[They start to run, but are met by Knight on horseback in centre of stage.  He dismounts and drops to one knee.

King

  Tis Feal the Faithful!  Rise, Sir Knight,
  And tell us what thou doest here!

Knight

  O Sire, I know your children’s plight. 
  I go to ease your royal fear.

Queen

  Now if thou bringst them back to us,
  A thousand blessings on thy head.

King

  Ay, half my kingdom shall be thine. 
  The Princess Winsome thou shalt wed.

Queen

  But tell us, how dost thou think to cope
  With the Ogre so dread and grim? 
  What is the charm that bids thee hope
  Thou canst rout and vanquish him?

Knight

  My faithful heart is my only charm,
  But my good broadsword is keen,
  And love for the princess nerves my arm
  With the strength of ten, I ween. 
  Come weal, come woe, no knight can fail
  Who goes at Love’s behest. 
  Long ere one moon shall wax and wane,
  I shall be back from my quest. 
  I have only to find the South Wind’s flute. 
  In the Land of Summer it lies. 
  It can awaken the echoes mute,
  With answering replies. 
  And it can summon the fairy folk
  Who never have said me nay. 
  They’ll come to my aid at the flute’s clear call. 
  Love always can find a way.

King

  Go, Feal the Faithful.  It is well! 
  Successful mayst thou be,
  And all the way that thou dost ride,
  Our blessings follow thee.

[Curtain.

ACT II.

SCENE. Room in Ogre’s tower.  Princess Winsome kneeling with arm around Dog’s neck.

Princess

Art thou my brother?  Can it be That thou hast taken such shape?  Oh turn those sad eyes not on me!  There must be some escape.  And yet our parents think us dead.  No doubt they weep this very hour, For no one ever has escaped, Ere this, the Ogre’s power.  Oh cruel fate!  We can but die!  Each moment seems a week. Is there no hope?  Oh, Hero dear, If thou couldst only speak!  But no!  Within this tower room We’re captive, and despair Must settle on us.  ’Tis the doom Of all dragged up yon winding stair.

[Drops her head and weeps.  Enter Godmother, who waves wand and throwing back curtain, displays a spinning-wheel.

Godmother

  Rise, Princess Winsome,
  Dry your weeping eyes. 
  The way of escape
  Within your own hand lies.

  Waste no time in sorrow,
  Spin and sing instead. 
  Spin for thy brother’s sake,
  A skein of golden thread.

  Question not the future,
  Mourn not the past,
  But keep thy wheel a-turning,
  Spinning well and fast.