_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! SESTET AND CHORUS _Young Benson._ Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast The old man who has tilled it for years! Ev'ry tree, ev'ry flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears. Turn _him_ from the farm! O'er its grassy hillside, A gay boy he once loved to range; His boyhood has fled, and its dear friends are dead, But these meadows have never known change. _Edmunds._ Oppressor, hear me! _Lucy._ On my knees I implore. _Squire._ I command it, and you will obey. _Rose._ Rise, dear Lucy, rise; you shall not kneel before The tyrant who drives us away. _Squire._ Your sorrows are useless, your prayers are in vain: I command it, and you will begone. I'll hear no more. _Edmunds._ No, they shall not beg again Of a man whom I view with deep scorn. _Flam._ Do not yield. _Young Benson._} _Squire._ } _Lucy._ } Leave the farm! _Rose._ } _Edmunds._ Your pow'r I despise. _Squire._ And your threats, boy, I disregard too. _Flam._ Do not yield. _Young Benson._} _Squire._ } _Lucy._ } Leave the farm! _Rose._ } _Rose._ If he leaves it, he dies. _Edmunds._ This base act, proud man, you shall rue. _Young Benson._ Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast, The old man who has tilled it for years? Ev'ry tree, ev'ry flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears! _Squire._ Yes, yes, leave the farm! From his home I will cast The old man who has tilled it for years; Though each tree and flower is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears. _Chorus._ He has turned from his farm! From his home he has cast The old man who has tilled it for years; Though each tree and flower is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears. QUARTET _Squire._ Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own Through all changes Fortune may make; The base charge of falsehood I never have known; This promise I never will break.