Squire Norton'S Song

The child and the old man sat alone In the quiet, peaceful shade Of the old green boughs, that had richly grown In the deep, thick forest glade. It was a soft and pleasant sound, That rustling of the oak; And the gentle breeze played lightly round, As thus the fair boy spoke:--

'Dear father, what can honour be, Of which I hear men rave? Field, cell and cloister, land and sea, The tempest and the grave:-- It lives in all, 'tis sought in each, 'Tis never heard or seen: Now tell me, father, I beseech, What can this honour mean?'

'It is a name--a name, my child,-- It lived in other days, When men were rude, their passions wild, Their sport, thick battle-frays. When, in armour bright, the warrior bold Knelt to his lady's eyes: Beneath the abbey pavement old That warrior's dust now lies.

'The iron hearts of that old day Have mouldered in the grave; And chivalry has passed away, With knights so true and brave; The honour, which to them was life, Throbs in no bosom now; It only gilds the gambler's strife, Or decks the worthless vow.'

DUET (The Squire and Lucy)

Squire. In rich and lofty station shine, Before his jealous eyes; In golden splendour, lady mine, This peasant youth despise.

Lucy [apart; the Squire regarding her attentively]. Oh! it would be revenge indeed, With scorn his glance to meet. I, I, his humble pleading heed! I'd spurn him from my feet.

Squire. With love and rage her bosom's torn, And rash the choice will be;

Lucy. With love and rage my bosom's torn, And rash the choice will be.

Squire. From hence she quickly must be borne, Her home, her home, she'll flee.

Lucy. Oh! long shall I have cause to mourn My home, my home, for thee!