Thinkst thou the Hetman will refuse?

It is for him thou hast renounced

The claims of honour, home, and God!

MARIE.

Alas, what do I see and hear?

Mazeppa... father... death... and here

My mother, praying, kneels before me!...

Nay, nay, my fancy plays me false,

I must be mad!

MOTHER.

God be with thee!

'Tis neither madness nor a dream!

It cannot be, thou dost not know;

Thy father, wounded in his pride,

Unused to bear a daughter's shame,

And thirsting quick and sharp revenge,

Betrayed the Hetman to the Tsar.

Knowst thou not that, racked with pain,

He hath accused himself of false

Intrigues 'gainst innocence and truth?

That he, the prey of justice blind,

Lies at the mercy of his foe?

This day, before the Cossack troops,

Unless just God should intervene,

He dies the death of public shame.

Within this castle's prison-tower

Bound and chained he lies.

MARIE.

Oh God! oh God!

Tis true?... this day... my father dies?

And on her couch the maid down drooped,

And backward fell, like some cold corpse.

The gay caps mingle in the sun;

The spears shine bright; the drums beat loud;

The Hetman's well-trained troops march forth