NIMA, _her attendant_, Miss Mullen.

_WARRIORS and INDIAN GIRLS._

SCENE, Virginia.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The/Indian Princess;/or,/La Belle Sauvage./An Operatic Melo-Drame./In
Three Acts./Performed at the Theatres Philadelphia and/Baltimore./By J. N.
Barker./ First Acted April 6, 1808./Philadelphia,/Printed by T. & G.
Palmer,/For G. E. Blake, No. 1, South Third-Street./1808./

[2] The music is now published and sold by Mr. G. E. Blake, No. 1, South
Third-street, Philadelphia.

THE INDIAN PRINCESS

ACT I.

SCENE I. _Powhatan River; wild and picturesque. Ships appear. Barges
approach the shore, from which land SMITH, ROLFE, PERCY, WALTER,
LARRY, ROBIN, ALICE, &c._

_Chorus._

Jolly comrades, raise the glee,
Chorus it right cheerily;
For the tempest's roar is heard no more,
And gaily we tread the wish'd-for shore:
Then raise the glee merrily,
Chorus it cheerily,
_For past are the perils of the blust'ring sea._

SMITH. Once more, my bold associates, welcome. Mark
What cheery aspects look upon our landing:
The face of Nature dimples o'er with smiles,
The heav'ns are cloudless, whiles the princely sun,
As glad to greet us in his fair domain,
Gives us gay salutation--

LARRY. [_To WALTER._] By St. Patrick
His fiery majesty does give warm welcome.
Arrah! his gracious smiles are melting--

WALTER. Plague!
He burthens us with favours till we sweat.

SMITH. What think ye, Percy, Rolfe, have we not found
Sir Walter Raleigh faithful in his tale?
Is 't not a goodly land? Along the bay,
How gay and lovely lie its skirting shores,
Fring'd with the summer's rich embroidery!

PERCY. Believe me, sir, I ne'er beheld that spot
Where Nature holds more sweet varieties.

SMITH. The gale was kind that blew us hitherward.
This noble bay were undiscover'd still,
Had not that storm arose propitious,
And, like the ever kindly breath of heav'n,
Which sometimes rides upon the tempest's wing,
Driv'n us to happiest destinies, e'en then
When most we fear'd destruction from the blast.

ROLFE. Let our dull, sluggish countrymen at home
Still creep around their little isle of fogs,
Drink its dank vapours, and then hang themselves.
In this free atmosphere and ample range
The bosom can dilate, the pulses play,
And man, erect, can walk a manly round.

ROBIN. [_Aside._] Aye, and be scalp'd and roasted by the Indians.

SMITH. Now, gallant cavalier adven