Enter Josephine, twining some flowers which she carries 
in a small
basket
BALLAD -- JOSEPHINE
Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell,
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
Sad is the hour when sets the sun--
Dark is the night to earth's poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
Enter Captain
CAPT. My child, I grieve to see that you are a prey to
melancholy. You should look your best to-day, for Sir 
Joseph
Porter, K.C.B., will be here this afternoon to claim 
your
promised hand.
JOS. Ah, father, your words cut me to the quick. I can
esteem -- reverence -- venerate Sir Joseph, for he is a 
great and
good man; but oh, I cannot love him! My heart is 
already given.
CAPT. (aside). It is then as I feared. (Aloud.) Given? 
And to whom? Not to some gilded lordling?
JOS. No, father -- the object of my love is no 
lordling. 
Oh, pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board 
your own
ship!
CAPT. Impossible!
JOS. Yes, it is true -- too true.
CAPT. A common sailor? Oh fie!
JOS. I blush for the weakness that allows me to cherish
such a passion. I hate myself when I think of the depth 
to which
I have stooped in permitting myself to think tenderly 
of one so
ignobly born, but I love him! I love him! I love him! 
(Weeps.)
CAPT. Come, my child, let us talk this over. In a 
matter
of the heart I would not coerce my daughter -- I attach 
but
little value to rank or wealth, but the line must be 
drawn
somewhere. A man in that station may be brave and 
worthy, but at
every step he would commit solecisms that society would 
never
pardon.
JOS. Oh, I have thought of this night and day. But fear
not, father, I have a heart, and therefore I love; but 
I am your
daughter, and therefore I am proud. Though I carry my 
love with
me to the tomb, he shall never, never know it.
CAPT. You are my daughter after all. But see, Sir 
Joseph's
barge approaches, manned by twelve trusty oarsmen and 
accompanied
by the admiring crowd of sisters, cousins, and aunts 
that attend
him wherever he goes. Retire, my daughter, to your 
cabin -- take
this, his photograph, with you -- it may help to bring 
you to a
more reasonable frame of mind.
JOS. My own thoughtful father!