PART I.
OVERTURE--IN C MINOR.--"PEACE AND WAR."--DUGGAN.
SONG--"I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE."--ALFRED MELLON.
MISS URSULA BARCLAY.
I arise from dreams of thee, In the first sweet sleep of night; When winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright;-- I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me, who knows how, To thy chamber window sweet.
Oh take my last fond sigh, I die--I faint--I fall; The dews of night are chill On my lips and eyelids pale; My cheek is cold and white, And my heart beats loud and fast; Oh press it close to thine, Where it will break at last.
CAVATINA.--"ADELAIDE."--BEETHOVEN.
SIGNOR GARDONI.
Nel giardino solingo v' al tuo bene dolcemente di rose a luce sparso, che frà tremole frondi si diffonde Adelaida! Nel cristallo del rio, sù nell' alpi, nell' aurate del di cadente nubi, nelle stelle risplende il tuo sembiante, Adelaida! Nelle tenere frondi garron l'aure e sursurran del Maggio le violette, l'onde fremono, e canta l' usi gnuolo, Adelaida! Prodigioso! rinasce sulla tomba dalle cencri del mio cor un fiore, ve su foglie purpure e traluce, Adelaida!
THE CRADLE SONG--WALLACE.
MISS GREENFIELD.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Over the rolling waters go, Come from the drooping moon-- And blow him again to me While my little one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon-- Rest, rest on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon-- Father will come to the babe in his nest. Silver sails all out of the west, Under the moon, the silver moon: Sleep, my little one-- Sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
ARIA.--SORGETE E IN SI BEL GIORNO--(Maometto) ROSSINI.
Sorgete e in si bel giorno O prodi mici guerrieri A Maometto intornuo Venite ad e sultar.
Duce di tanti eroi Crollar faro' gl' Imperi E volero con voi Del mondo a trionfar.
CAVATINA.--"NON PIU MESTA."--(Cenerentola) ROSSINI.
MD'LLE. RITA FAVANTI.
RECITATIVE.
Non piu mesta accanto al fuoco staro Sola a gorgheggiar nò; Ah! for un 'lampo Un sogno un gioco il mio lungo palpitar Non più mesta, &c., &c.
ARIA.
Nacqui all' affanno, al pianto. Soffri tacendo il core; Ma per soave incanto Dell' età mia fiore, Come un baleno rapido La sorte mia cangio. Nò, nò! tergete il ciglio, Perchè tremar, perchè? A questo sen volate Figlia, Sorella, Amica, Tutto trovate in me.
SONG.--"THE SLAVE'S DREAM."--HATTON.
HERR BRANDT.
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand, His breast was bare--his matted hair Was buried in the sand; Again in the mist and shadow of sleep He saw his native land, Wide thro' the landscape of his dream, The Lordly Niger flowed, Beneath the palm trees on the plain Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain road. He saw once more his dark-eyed Queen Among her children stand; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand; A tear burst from the sleeper's lids, And fell into the sand. At night he heard the lion roar, And the fierce hyena scream; And the river horse, as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream, And it passed like a glorious roll of drums Through the triumph of his dream; He did not feel the driver's whip, Nor the burning heat of day,-- For death hath illumined the land of sleep; And his lifeless body lay A worn out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away.
SONG.--"WHEN THE THORN IS WHITE WITH BLOSSOM."--WEBER.
MRS. WOKIE.
When the thorn is white with blossom, And the fountain flows again, Tell me, mother, must I fly him If he seek me on the plain; Or the meadow where the primrose first is found, And beneath the spreading beeches Many a violet decks the ground, When the thorn is white with blossom And the fountain flows again.
Should I at the fall of twilight Hear afar his flute's soft lays,-- Mother, must I close the lattice If I know for me he plays; On the willow where engrav'd I find my name, If I linger long to read it, Shall I hear my mother blame; When the thorn is white with blossom, And the fountain flows again.
Tell me if a dewy garland Hang beside thy summer bower, Twin'd with leaves of fragrant myrtle, And each fairest early flower, Must it wither, if I know he placed it there? Mother, tell me, would you chide me, If I bound it round my hair? When the thorn is white with blossom, And the fountain flows again.
_Variations, Violin._
"Hillì Milli Puniah," (an East Indian air,) VALDARES.
SONG.--"THE VISION OF THE NEGRO SLAVE."
MISS GREENFIELD.
Tortured to death by lash-inflicted wound; His head bowed down, and sunk upon the ground; Sad was his soul, oppress'd by heavy care. Far, far from his home, his heart--deep, dark despair: When lo! a vision broke before his sight, A vision holy, beautiful, and bright; The thorn-crown'd brow, with calm pale look resigned Of one who suffered for mankind.
A voice, more sweet than earthly music's thrill, Spake to the captive's heart--be patient, still. Behold how meekly mercy's palm to win He suffered for thy sake, who had no sin, As on His Father's throne by suffering gained, At length He sitteth, so thy soul, unchained By patience and long faith, at last shall bound Into Eternal Life, and be with glory crown'd.
AIR--"LES DIAMANS DE LA COURONNE."--AUBER.
MISS LOUISA PYNE.
Ah! je veux briser ma chaîne, Disait le bel Ivan! Tu causes trop de peine, Amour, va-t' en! Il s'envolait déjà, Ivan le rappela, Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! Qui le maudit, toujours y reviendra.
_Solo Tenor Sax Tuba._--DISTIN.
SCENA.--"JOAN OF ARC IN PRISON."--LINDSAY SLOPER.
MISS DOLBY.
'Tis midnight dark--all lonely in her sorrow, The warrior maiden in her dungeon lies; Not only visions of the fearful morrow Traced as by lightning gleams before her eyes, But dreams come round her of a day more golden, Fond memories of a happy peasant time, Sweet as the melody of ballad olden, The tune of birds, the cheerful hamlet-chime.
Oh, mine own fountain! in the glade up-springing, For ever cool beneath the tender leaves, Amid the murmur of thy waters ringing, The fairies talked with me on summer eves; No more--no more to bathe my burning brow-- How much I love thee now!
O, mine old father, by my fortune saddened, Like autumn field destroyed by sudden blight; Well hath thy homely love my childhood gladdened On many an April morn and winter night! Farewell!--farewell!--thou canst not hear me vow How much I love thee now!
No more of dreaming in the leafy forest-- The scaffold and the pile are set for me; No more kind smiles, when my heart needs them sorest. The mocking crowd are all I now shall see; Can I not 'scape and hide me? Will no eye Pity my youth?--no ear receive my cry?--
Hark! I am heard! Mine angel voices near me, With seraph-clarions through the darkness cheer me! They bid me once again the armour wear Of faith immortal, won by lowly prayer; And I will triumph o'er my great despair, And lift my eyes to Heaven, and nobly die!
Thou gavest me the battle sword By which the foe did fall; Thou gavest me the crown, O Lord! To crown me King withal! And now Thou givest me the chain My feeble frame upon, Because the mortal was too vain Of deeds thine hand had done! But thou wilt give me, soon, the palm Of triumph o'er despair, That, safe in Thine eternal calm, Thy glorious angels wear!-- Wilt stand beside me in the fire, Though keen its torture be; And, when the curling flames aspire, Take up my soul to Thee!
OVERTURE.--"FRA DIAVOLO."--AUBER.