Makes us feel that we are brothers,
And a heart-united host!--
With hosanna let our banner
From the house-tops be unfurled,
While the nation holds her station
With the mightiest of the world!
Take your harps from silent willows,
Shout the chorus of the free;
"States are all distinct as billows,
Union one--as is the sea!"

From the land of groves that bore us
He's a traitor who would swerve!
By the flag now waving o'er us
We the compact will preserve!
Those who gained it and sustained it,
Were unto each other true,
And the fable well is able
To instruct us what to do!
Take your harps from silent willows,
Shout the chorus of the free;
"States are all distinct as billows,
Union one--as is the sea!"

We Part For Ever

Fare thee well--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Other skies may bend above thee,
Other hearts may seek thy shrine,
But no other e'er will love thee
With the constancy of mine.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!

Like the shadow on the dial
Lingers still our parting kiss!
Life has no severer trial,
Death no pang to equal this.
All the world is now before thee,
Every clime to roam at will,
But within the land that bore thee,
One fond heart will love thee still.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!

Come to Me in Cherry-time.

Come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time,
Here among the roses!
When the breezes crisp the tide,
And the lindens quiver,
In our bark we'll safely glide
Down the rocky river!

When the stars, with quiet ray,
All the hill-tops brighten,
Cherry-ripe we'll sing and play
Where the cherries ripen!
Then come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time
Here among the roses.

On the Death of Mrs. Jessie Willis.

After life's eventful mission,
In her truthfulness and worth,
Like a calm and gentle vision
She has passed away from earth.

Lovely she in frame and feature!
Blended purity and grace!--
The Creator in the creature
Glowed in her expressive face!

Angel of a nature human!
Essence of a celestial love!
Heart and soul of trusting woman,
Gone to her reward above!

Mourners, dry your tears of sorrow--
Read the golden promise o'er;
There will dawn a cheerful morrow
When we meet to part no more.

Thank God for Pleasant Weather.

Thank God for pleasant weather!
Chant it, merry rills!
And clap your hands together,
Ye exulting hills!
Thank Him, teeming valley!
Thank Him, fruitful plain!
For the golden sunshine,
And the silver rain.

Thank God, of good the giver!
Shout it, sportive breeze!
Respond, oh, tuneful river!
To the nodding tees.
Thank Him, bud and birdling!
As ye grow and sing!
Mingle in thanksgiving
Every living thing!

Thank God, with cheerful spirit,
In a glow of love,
For what we here inherit,
And our hopes above!--
Universal Nature
Revels in her birth,
When God, in pleasant weather,
Smiles upon the earth!

The Master's Song.

Written for the freemasons of St. John's Lodge No. 1, New York.

Members of an order
Ancient as the earth;
All within our border
Realize its worth.
Genial is the greeting
That awaits us there,
On the level meeting,
Parting on the square.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

Masons never falter,
We each other know,
As around the altar
Hand in hand we go;
Loud hosannas singing
To our Source above,
And heart-offerings bringing
To the God of Love.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

There's a mystic beauty
In our working plan,
Teaching man his duty
To his fellow man:
As a band of brothers,
Ever just and true,
Do we unto others
As we'd have them do.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

The Missing Ship.

She left the port in gallant style,
With sails and streamers full and free!
I watched her course for many a mile
Far out upon the distant sea!
At dusk she lessened to a speck,
And then I could not trace her more!
Sad hearts were beating on her deck,
Sad hearts were beating on the shore.

Two of the outward bound I knew,
One beautiful, the other brave--
The master worthy, and the crew
Born to contend with wind and wave:
For travel some, and some for gain,
And some for health had gone abroad;
Our prayers were with them on the main,
God-speed the ship and all on board!

That vessel never reached the land!
No tidings of her ever came!
Those who beheld her leave the strand,
For years in anguish heard her name!
And even now in vain they try
To breathe it with a tranquil lip,
Or hide the moisture of the eye
While speaking of that missing ship.

Jeannie Marsh.

Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley,
At whose call the muses rally;
Of all the nine none so divine
As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley.
She minds me of her native scenes,
Where she was born among the cherries;
Of peaches, plums, and nectarines,
Pears, apricots, and ripe strawberries.

Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley,
In whose name the muses rally;
Of all the nine none so divine
As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley.
A sylvan nymph of queenly grace,
A goddess she in form and feature;
The sweet expression of the place,
A dimple in the smile of nature.


Thanks for your stanzas, Lucy,
My sister dear in song!
How many pleasant fancies
With these sweet numbers throng,
Which, like spring's tuneful brooklets,
Trip merrily along.

Sometimes, my sportive Lucy,
Your words will whirl around,
Like foam-beads on the water,
Or rose-leaves on the ground,
Or waltzers in the ball-room,
To music's airy sound.

There is, my gentle Lucy,
In all you say or do,
A bright poetic impulse,
Original and true,
Which Art can not acquire,
And Nature gave to you.

The olden fable, Lucy,
My muse to you would bring:
The bird that can but will not,
Should be compelled to sing!
The story and its moral
To modern memories cling.

Awake the harp, dear Lucy!
Like the electric wire
It will convey to millions
The heart-absorbing fire!
And those who lean to listen
Will linger to admire.


All that's beautiful in woman,
All we in her nature love,
All that's good in all that's human,
Passed this gate to courts above.

In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr.

He was the pulse-beat of true hearts,
The love-light of fond eyes:
When such a man from earth departs,
'Tis the survivor dies.

Nature's Nobleman

A Fragment.

When winter's cold and summer's heat
Shall come and go again,
A hundred years will be complete
Since Marion crossed the main,
And brought unto this wild retreat
His dark-eyed wife of Spain.

He was the founder of a free
And independent band,
Who lit the fires of liberty
The revolution fanned:--
His patent of nobility
Read in the ransomed land!

Around his deeds a lustre throngs,
A heritage designed
To teach the world to spurn the wrongs
Once threatened all mankind:--
To his posterity belongs
The peerage of the mind.

A Wall-Street Lyric.

John was thought both rich and great--
Dick so-so, but comfortable:
John lived at a splendid rate--
Coach and horses in his stable.
John could ride when Dick should walk--
(This excited people's talk!)--
For John's wealth, Dick's rugged health
Few would exchange if they were able!

Dick was friendly years ago--
With ingratitude John paid him:
Dick found this was always so
When John had a chance to aid him.
John still cut a brilliant dash,
While he could command the cash,
But for Dick, whom John would kick,
At last a change of luck has made him!

John, 'tis said, is "bound" to lose
Lots by rail, and 'bus, and cable!
And the banks his notes refuse,
Now they think his state unstable.
This may be a story strange
Of the bulls and bears on 'change,
Where the truth, in age and youth,
Is often a poetic fable!

King Cotton.

Old Cotton is king, boys--aha!
With his locks so fleecy and white!
He shines among kings like a star!
And his is the sceptre of right,
Boys, of right,
And his is the sceptre of right!

Old Cotton, the king, has no care,
No queen, and no heir to his throne,
No courtiers, his triumphs to share,
He rules his dominions alone,
Boys, alone!
He rules his dominions alone!

Old Cotton, the merry old boy!--
Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth
His years glide away in their joy,
At home, in the warm sunny south,
Boys, the south,
At home, in the warm sunny south!

Old Cotton will pleasantly reign
When other kings painfully fall,
And ever and ever remain
The mightiest monarch of all,
Boys, of all,
The mightiest monarch of all!

Then here's to old Cotton, the king!
His true loyal subjects are we:
We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing,
A jolly old fellow is he,
Boys, is he,
A jolly old fellow is he!


Adapted to a Spanish Melody.

My lady hath as soft a hand
As any queen in fairy-land;
And, hidden in her tiny boot,
As dainty and as light a foot.
Her foot!
Her little hand and foot!

No star that kindles in the sky
Burns brighter than my lady's eye;
And ne'er before did beauty grace
So fair a form, so sweet a face!
Her face!
Her gentle form and face!

My lady hath a golden heart,
Free from the dross of worldly art;
Which, in the sight of heaven above,
Is mine with all its hoarded love!
Her love!
Her boundless wealth of love!

Love in Exile.

Adapted to a Hungarian melody.

My heart I gave you with my hand,
In brighter days than these,
In that down-trodden father-land
Beyond the distant seas,
Where you were all the world to me,
Devoted, fond, and true,
And I, in our prosperity,
Was all the world to you!
Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway,
We're banished from that land away!

Sad wanderers from our native home!
A ruler in a foe!
An exiled caravan we roam;
But hand in hand WE go!
And thus whatever fate betide
We bless our lot in life,
Since no misfortunes may divide
The husband and the wife!
Here we defy the tyrant's will,
We're happy in each other still!

To The Evening Star.

The woods waved welcome in the breeze,
When, many years ago,
Lured by the songs of birds and bees,
I sought the dell below;
And there, in that secluded spot,
Where silver streamlets roved,
Twined the green ivy round the cot
Of her I fondly loved.

In dreams still near that porch I stand
To listen to her vow!
Still feel the pressure of her hand
Upon my burning brow!
And here, as in the days gone by,
With joy I meet her yet,
And mark the love-light of her eyes,
Fringed with its lash of jet.

O fleeting vision of the past!
From memory glide away!
Ye were too beautiful to last,
Too good to longer stay!
But why, attesting evening star,
This sermon sad recall:

Welcome Home.

My Mary's voice!--It is the hour
She promised to be here:
Taught by love's mysterious power,
I know that she is near.
I hear the melody she sings
Beneath our happy dome,
And now the woodland cheerly rings
With Mary's welcome home.

My Mary's voice!--I hear it thrill
In rapture on the gale,
As she comes gliding down the hill
To meet me in the vale.
In all the world, on land or sea,
Where'er I chance to roam,
No music is so sweet to me
As Mary's welcome home.

The Sycamore Shade.

I knew a sweet girl, with a bonny blue eye,
Who was born in the shade
The wild sycamore made,
Where the brook sang its song
All the summer-day long,
And the moments went merrily by,
Like the birdlings the moments flew by.

I knew a fair maid, soul-enchanting in grace,
Who replied to my vow,
'Neath the sycamore bough,
"Like the brook to the sea,
Oh, I yearn, love, for thee!"
And she hid in my bosom her face--
In my bosom, her beautiful face.

I have a dear wife, who is ever my guide!
Wooed and won in the shade
The wild sycamore made,
Where the brook sings it song
All the summer-day long,
And the moments in harmony glide,
Like our lives they in harmony glide.

Up the Hudson.

Song and Chorus.

Up the Hudson!--Fleetly gliding
To our haunts among the trees!
Joy the gallant vessel guiding
With a fresh and cheerful breeze!
Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us--
(Hearts that love us to the core!)
And with fond expressions greet us
As we near the welcome shore!


Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
(Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!

Up the Hudson!--Rock and river,
Grove and glen pronounce His praise,
Who, of every "Good the Giver,"
Leads us through these pleasant ways!--
Care recedes like water-traces
Of our bark, as on we glide,
Where the hand of nature graces
Homesteads on the Hudson side!


Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
(Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!

Only Thine.

I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that thou art fair;
And lovelier than the orange-flowers
That bind thy glossy hair:
That thou hast every gentle grace
Which nature can design--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that I am thine:
Yes, thine, my love,
I'm thine, my love,
Thine, thine, and only thine.

I know that thou art true, my love,
And welcome as the breeze
Which comes, with healing on its wings,
Across the summer seas:
That thou hast every winning charm
Which culture may refine--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that I am thine.
Yes, thine, my love,
I'm thine, my love,
Thine, thine, and only thine.


On Reading Grim's Attack Upon Clinton.

'Tis the opinion of the town
That Grim's a silly elf:
In trying to write Clinton down,

On Hearing that Morse Did Not "Invent" the Telegraph

First they said it would not do;
But, when he got through it,
Then they vowed they always knew
That he didn't do it!
Lies are rolling stones, of course,
But they can't adhere to MORSE.


For the benefit of William Dunlap.

(Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe)

What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight!
What scene of splendor--conjured here to-night!
What voices murmur, and what glances gleam!
Sure 'tis some flattering unsubstantial dream.
The house is crowded--everybody's here
For beauty famous, or to science dear;
Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles, and beaux,
Poets and painters--and Heaven only knows
Whom else beside!--And see, gay ladies sit
Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit--
(A fairy change--ah, pray continue it.)
Gray heads are here too, listening to my rhymes,
Full of the spirit of departed times;
Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight,
All gather round me on this brilliant night.
And welcome are ye all. Not now ye come
To speak some trembling poet's awful doom;
With frowning eyes a "want of mind" to trace
In some new actor's inexperienced face,
Or e'en us old ones (oh, for shame!) to rate
"With study good--in time--but--never great:"
Not like you travelled native, just to say
"Folks in this country can act a play--
The can't 'pon honor!" How the creature starts!
His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts!
Nay, madam, spare your blushes--you I mean--
There--close beside him--oh, you're full nineteen--
You need not shake your flowing locks at me--
The man, your sweetheart--then I'm dumb you see;
I'll let him off--you'll punish him in time,
Or I've no skill in prophecy or rhyme!
A nobler motive fills your bosoms now,
To wreathe the laurel round the silvered brow
Of one who merits it--if any can--
The artist, author, and the honest man.
With equal charms his pen and pencil drew
Bright scenes, to nature and to virtue true.
Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared,
And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered;
But not alone on budding genius smile,
Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while;
To boyish hope not every bounty give
And only youth and beauty bid to live.
Will you forget the services long past--
Turn the old war-horse out to die at last?--
When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o'er,
His faithful bosom dares the charge no more!
Ah, no!--The sun that loves his beams to shed
Round every opening floweret's tender head,
With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws
To cheer the sadness of the fading rose:
Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd,
Points to the past, and has his claims allowed;
Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done,
And rests in triumph--like the setting sun.


For the benefit of James Sheridan Knowles.

(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.)

Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite--
To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!--
I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie!
To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try!

From him I turn to these more generous souls
The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES.
Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here!
What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere!
Names that shine brightest on our country's page!
The props of science--literature--the stage!
Above--below--around me--woman smiles,
The fairest floweret of these western wilds--
All come to pay the tribute of their praise
To the first dramatist of modern days:
And welcome, to the green home of the free,
With heart and hand, the bard of liberty!

His is a wizard-wand. Its potent spell
Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell,
And placed him on his native hills again,
The pride and glory of his fellow-men!
The poet speaks--for Rome Virginia bleeds!
Bold Caius Gracclius in the forum pleads!
Alfred--the Great, because the good and wise,
Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise!
Sweet Bess, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen,
Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene!
The Hunchback enters--kindly--fond--severe--
And last, behold the glorious Wife appear!

These are the bright creations of a mind
Glowing with genius, chastened and refined.
In all he's written, be this praise his lot:
"Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot!"

Upon my life 'tis no such easy thing
To land the bard, unless an eagle's wing
My muse would take; and, fixing on the sun
Her burning eye, soar as his own has done!

Did you speak, sir?--What, madam, did he say?
Wrangling!--for shame!--before your wedding-day!
Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue,
And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you!
Bless me, what friends at every glance I see!
Artists and authors--men of high degree;
Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance,
The next election, and the war with France;
Doctors, just come from curing half a score--
And belles, from killing twice as many more;
Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors,
Seated, like true republicans, down stairs!
All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces
Might well become Apollo and the graces,
Except one yonder, with a look infernal,
Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble's Journal!

But to my task. The muse, when I began,
Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man.
Genius, at best, acts but an humble part,
Unless obedient to an honest heart.
And such a one is his, for whom, to-night,
These walls are crowded with this cheering sight
Ye love the poet--oft have conned him o'er,
Knew ye the man, ye'd love him ten times more.
Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill,
Ye gods, applaud him; and ye fops--be still!


For the Benefit of Henry Placide.

(Spoken by Mrs. Hilson.)

The music's done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie!
Your bell and whistle put me in a fury!
Don't ring up yet, sir--I've a word to say
Before the curtain rises for the play!

Your pardon, gentlefolks, nor think me bold,
Because I thus our worthy promoter scold:
'Twas all feigned anger. This enlightened age
Requires a RUSE to bring one on the stage!

Well, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight
Presented on this brilliant festal night!
Where'er I turn, whole rows of patrons sit--
The house is full--box, gallery, and pit!
Who says the New-York public are unkind?
I know them well, and plainly speak my mind--
"It is our right," the ancient poet sung--
He knew the value of a woman's tongue!
With this I will defend ye--and rehearse
FIVE glorious ACTS of yours--in modern verse;
Each one concluding with a generous deed
For Dunlap, Cooper, Woodworth, Knowles, Placide!
'Twas nobly done, ye patriots and scholars!
Besides--they netted twenty thousand dollars!
"A good round sum," in these degenerate times--
"This bank-note world," so called in Halleck's rhymes;
And proof conclusive, you will frankly own,
In liberal actions New-York stands alone.

Though roams he oft 'mong green poetic bowers,
The actor's path is seldom strewn with flowers.
His is a silent, secret, patient toil--
While others sleep, he burns the midnight oil--
Pores o'er his books--thence inspiration draws,
And waste's his life to merit your applause!
O ye, who come the laggard hours to while,
And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile,
Remember this: the mirth that cheers you so,
Shows but the surface--not the depths below!
Then judge not lightly of the actor's art,
Who smiles to please you, with a breaking heart!
Neglect him not in his hill-climbing course,
Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse:
Up hill, indulge him--down the steep descent,
Spare--and don't urge him when his strength is spent;
Impel him briskly o'er the level earth,
But in the stable don't forget his worth!
So with the actor--while you work him hard,
Be mindful of his claims to your regard.

But hold!--methinks some carping cynic here
Will greet my homely image with a sneer.
Well--let us see--I would the monster view:
Man with umbrageous whiskers, is it you?
Ah, no--I was mistaken: every brow
Beams with benevolence and kindness now;
Beauty and fashion all the circles grace--
And scowling Envy here were out of place!
On every side the wise and good appear--
The very pillars of the State are here!
There sit the doctors of the legal clan;
There all the city's rulers, to a man;
Critics and editors, and learned M.D.'s,
Buzzing and busy, like a hive of bees;
And there, as if to keep us all in order,
Our worthy friends the Mayor and the Recorder!

Well, peace be with you! Friends of native worth,
Yours is the power to call it into birth;
Yours is the genial influence that smiles upon
The budding flowerets opening to the sun.
they all around us court your fostering hand--
Rear them with care, in beauty they'll expand--
With grateful odors well repay your toil,
Equal to those sprung from a foreign soil;
and more Placides bask in your sunshine then,
The first of actors and the best of men.

The Maid of Saxony; or, Who's the Traitor?
An Opera in Three Acts.

Founded upon historical events in the life of Frederick the Second of Prussia,
related by Miss Edgeworth, Zimmermann, Latrobe, and other writers.

The Music
With the exception of three German Melodies, and the characteristic Introduction
Composed by
Charles E. Horn.

The Libretto by George P. Morris.

The Scenery by..........Messrs. Hillyard, Wheatley, and Assistants.
The Costumes by...........................................M. Louis.
The Properties and Decorations by.......................M. Dejonge.
The Machinery by........................................M. Speyers.
The Orchestra increased, and the Choruses full and effective.
Leader of the Orchestra and Chorus-Master.................M. Chubb.
The Music produced under the direction of...........Mr. C. E. Horn.
Stage Manager............................................Mr. Barry.

Dramatis Personae.

Frederick II. (King of Prussia)....................Mr. Chippendale.
Count Laniska (his Aid-de-Camp, a Pole)................Mr. Manvers.
Albert ( a young Saxon student-at-law)..............Mr. Fredericks.
Karl (a Hungarian, Packer to the Royal Factory).....Mr. C. E. Horn.
Wedgewood (an English Merchant)........................Mr. Placide.
Baron Altenburg (Attorney-General).......................Mr. Barry.
Judge of the Court.......................................Mr. Clark.
Hans (an Innkeeper)....................................Mr. Andrews.
Harold (an old Sergeant of Grenadiers)..................Mr. Seguin.
Corporal of Grenadiers (old man)........................Mr. Fisher.
Burgomaster..............................................Mr. Povey.
Jailor of the Castle Spandau...........................Mr. Bellamy.
Herald..................................................Mr. Nelson.
First General.............................................Mr. King.
Second General..........................................Mr. Gallot.

Staff-Officers, Officers of State, Workmen of the Factory, Citizens,
Advocates, Jurymen, Grenadiers, Peasants, Travellers, Servants,

Countess Laniska.......................................Mrs. Barry.
Frederica (her daughter)..............................Mrs. Knight.
Sophia Mansfield (the Saxon Maid).................Mrs. C. E. Horn.
Gertrude.........................................Miss Mary Taylor.

Ladies of the Court, Factory Gils, Peasants, etc.

Scene -- Berlin and Potsdam.
Time -- Latter part of the reign of Frederick the Great.

The Maid of Saxony. [See Notes]

Act I.

Scene I.

Inside of a German Inn, on the road to Berlin. Fire and candles nearly extinguished.
Clock in the corner, marking the hour of ten. HANS seated in an arm-chair, asleep.
Music. The curtain rises to the opening symphony. HANS yawns in his sleep.


Ho! Hans!--Why, Hans!--You Hans, I say!
Awake!--here'll be the deuce to pay!
For coming guests get fire and lights,
And help me put the room to rights!

(HANS stretches and yawns)

Hans!--I've no patience with the lout!
What, Hans, on earth are you about?

(Shakes HANS, who yawns again)

Did ever room look so forlorn?
Hans!--Hark! I hear the postman's horn!

(Sounds of a horn in the distance. HANS stretches, yawns, and rises.)

What der tuyvel is der matter,
Dus you chitter-chatter-clatter?

GERTRUDE (aside).
His impudence can not be borne!

What's dat I hear?

The postman's horn!

(Sounds of horn again.)

Whose notes o'er moor and mountain flung--

Are not so noisy as your tongue!

(Horn sounds as though approaching; whips are heard, and the post-coach is supposed
to arrive outside with PASSENGERS. Enter the ATTENDANTS, with portmanteaus,
carpet-bags, etc., and PASSENGERS.)

Rejoice! rejoice! we're safe and sound,
And shelter for the night have found,
Within this snug abode!
The dust may rise, the rain may fall--
Beneath this roof we'll smile at all
The dangers of the road!

Then let the cheerful board be spread;
To supper first, and then to bed,
Till birds their songs begin:
Thus, whether sleeping or awake,
The weary traveller will take
His comfort at his inn.

Rejoice! rejoice! we're safe, etc.


Where in the world are all these people going to, Hans?

To Berlin, to shee der troops. Frederick musters dem to-morrow at der capital. But
why don't you attend to der guest?

Why don't YOU? You are not fit to keep an inn, Hans.

I was not prought up to it; mine pishiness was to keep a paint-shop, and shell der
colors to der artists.

Don't stand here chatting about your fine colors--but look to the guests--

Yaw, yaw, mein fraulein.

ALBERT (without)
Ho! landlord!--Waiters, look to our luggage!

WEDGEWOOD (speaking as he enters.)
If it is convenient.

(Enter ALB'T and WEDGEWOOD in cloaks, briskly.)

This way, gentlemen, this way.

Two bed-chambers, landlord, as soon as possible.

Yaw, mynheer.

(Gives directions to ATTENDANT, who exits)

Landlady, take care of my coat and stick, and here's something for your pains.

Yes, sir.

WEDGEWOOD (looking at her.)
What a pretty girl.

Is that ALL, sir?

No, that's not all. (Kisses her.) Take this into the bargain, you jade!

GERTRUDE (courtesies.)
Thank you, sir. (Aside.) What a nice, queer old gentleman!

HANS (taking her away passionately.)
What's dat to you? Give me der tings (takes them.) You do noding but ogle mit der
young folks, and flirt mit der old ones!

Oh, you jealous brute! [Exit in a huff.

WEDGEWOOD (noticing her.)
Nice girl that--ODD, too, that she should have married a man old enough to be her

HANS (aside.)
Dat queer chap in der brown vig I'm sure is a gay deceiver, or he would not admire
mine vife so much. I must have mine eyes about me. [Exit.

Odd, very odd, VERY ODD indeed! But, now that we are alone, pray continue the narrative
you commenced in the coach--if it is convenient.

Right willingly. Frederick, after his conquest of Saxony, transported by force
several manufacturers from Dresden to Berlin, where he established a Porcelain Factory--

Separated from their friends, home, and country, these unfortunate people are compelled
to continue their labors for the profit and glory of their conqueror--I know it--go on--

Among those in bondage is Sophia Mansfield--

I have heard of her:--a young, beautiful, and singularly-gifted girl--

Several pieces of her design and modelling were shown to the king, when he was at
Meissen, in Saxony; and he was so struck with their beauty, that he determined to
convey the artist with other prisoners, to his capital--

Where he issued his royal edict, compelling the girls of the factory to marry Prussian
soldiers. Unfeelingly odd!

Sophia has yet escaped this tyranny. The OVERSEER, however, has demanded her hand;
but I shall be in time to thwart his purposes.

But, to effect that, you must also thwart the purposes of Frederick himself, who, I
understand, is as stubborn as he is bold.

Count Laniska has won Sophia's affections, and love is a power that can not be

Veritably odd!

You are on your way to the factory--have you free admission for yourself and friends?


Then we will, with your permission, visit it together. (Aside.) In this disguise,
and under the name of Worrendorf, I may pass unnoticed.

(Re-enter HANS, with trunks, etc, and GERTRUDE.)

It is growing late. After the fatigues of the journey, I need repose.

And so do I. Good-night!

Good-night! [Exit ALBERT; GERTRUDE takes a lighted candle from the table and shows
the way; WEDGEWOOD takes a light.] Do you rise early, friend?

No, mynheer; but mine vife does--

Then tell your wife to knock at my door early in the morning.

HANS (eyeing him and looking suspiciously.)
So ho! I SMOKE you!

Then keep farther off with your confounded pipe, you Dutch abomination.

HANS (lays his finger on his nose.)
And I schmells a rat!

WEDGEWOOD (looking around.)
The devil you do! Where?--

Se I vill knock at yourn door myself--

If it is convenient. (Exit Hans.) A pretty house I have got into!--Smokes me!--smells
a rat!--The FILTHY Dutchman! [Exit.

Scene II.

An open cut wood near Berlin. Tents in the distance. A military outpost. Enter
HAROLD, CORPORAL, and a party of SOLDIERS, in military undress.

The life for me is a soldier's life!
With that what glories come!
The notes of the spirit-stirring fife,
The roll of the battle-drum;
The brilliant array, the bearing high,
The plumed warriors' tramp;
The streaming banners that flout the sky,
The gleaming pomp of the camp.

A soldier's life is the life for me!
With that what glories come!
The notes of the spirit-stirring fife,
The roll of the battle-drum!

So, corporal, at last we are to have a muster of the combined forces of the kingdom.

Yes, the king is never so happy as when he has all his children, as he calls US, about

And plaguy good he takes of his CHILDREN! He looks after our domestic as well as our
public interests! It was a strange whim in old Fritz to offer each of his soldiers
one of the factory girls for a wife!

I wonder the old hero does not marry some of them himself.

He would rather look after his soldiers than meddle with the fancies of the women--and
at his age too!

Nonsense! The king is a boy--a mere boy--of seventy! But he does meddle with the
women sometimes.

Say you so?

Ay, and old ones too. It was but the other day that he pensioned a poor widow, whose
only son fell in a skirmish at his side. Heaven bless his old cocked hat!

Yes is it not singular that one so mindful of the rights of old women should compel
the young ones to toil as they do in the factory?

Tush, tush, man!--that's none of your concern, nor mine. What have we to do with state

Right, corporal; and it's not worth while for us to trouble our heads about other
people's business.

You're a sensible fellow--

Right again; and I would return the compliment if you did not wear such a flashy
watch-riband (looks at it.)

That's personal!

I mean it to be so. What the devil do you wear it for?

To gratify a whim. I like this riband. It was a present from an old sweetheart
of mine. Look what a jaunty air it gives one!--and where's the harm of keeping up

What silly vanity! But let me give you a piece of advice: beware of the scrutiny
of the king--he has an eye like a hawk, old as he is; and if he should happen to spy
your watch-riband--

Pooh, pooh!--he would not notice such a trifle.--But who comes yonder? That Hungarian
Karl. Let's make way for him.--He's a fellow I don't fancy. What a man to woo and
win Sophia Mansfield!

He'll never win her, woo her as he may. Count Laniska will look to that.

[HAROLD, CORPORAL and party retire into tents.

(Enter KARL, in great agitation.)

Confusion!--Again rejected
By the maid I fondly love!
Illusion!--In soul dejected!
Jealous fears my bosom move.
Dear Sophia!--Hope's deceiver!
Whom I love; but love in vain!
Can I to my rival leave her?
No--the thought distracts my brain!

Love--revenge!--Oh, how I falter!
Passion's throes unman me quite:
Now he leads her to he alter--
How I tremble at the sight!
Hold, tormentors! cease to tear me!
All in vain I gasp for breath!
Hated rival--scorn I bear thee
Which can only end in death!

(HAROLD advances.)

Karl, what ails you?

KARL (aside.)
Observed! (To HAROLD.) An infirmity I've had from my youth upward. I shall be better

You tremble like one with the ague.

We Hungarians have not your tough constitution, comrade: besides, the weather is
chilly--it freezes me to the bone.

It's the weather within, Karl. Repair to the factory, and sun yourself in the bright
eyes of Sophia Mansfield! That will warm you, especially if Count Laniska happens to
be by to stir up the fire of your jealousy--eh?

You have a sharp wit, which I lack, comrade.

HAROLD (sarcastically.)
And I've another thing which you lack--COMRADE.

What may that be?

A clear conscience, my old boy!

[Exit HAROLD into tent

Does he suspect? No--sleeping and waking I have concealed this (his arm) damning
evidence of my guilt. The mark of Cain I bear about me is known to none, and the
secret dies with me.--For that young Pole, Sophia scorns me; but let him beware!--My
revenge, though slow, is sure!

(KARL turns to go; but perceiving Count Laniska advancing, he retires to a tent.
Enter LANISKA, who notices KARL in the distance.)

When I behold that lowering brow,
Which indicates the mind within,
I marvel much that woman's vow
A man like that could ever win!
Yet it is said, in rustic bower,
(The fable I have often heard)
A serpent has mysterious power
To captivate a timid bird.

This precept then I sadly trace--
That love's a fluttering thing of air;
And yonder lurks the viper base,
Who would my gentle bird ensnare!
'Twas in the shades of Eden's bower
This fascination had its birth,
And even there possessed the power
To lure the paragon of earth!

(At the conclusion of the song, KARL, is about to retire. LANISKA addresses him.)

Come hither, Karl.

I await upon your leisure, count.

I would have some words with you.

You may not relish the frankness of my manner.


Look you, Count Laniska; I am a plain, blunt, straight-forward, rough-spoken fellow,
and a soldier like yourself. I know my rights; and, knowing, will maintain them. It
was by the king's permission and authority that I chose Sophia Mansfield for my bride--

She has rejected you.

What has that to do with the matter? Women are often perverse, and not always the
best judges of their own welfare; and you know she MUST be mine--


Yes, MUST. I have the king's promise, and Frederick was never known to break his word.

You surely will not marry her against her will?

Why not? Sophia is the only woman I ever loved: and now that I have her sure, think
you I will resign her?

And think you the king will force an angel into the arms of a monster? He can not be
so great a tyrant--


Yes. Man was created to cherish woman, not to oppress her; and he is the worst of
tyrants who would injure that sex whom heave ordains it his duty to protect.

Apply you this to the king?

To the king, or to any HE in Christendom, who would use his power to oppress the
unfortunate! But come, sir, we will not dispute about a hasty word--we have higher
duties to perform.

True, count; we oppose our weapons to the enemies of our country, not the bosoms of
our friends. I say OUR country; for, although you were born in Poland, and I in
Hungary, Frederick has made Prussia almost as dear to us as our native land, TYRANT
though he may be.--But we will not quarrel about a single captive, when the king has
placed so many at the disposal of those who fight his battles. [Trumpet sounds without.

(Enter HAROLD with dispatches.)

Dispatches from the king. (Aside.) And a letter from Sophia Mansfield. [Exit.

(The COUNT receives and examines the dispatches; kisses SOPHIA's letter, and puts it
into his bosom. KARL does not notice it.)

'Tis a soldier's rigid duty
Orders strictly to obey;
Let not, then the smile of beauty
Lure us from the camp away.
In our country's cause united,
Gallantly we'll take the field;
But, the victory won, delighted
Singly to the fair we yield!

Soldiers who have ne'er retreated,
Beauty's tear will sure beguile;
Hearts that armies ne'er defeated,
Love can conquer with a smile.
Who would strive to live in story,
Did not woman's hand prepare
Amaranthine wreaths of glory
Which the valiant proudly wear?

[Exit the COUNT. KARL follows, menacing him.

Scene III.

An apartment in the Chateau of the COUNTESS. Enter the COUNTESS and FREDERICA.

Your morning ride, Frederica, was full of romance--the hose of your groom, you say,
took fright--

Yes, dear mother, and darted off at a racing pace; my own also became unmanageable,
and I lost my presence of mind. I should have been thrown, if not killed, had not
a gentleman rushed to my assistance.

Who was he?

I do not know.

Was he alone?

There was an elderly person with him, who seemed to be a foreigner.

But HE was young, of course?

Yes, mother, and handsome as an Adonis.

You have not fallen in love with this stranger, surely? You are not old enough, and
this is only your first season, Frederica.

Love has all seasons for his own, dear mother. Listen!

SONG--FREDERICA. [This song was not written for the opera; but was introduced by the
The spring-time of love is both happy and gay,
For Joy sprinkles blossoms and balm in our way;
the sky, earth, and ocean, in beauty repose,
And all the bright future is couleur de rose!

The summer of love is the bloom of the heart,
When hill, grove, and valley their music impart;
And the pure glow of heaven is seen in fond eyes,
As lakes show the rainbow that's hung in the skies!

The autumn of love is the season of cheer--
Life's mild Indian summer, the smile of the year--
Which comes when the golden-ripe harvest is stored,
And yields its own blessing, repose, and reward.

The winter of love is the beam that we win,
While the storm howls without, from the sunshine within.
Love's reign is eternal--the heart is his throne,
And he has all season of life for his own.

Silly, thoughtless girl!--What strangers are these coming up the avenue?

FREDERICA (looking out.)
As I live, the elderly person I told you of, and the young gentleman who risked his
life to save mine!


Have I the honor of addressing the Countess Laniska? (Aside.) Flounces, frills,
filagrees, and furbelows, but she's superlatively odd!

I am the countess, sir.

WEDGEWOOD (presenting letters.)
Will your ladyship be pleased to receive these letters of introduction--if quite

COUNTESS (receiving letters and looking at them.)
Mr. Wedgewood, from Esturia and London; and--

WEDGEWOOD (introducing ALBERT.)
Mr. Albert Worrendorf.

My daughter Frederica.

ALBERT (aside.)
The angel we met by accident this morning!

WEDGEWOOD (aside.)
Seraphically odd!

We have seen each other before, Mr. Worrendorf.

To my great happiness, madam.

(ALBERT and FREDERICA converse apart.)

It was very kind in my correspondent, Mr. Wedgewood, to introduce a gentleman of your
celebrity to my chateau.

You do me honor, madam. We Englishmen are plain-spoken people. We are not unlike
our earthenware--delf and common clay mixed together. If our outsides are sometimes
rough, all within is smooth and polished as the best of work. It is the purest
spirit, which, like the finest china, lets the light shine through it. (Aside.)
Not a bad compliment to myself, and metaphorically odd!

Your reply reminds me of the object of your visit. The Prussians are very proud of
the manufactory which has claimed the attention of the king.

Oh, how I long to see the great Frederick!

You will like him, I am confident.

I don't know that. I don't at all fancy his edict.--What! marry a parcel of handsome,
innocent, industrious girls to his great whiskered horse-guards, whether they will
or no? It's a piece of moral turpitude--an insult to common sense--and infamously

FREDERICA (advancing.)
Have a care, Mr. Wedgewood--have a care how you talk about the king. He possesses
a sort of magical ubiquity--and is here, there, and every where at the same moment.

How does he manage that?

He wanders about in secrecy and disguise--enters all kinds of mansions--and often
over-hears conversations that were never intended for the court. By this means, it
is said, he gathers information from every nook and corner of his kingdom.

Strange kind of hocus-pocus work for a monarch!--Peripatetically odd!

I have been told that he knows more of the character and condition of his subjects
and soldiers than they do themselves.

And he never knows of a wrong done among his people that he does not instantly
redress--though it often puzzles them to learn how he arrives at his knowledge of
the facts. Many think him a wizard.

And not without reason, madam. Never before have I heard of such a compound of
sagacity, courage, and eccentricity. Oh, I am all in a glow to see and converse
with the jolly old boy!

(Enter Count LANISKA.)

COUNTESS (introducing him.)
My son, the Count Laniska, will present you to his majesty.

WEDGEWOOD (bowing to COUNT.)
If it is convenient. (Aside.) Most martially and uniformly odd! (To LANISKA.)
But, first, I should like to have a glimpse at the factory.

I shall be happy to show it to you. There is one extraordinary subject connected
with it, that will surprise you both--a young girl of singular talent and beauty--

Ah, brother! upon your favorite theme again. That young girl occupies more of your
thoughts than all he porcelain in these dominions.

ALBERT (aside.)
Poor Sophia!

FREDERICA (observing the COUNT looks thoughtful.)
Why, what's the matter with you, brother?

He is no doubt studying the mixture of different kinds of clay, and contriving a
furnace that will not destroy it by too much heat. Ingeniously odd!

You are mistaken, sir. I was thinking at what time I should have the pleasure of
waiting upon you.

I will be at your service as soon as I have had time to adjust my outward and refresh
my inward man.--Necessarily odd! (Seeing the COUNTESS about to retire.) Madam,
allow me (takes her hand)--If it is convenient.


Now, brother, that the countess has retired, pray favor us with your confidence. You
need not mind Mr. Worrendorf--I have told him all about Sophia Mansfield--I love
that poor girl myself, not less for her misfortunes than her genius.

I love her too--

FREDERICA (aside.)
Oh, dear! what's the matter with me? My head turns round--I am ready to drop!

COUNT (with emotion.)
You love her! Wherefore?

She is my countrywoman, and for that I love her.

FREDERICA (recovering.)
Well, gentlemen, I must say this is very gallant of you both, to be praising one
lady so highly when there is another in the room. (Aside.) Oh, dear me, how near
I came to betraying myself!

Your pardon, my dear madam. When I look at you, I almost forget there is another
woman in the world. (Kisses FREDERICA's hand, who turns away with evident
confusion.)--But for the present I must leave you, to join Mr. Wedgewood. [Exit.

COUNT (noticing them.)
(Aside.) So, so, Frederica--fairly caught, I perceive! (To Frederica.) Ah, sister,
sister! as in all things else, there is a destiny in love.

From my fate there's no retreating--
Love commands, and I obey;
How with joy my heart is beating
At the fortunes of to-day!
Life is filled with strange romances--
Love is blind, the poets say;
When he comes unsought, the chance is
Of his own accord he'll stay.

Love can ne'er be forced to tarry;
Chain him--he'll the bonds remove:
Paired, not matched, too many marry--
All should wed alone for love.
Let him on the bridal-even
Trim his lamp with constant ray;
And the flame will light to heaven,
When the world shall fade away!


Scene IV.

The whole depth of the stage is made use of in this scene, which represents an open
country. A Camp and Soldiers at a distance. Music. Enter HANS, GERTRUDE, and
Peasantry: Lads and Lasses dancing.

Lads and lasses, trip away
to the cheerful roundelay!
At the sound of tambourine,
Care is banished from the scene,
And a happy train we bound,
To the pipe and tabour's sound.
Merrily, merrily trip away,
'Tis a nation's holiday!
Merrily, merrily, merrilie,
Bound with sprits light and free!
Let's be jocund while we may;
And dance--dance--dance--
And dance the happy hours away!

When the gleaming line shall come,
To the sound of trump and drum;
Headed by advancing steeds,
Whom the king in person leads--
Let us hail him in his state,
For the king's both good and great!
Merrily, merrily trip away,
'Tis a nation's holiday!
Merrily, merrily, merrilie,
Bound with sprits light and free!
Let's be jocund while we may;
And dance--dance--dance--
And dance the happy hours away!

(Immediately after chorus, a grand march is commenced in he distance, which becomes
more and more distinct as the troops advance. The PEASANTS form in groups. HANS
speaks during the first part of the march.)

Here we are, Gertrude, many miles from our own village--and all for vat? To please
you--(aside) and to shell a few color to der artishes, vich I pring along mit me for
der purpose; but I need not tell her dat.--Here, stand aside, and don't be looking
after de sholders!

(GERTRUDE and HANS stand aside. Grand march. Enter a corps of Grenadiers and other
troops, who form on the right of the stage. Roll of drums. The troops present arms.
Enter FREDERICK, in a furious passion, followed by general and staff Officers, and
Count LANISKA. The KING acknowledges the salute, lifts his hat, and puts it on again
furiously. HAROLD and Corporal are in the ranks of the Grenadiers. Throughout the
scene the KING speaks hurriedly.)


Your Majesty.

How comes it there is such a lack of discipline in your division? Disband THAT
regiment at once, and draft a few of the men from the right wing into other regiments
ordered for immediate service! The sooner THEY are shot the better!

Yes, sire. [Exit.

Generals--most of you have served the greater part of your lives with me. We have
grown gray-headed in the service of our country, and we therefore know best ourselves
the dangers, difficulties, and glory in which we have shared. While we maintain the
discipline of the army, we may defy any power that Europe can march against us--relax
that, and we become an easy prey to the spoiler.

Your majesty shall have no cause of complain in the future.

Make sure of that!--Soldiers, I rely in my operations entirely upon your well-known
zeal in my service, and I shall acknowledge it with gratitude as long as I live;
but at the same time I require of you that you look upon it as your most sacred
duty to show kindness and mercy to all prisoners that the fortunes of war may throw
in your power.

That duty, sire, you have taught us all our lives.

KING (taking snuff.)
Good!--Have any of my grenadiers anything to say to me before the parade is dismissed?

HAROLD (recovering arms.)
Your Majesty!

Speak out, Harold!

The grenadiers have noticed with deep regret that you fatigue yourself of late too
much with the cares of the army. We protest against it--

Zounds and fury!--Here's rebellion! YOU protest against it?

HAROLD (bluntly.)
We do. You are getting to be an old man--a very old man--and are too much afoot.

I can do as I like about it, I suppose?

Certainly not; and you will, therefore, in future, be good enough to use your carriage
more and your legs less.

What do the grenadiers FEAR?

We fear nothing but the loss of your health, the loss of your life, or the loss of
your favor, sire.

Don't you fear the loss of my temper at your bluntness--eh, old comrade?

No, sire; we know you like it.

I do indeed. You are in the right, my brave compatriots--for my advanced age and
increasing infirmities admonish me that I shall be under the necessity of following
your advice. But on the day of battle, you shall see me on horseback--ON HORSEBACK--and
in the thickest of the fight! (Crosses the stage, as a BURGOMASTER enters, kneels,
and presents a petition.) What have we here?

Sire--the common council has imprisoned a citizen, upon an accusation that he has
sinned against heaven, the king, and the right worshipful the common council. We
humbly beg to know what Your Majesty's pleasure is with regard to the punishment
of so unparalleled and atrocious an offender?

If the prisoner has sinned against heaven, and is not a fool or a madman, he will
make his peace with it without delay. This is a Power (taking off his hat--all the
characters make their obeisance) that kings themselves must bow to in reverential
awe. (Resumes his hat.)

But he has also sinned against your high and mighty majesty--

Tush, tush, man!

BURGOMASTER (profoundly.)
On my official veracity, sire.


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