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No. 13 - Song - Rodolph - "Ths Wonderful Magician"
| Rodolph: | In ancient days, the darkly superstitious, Which now are comic, though they then were tragic, 'Mid other institutions meretricious Were counted arts of witchcraft and of magic. And now they say that these beliefs have vanished; But though the learned tell us they are nil, The witchcraft born of love is never banished, The magic of this love is with us still. Oh, a marvellous magician is this Love, With his prestidigitation and his subtle conjuration; An eagle, if he likes, becomes a dove; A lion becomes a lizard If it pleases this young wizard, By a smile, a note, a lock of hair, a glove; He may make an ignoramus of a sage how ever famous; While the vapid and the silly become clever, willy nilly, Beneath the spell of this magician Love. This conjurer is full of petty malice, And we are only puppets that he teases; He offers you a drink from golden chalice, And, presto! you are anything he pleases. They try to tell us, these savants and sages, That gone are all the days of the black art; But hearts are still in mediaeval ages And Love's the great magician of the heart. Yes, a sorcerer of cunning is this love, An alchemist of learning, lead to gold he's always turning; An astrologer who reads no stars above; A human heart's his planet, Thro' his glass he loves to scan it; Not Minerva's owl's his bird, but Venus' dove. He is ruler of your fancy by his wondrous necromancy; If you're docile he won't harm you, yield to him and he will charm you; A marvellous magician is this Love. |
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Page modified 14 March 2017