IC-NRLF fllE THE VESPERS OF PALERMO; A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. MDCCCXXIII. [Price Three Shillings.] PRINTED BY \VILLI AM CLOWES Northumberland-court. DRAMATIS PERSONS. // Jtfa tt Count di Procida. Raimond di Procida, his Son. Eribert, Viceroy. De Couci. Montalba. Guido. Albert!. Anselmo, a Monk. Vittoria. Constance, Sister to Eribert. JfUf^ /', % / Nobles, Soldiers, Messengers, Vassals, Peasants, &c. &c. Scene Palermo. MGOl'777 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO; A TRAGEDY. 4 ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. A Valley, ivith Vineyards and Cottages. Groups of Peasants Procida, disguised as a Pilgrim, amongst them 1 PEASANT. AY, this was wont to be a festal time In days gone by ! I can remember well The old familiar melodies that rose At break of morn, from all our purple hills, To welcome in the vintage. Never since Hath music seem'd so sweet ! But the light hearts Which to those measures beat so joyously Are tamed to stillness now. There is no voice Of joy thro' all the land. 2 PEA. Yes ! there are sounds Of revelry within the palaces, And the fair castles of our ancient lords, Where now the stranger banquets. Ye may hear, From thence the peals of song and laughter rise At midnight's deepest hour. B 2 THE VESPERS [Act I. 3 PEA. Alas ! we sat In happier days, so peacefully beneath The olives and the vines our fathers rear'd, Encircled by our children, whose quick steps Flew by us in the dance ! The time hath been When peace was in the hamlet, wheresoe'er The storm might gather. But this yoke of France Falls on the peasant's neck as heavily As on the crested chieftain's 1 . We are bow'd E'en to the earth. PEA. CHILD. My father, tell me when Shall the gay dance and song again resound Amidst our chesnut-woods, as in those days 1 Of which thou 'it wont to tell the joyous tale ? 1 PEA. When there are light and reckless hearts once more In Sicily's green vales. Alas ! my boy, Men meet not now to quaff the flowing bowl, To hear the mirthful song, and cast aside The weight of work-day care: -they meet, to speak Of wrongs and sorrows, and to whisper thoughts They dare not breathe aloud. PROCIDA. (from the back-ground.} Ay, it is well So to relieve th' o'erburdcn'd heart, which pants Beneath its weight of wrongs ; but better far In silence to avenge them. AN OLD PEA. What deep voice Came with that startling tone ? 1 PEA. It was our guest's, c. 1.] OP PALERMO. 3 The stranger pilgrim, who hath sojourn'd here Since y ester-morn. Good neighbours, mark him well: He hath a stately bearing, and an eye Whose glance looks thro' the heart. His mien accords 111 with such vestments. How he folds round him His pilgrim-cloak, e'en as it were a robe Of knightly ermine ! That commanding step Should have been used in courts and camps to move. Mark him ! OLD PEA. Nay, rather, mark him not : the times Are fearful, and they teach the boldest hearts A cautious lesson. What should bring him here ? A YOUTH. He spoke of vengeance ! OLD PEA. Peace ! we are beset By snares on every side, and we must learn In silence and in patience to endure. Talk not of vengeance, for the word is death. PRO. (coming forward indignantly .J The word is death ! And what hath life for thee, That thou shouldst cling to it thus? thou abject thing ! Whose very soul is moulded to the yoke, And stamp'd with servitude. What ! is it life, Thus at a breeze to start, to school thy voice Into low fearful whispers, and to cast Pale jealous looks around thee, lest, e'en then. Strangers should catch its echo ? Is there aught In this so precious, that thy furrow'd cheek Is blanch'd with terror at the passing thought Of hazarding some few and evil days, Which drag thus poorly on ? B 2 4 THE VESPERS [Act I. SOME OP THE PEASANTS. Away, away ! Leave us, for there is danger in thy presence. PRO. Why, what is danger ? Are there deeper ills Than those ye bear thus calmly? Ye have drain'd The cup of bitterness, till nought remains To fear or shrink from therefore, be ye strong ! Power dwelleth with despair. Why start ye thus At words which are but echoes of the thoughts Lock'd in your secret souls ? Full well I know, There is not one amongst you, but hath nursed Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make One conflict of his life. I know tliy wrongs, And thine and thine, but if within your breasts, There is no chord that vibrates to my voice, Then fare ye well. A YOUTH, (coming forward.) No, no! say on, say on ! There are still free and fiery hearts e'en here, That kindle at $y words. PEAS. If that indeed Thou hast a hope to give us. PRO. There is hope For all who suffer with indignant thoughts Which work in silent strength. What! think ye Heaven Overlooks th' oppressor, if he bear awhile His crested head on high ? I tell you, no ! Th' avenger will not sleep. It was an hour Of triumph to the conqueror, when our king, Our young brave Conradin, in life's fair morn, On the red scaffold died. Yet not the less Sc. 1.] OF PALERMO. 5 Is justice throned above ; and her good time Comes rushing on in storms : that royal blood Hath lifted an accusing voice from earth, And hath been heard. The traces of the past A !.-p Fade in man's heart, but ne'er doth heaven forget. PEAS. Had we but arms and leaders, we are men Who might earn vengeance yet ; but wanting these, What woulds't thou have us do? PRO. Be vigilant; And when the signal wakes the land, arise ! The peasant's arm is strong, and there shall be A rich and noble harvest. Fare ye well. [Exit Procida. 1 PEAS. This man should be a prophet: how he seem'd To read our hearts with his dark searching glance And aspect of command ! And yet his garb Is mean as ours. 2 PEAS. Speak low; I know him well. At first his voice disturb'd me like a dream Of other days ; but I remember now His form, seen oft when in my youth I served Beneath the banners of our kings. 'Tis he Who hath been exiled and proscribed so long, The Count di'Procida. PEAS. And is this he? Then heaven protect him ! for around his steps Will many snares be set. 1 PEAS. He comes not thus But with some mighty purpose ; doubt it not : Perchance to bring us freedom. He is one, Whose faith, thro' many a trial, hath been proved 6 THE VESPERS [Act!. True to our native princes. But away ! The noon-tide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering thro' the vineyards ; now We may resume our toil. [Exeunt Peasants. SCENE II. The Terrace of a Castle. Eribert. Vittoria. VITTORIA. Have I not told thee, that I bear a heart Blighted and cold ? Th' affections of my youth Lie slumbering in the grave ; their fount is closed, And all the soft and playful tenderness Which hath its home in woman's breast, ere yet Deep wrongs have sear'd it ; all is fled from mine. Urge me no more. ERIBERT. O lady! doth the flower That sleeps entomb'd thro' the long wintry storms Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring ; And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair, Wake at love's voice ? VIT. Love ! make love's name thy spell, And I am strong ! the very word calls up From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers, array 'd In arms against thee ! Know'st thou whom I lov'd, While my soul's dwelling place was still on earth ? One who was born for empire, and endow'd With such high gifts of princely majesty, As bow'd all hearts before him ! Was he not Brave, royal, beautiful ? And such he died ; Sc. 2.] OF PALERMO. 7 He died ! hast thou forgotten ? And thou'rt here, Thou meet'st my glance with eyes which coldly look'd, Coldly ! nay, rather with triumphant gaze, Upon his murder ! Desolate as I am, Yet in the mien of thine affianced bride, Oh, my lost Conradin ! there should be still Somewhat of loftiness, which might o'erawe The hearts of thine assassins. ERI. Haughty dame ! If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed, Know, danger is around thee : thou hast foes That seek thy ruin, and my power alone Can shield thee from their arts. VIT. Provencal, tell . Thy tale of danger to some happy heart, Which hath its little world of loved ones round, For whom to tremble ; and its tranquil joys That make earth, Paradise. I stand alone ; They that are blest may fear. ERI. Is there not one Who ne'er commands in vain ? proud lady, bend Thy spirit to thy fate ; for know that he, Whose car of triumph in its earthquake path O'er the bow'd neck of prostrate Sicily, Hath borne him to dominion ; he, my king, Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon My deeds have well deserved ; and who hath power Against his mandates ? VIT. Viceroy, tell thy lord, That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land, 8 THE VESPERS [Act I. Souls may not all be fetter'd. Oft, ere now, Conquerors have rock'd the earth, yet faiPd to tame Unto their purposes, that restless fire, Inhabiting man's breast. A spark bursts forth, And so they perish ! 'tis the fate of those Who sport with lightning and it may be his; Tell him I fear him not, and thus am free. ERI. Tis well. Then nerve that lofty heart to bear The wrath which is not powerless. Yet again Bethink thee, lady ! Love may change hath changed To vigilant hatred oft, whose sleepless eye Still finds what most it seeks for. Fare thee well. Look to it yet ! To-morrow I return. [Exit Eribert. VIT. To-morrow ! Some ere now have slept, and dreamt Of morrows which ne'er dawn'd or ne'er for them ; So silently their deep and still repose Hath melted into death ! Are there not balms In nature's boundless realm, to pour out sleep Like this, on me ? Yet should my spirit still Endure its earthly bonds, till it could bear To his a glorious tale of his own isle, Free and avenged. Thou should'st be now at work, In wrath, my native Etna ! who dost lift Thy spiry pillar of dark smoke so high, Thro' the red heaven of sunset ! sleep'st thou still, With all thy founts of fire, while spoilers tread The glowing vales beneath.' Sc. 2.] OF PALERMO, 9 (Procida enters disguised.) Ha! whoartthou, Unbidden guest, that with so mute a step Dost steal upon me ? PRO. One, o'er whom hath pass'd All that can change man's aspect ! Yet not long Shalt thou find safety in forgetfulness. I am he, to breathe whose name is perilous, Unless thy wealth could bribe the winds to silence. Know'st thou this, lady ? (He shows a ring. VIT. Righteous Heaven ! the pledge Amidst his people from the scaffold thrown By him who perish'd, and whose kingly blood E'en yet is unatoned. My heart beats high Oh, welcome, welcome ! thou art Procida, Th' Avenger, the Deliverer ! PRO. Call me so When my great task is done. Yet who can tell If the return J d be welcome ? Many a heart Is changed since last we met. VIT. Why dost thou gaze, With such a still and solemn earnestness, Upon my alter'd mien? PRO. That I may read If to the widow'd love of Conrad in, Or the proud Eribert's triumphant bride, I now entrust my fate. VIT. Thou, Procida! That thou shouldst wrong me thus ! Prolong thy gaze Till it hath found an answer. 10 THE VESPERS [Act I- PRO. Tis enough. I find it in thy cheek, whose rapid change Is from death's hue to fever's ; in the wild Unsettled brightness of thy proud dark eye, And in thy wasted form. Ay, 'tis a deep And solemn joy, thus in thy looks to trace, Instead of youth's gay bloom, the characters Of noble suffering ; on thy brow the same Commanding spirit holds its native state Which could not stoop to vileness. Yet the voice Of Fame hath told afar that thou shouldst wed This tyrant, Eribert. VIT. And told it not A tale of insolent love repelTd with scorn, Of stern commands and fearful menaces Met with indignant courage ? Procida ! It was but now that haughtily I braved His sovereign's mandate, which decrees my hand, With its fair appanage of wide domains And wealthy vassals, a most fitting boon, To recompense his crimes. I smiled ay, smiled In proud security ! for the high of heart Have still a pathway to escape disgrace, Tho' it be dark and lone. PRO. Thou shalt not need To tread its shadowy mazes. Trust my words : I tell thce, that a spirit is abroad, Which will not slumber till its path be traced By deeds of fearful fame. Vittoria, live ! Sc.2.] OF PALERMO. 11 It is most meet that thou shouldst live, to see The mighty expiation ; for thy heart (Forgive me that I wrong'd its faith) hath nursed A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set Deep on thy marble brow. VIT. Then thou canst tell, By gazing on the withered rose, that there Time, or the blight, hath Work'd ! Ay, this is in Thy vision's scope : but oh ! the things unseen, Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind To ruin struck by grief! Yet doth my soul, Far, midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope, Wherein is bright vitality. 'Tis to see His blood avenged, and his fair heritage, My beautiful native land, in glory risen, Like a warrior from his slumbers ! PRO. Hear'st thou not With what a deep and ominous moan, the voice Of our great mountain swells ? There will be soon A fearful burst ! Vittoria ! brood no more In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth Amidst thy vassals, (yet be secret still) And let thy breath give nurture to the spark Thou It find already kindled. I move on In shadow, yet awakening in my path That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well. VIT. When shall we meet again? Are we not those .3mjsi liJhs& lo aboeb Q. 12 THE VESPERS [Act I. t e)ri3tfQifr faupic ,, , Xl _. , , , o Whom most he loved on earth, and think'st thou not That love e'en yet shall bring his spirit near ,__. ... , , , While thus we hold communion ? PRO. Yes, I feel Its breathing influence whilst I look on thee, Who wert its light in life. Yet will we not Make womanish tears our offering on his tomb ; He shall have nobler tribute 1 I must hence, But thou shalt soon hear more. Await the time. [Exeunt separately.' SCENE 111. The Sea Shore. Raimond di Procida. Constance. CONSTANCE. There is a shadow far within your eye, Which hath of late been deepening. You were wont Upon the clearness of your open brow To wear a brighter spirit, shedding round Joy, like our southern sun. It is not well, If some dark thought be gathering o'er your soul, To hide it from affection. Why is this, My Raimond, why is this ? RAIMOND. Oh ! from the dreams . Of youth, sweet Constance, hath not manhood still A wild and stormy wakening ? They depart, Light after light, our glorious visions fade, The vaguely beautiful ! till earth, unveil'd Lies pale around ; and life's realities Press on the soul, from its unfathom'd depth Sc,3,] OF PALERMO ; 13 * Rousing the fiery feelings, and proud thoughts, In all their fearful strength! Tis ever thus, And doubly so with me ; for I awoke With high aspirings, making it a curse To breathe where noble minds are bow'd, as here. To breathe! it is not breath ! _. _ CON. 1 know thy grief, And is't not mine ? for those devoted men Doom'd with their life to expiate some wild word, Born of the social hour. Oh ! I have knelt, E'en at my brother's feet, with fruitless tears, Imploring him to spare. His heart is shut Against my voice ; yet will I not forsake The cause of mercy. RAI, Waste not thou thy prayers, Oh, gentle love, for them. There's little need For Pity, tho' the galling chain be worn By some few slaves the less. Let them depart ! , m ( There is a world beyond th' oppressor's reach^jj AM thither lies their way. CON. Alas ! I see That some new wrong hath pierced you to the SQIJ$. RAI. Pardon, beloved Constance, if my word$, From feelings hourly stung, have caught, perchance, -JQ A tone of bitterness. Oh ! when thine eyes j)njs b[[ w & With their sweet eloquent thoughtfulness, are. fix'd Thus tenderly on mine, I should forget ;C ( All else in their soft beams ; and yet To tell thee y. mo rftelflJJ ari rnoit Juos artt no 14 THE VESPERS [Act I. CON. What? What wouldst thou say ? O speak ! Thou wouldst not leave me ! RAI. I have cast a cloud, The shadow of dark thoughts and ruin'd fortunes, O'er thy bright spirit. Haply, were I gone, Thou wouldst resume thyself, and dwell once more In the clear sunny light of youth and joy, E'en as before we met before we loved ! CON. This is but mockery. Well thou know'st thy love Hath given me nobler being ; made my heart A home for all the deep sublimities Of strong affection ; and I would not change Th' exalted life I draw from that pure source, With all its checquer'd hues of hope and fear, Ev'n for the brightest calm. Thou most unkind ! Have I deserved this ? RAI. Oh ! thou hast deserved A love less fatal to thy peace than mine. Think not 'tis mockery! -But I cannot rest To be the scorn'd and trampled thing I am In this degraded land. Its very skies, That smile as if but festivals were held Beneath their cloudless azure, weigh mo down With a dull sense of bondage, and I pine For freedom's chaito'd air. I would go forth To seek my noble father ; he hath been Too long a lonely exile, and his name Sb. 3.] OF PALERMO. 15 Seems fading in the dim obscurity Which gathers round my fortunes. CON. Must we part ? And is it come to this ? Oh ! I have still Deem'd it enough of joy with theeio share E'en grief itself and now but this is vain; Alas ! too deep, too fond, is woman's love, Too full of hope, she casts on troubled waves The treasures of her soul ! RAI. Oh, speak not thus ! Thy gentle and desponding tones fall cold Upon my inmost heart. I leave thee but To be more worthy of a love like thine. For I have dreamt of fame ! A few short years, And we may yet be blest. CON. A few short years ! Less time may well suffice for death and fate To work all change on earth ! To break the ties Which early love had form'd ; and to bow down Th' elastic spirit, and to blight each flower Strewn in life's crowded path ! But be it so ? Be it enough to know that happiness Meets thee on other shores. RAI. Where'er I roam Thou shall be with my soul ! Thy soft low voice Shall rise upon remembrance, like a strain Of music heard in boyhood, bringing back Life's morning freshness. Oh ! that there should be Things, which we love with such deep tend^rness,^^ But, through that love, to learn how much of woe 16 THE VESPERS [Act I. Dwells in one hour like this ! Yet weep thou not ! We shall meet soon ; and many days, dear love, Ere I depart. CON. Then there's a respite still. Days ! not a day but in its course may bring Some strange vicissitude to turn aside Th' impending blow we shrink from. Fare thee well. (returning. Oh, Raimond ! this is not our last farewell ? Thou wouldst not so deceive me ? RAI. Doubt me not, Gentlest and best beloved ! we meet again. [Exit Constance. RAI. (After a pause.) When shall I breathe in freedom, and give scope To those untameable and burning thoughts, And restless aspirations, which consume My heart i' th' land of bondage ? Oh ! with you, Ye everlasting images of power, And of infinity ! thou blue-rolling deep, And you, ye stars ! whose beams are characters Wherewith the oracles of fate are traced ; With you my soul finds room, and casts aside The weight that doth oppress her. But my thoughts Are wandering far ; there should be one to share This awful and majestic solitude Of sea and heaven with me. (Procida enters unobserved.) ' It is the hour He named, and yet he comes not. MBWr 5IHT Sc. 3.] OP PALERMO. 17 qsew j ?ljaw(l PROCIDA. (Coming forward) He is here. RAI. Now, thou mysterious stranger, thou, whose glance Doth fix itself on memory, and pursue Thought, like a spirit, haunting its lone hours ; Reveal thyself ; what art thou ? PRO. One, whose life Hath been a troubled stream, and made its way Through rocks and darkness, and a thousand storms, With still a mighty aim. But now the shades Of eve are gathering round me, and I come To this, my native land, that I may rest Beneath its vines in peace. RAI. Seek'st thou for peace ? This is no land of peace ; unless that deep And voiceless terror, which doth freeze men's thoughts Back to their source, and mantle its pale mien With a dull hollow semblance of repose, May so be call'd. PRO. There are such calms full oft Preceding earthquakes. But I have not been So vainly school'd by fortune, and inured To shape my course on peril's dizzy brink., That it should irk my spirit to put on Such guise of hush'd submissiveness as best May suit the troubled aspect of the times. RAI. Why, then, thou art welcome, stranger! to the land Where most disguise is needful. -He were bold Who now should wear his thoughts upon his brow 18 THE VESPERS [Act I. Beneath Sicilian skies. The brother's eye Doth search distrustfully the brother's face ; And friends, whose undivided lives have drawn From the same past, their long remembrances, Now meet in terror, or no more ; lest hearts Full to o'erflowing, in their social hour, Should pour out some rash word, which roving winds Might whisper to our conquerors. This it is, To wear a foreign yoke. PRO. It matters not To him who holds the mastery o'er his spirit, And can suppress its workings, till endurance Becomes as nature. We can tame ourselves To all extremes, and there is that in life To which we cling with most tenacious grasp, Ev'n when its lofty claims are all reduced To the poor common privilege of breathing. Why dost thou turn away ? RAL What would'st thou with me ? I deem'd thee, by th' ascendant soul which liv'-d, And made its throne on thy commanding brow, One of a sovereign nature, which would scorn So to abase its high capacities For aught on earth. But thou art like the rest. What would'st thou with me ? PRO. I would counsel thee. Thou must do that which men ay, valiant men, Hourly submit to do ; in the proud court, And in the stately camp, and at the board Of midnight revellers, whose flush'd mirth is all Sc. 3.] OP PALERMO. 19 A strife, won hardly. Where is he, whose heart Lies bare, thro' all its foldings, to the gaze Of mortal eye ? If vengeance wait the foe, Or fate th' oppressor, 'tis in depths conceal'd Beneath a smiling surface. Youth ! I say Keep thy soul down ! Put on a mask ! 'tis worn Alike by power and weakness, and the smooth And specious intercourse of life requires Its aid in every scene. RAI. Away, dissembler ! Life hath its high and its ignoble tasks, Fitted to every nature. Will the free And royal eagle stoop to learn the arts r By which the serpent wins his spell-bound prey ? It is because I will not clothe myself In a vile garb of coward semblances, That now, e'en now, I struggle with my heart, To bid what most I love a long farewell, And seek my country on some distant shore, Where such things are unknown ! PRO. (exultingly.) Why, this is joy ! After long conflict with the doubts and fears, And the poor subtleties of meaner minds, To meet a spirit, whose bold elastic wing Oppression hath not crush'd. High-hearted youth ! Thy father, should his footsteps e'er again Visit these shores RAI. My father ! what of him? Speak ! was he known to thee ? PRO. In distant lands C 2 20 THE VESPERS [Act I. With him I've traversed many a wild, and look'd On many a danger ; and the thought that thou Wert smiling then in peace, a happy boy, Oft thro' the storm hath cheer'd him. RAI. Dost thou deem That still he lives ? Oh ! if it be in chains, In woe, in poverty's obscurest cell, Say but he lives and I will track his steps E'en to earth's verge ! PRO. It may be that he lives : Tho' long his name hath ceased to be a word Familiar in man's dwellings. But its sound May yet be heard ! Raimond di Procida, Rememberest thou thy father? RAI. From my mind His form hath faded long, for years have pass'd Since he went forth to exile : but a vague, Yet powerful, image of deep majesty, Still dimly gathering round each thought of him, Doth claim instinctive reverence ; and my love For his inspiring name hath long become Part of my being. > W. n Raimond ! doth no voice Speak, to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now ? My son ! my son ! RAI. Father ! Oh God ! my father ! Now I know Why my heart woke before thee ! PRO. Oh ! this hour Makes hope, reality ; for thou art all My dreams had pictured thee! Sc. 3.] OP PALERMO.; 21 RAI. Yet why so long, Ev'n as a stranger, hast thou cross'd my partisan (iO One nameless and unknown ? and yet I felt Each pulse within me thrilling to thy voicexit "oTill JftQ PRO. Because I would not link thy fate with mine, Till I could hail the day-spring of that hope Which now is gathering round us. Listen, youth ! Thou hast told me of a subdued, and scorn'd, ^g And trampled land, whose very soul is bow'd And fashion'd to her chains : but I tell thee Of a most generous and devoted land, A land of kindling energies ; a knd Of glorious recollections ! proudly true To the high memory of her ancient kings, 9ni 9Jl~ And rising, in majestic scorn, to cast Her alien bondage off! RAI. And where.is this I j?{ 8Dfli g PRO. Here, in our isle, our own fair Sicily ! //oq ^y Her spirit is awake, and moving on, )rftj . In its deep silence mightier, to regain Her place amongst the nations ; and the hour, 3 j rf7o ^ Of that tremendous effort is at hand. j y fn ^ o j^tj RAI. Can it be thus indeed? Thou pour'st new life Thro' all my burning veins !- 1 am as one. dj Ol Awakening from a chill and death-like sleep To the full glorious day. p R0 . Thou shalt hear more 1 Thou shalt hear things which would, which will arouse The proud, free spirits of our ancestors , orf E'en from their marble rest. Yet mark me 2'2 THE VESPERS [Act I. Sc. 3. Be secret ! for along my destin'd path I yet must darkly move. Now, follow me ; And join a band of men, in whose high hearts There lies a nation's strength. RAI. My noble father ! Thy words have given me all for which I pined An aim, a hope, a purpose ! And the blood Doth rush in warmer currents thro' my veins, As a bright fountain from its icy bonds By the quick sun-stroke freed. PRO. Ay, this is well ! Such natures burst men's chains ! Now, follow me. [Exeunt. END OF ACT THE FIRST. ' J Ol ir/j JscfT Act II.] OF PALERMO. 23 ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. Apartment in a Palace. Eribert. Constance. CONSTANCE. Will you not hear me ? Oh! that they who need Hourly forgiveness, they who do but live, While Mercy's voice, beyond th' eternal stars, Wins the great Judge to listen, should be thus, In their vain exercise of pageant power, Hard and relentless ! Gentle brother, yet, 'T is in your choice to imitate that heaven Whose noblest joy is pardon. ERIBERT. 'T is too late. You have a soft and moving voice, which pleads With eloquent melody but they must die. CON. What, die ! for words ? for breath, which leaves no trace To sully the pure air, wherewith it blends, And is, being utter'd, gone ? Why, 't were enough For such a venial fault, to be deprived One little day of man's free heritage, Heaven's warm and sunny light ! Oh ! if you deem That evil harbours in their souls, at least 24 THE VESPERS [Act II. Delay the stroke, till guilt, made manifest, Shall bid stern Justice wake. ERI. I am not one Of those weak spirits, that timorously keep watch For fair occasions, thence to borrow hues Of virtue for their deeds. My school hath been Where power sits crown'd and arm'd. And, mark me, sister ! To a distrustful nature it might seem Strange, that your lips thus earnestly should plead For these Sicilian rebels. O'er my being Suspicion holds no power. And yet take note. I have said, and they must die. CON. Have you no fear ? ERI. Of what ? that heaven should fall ? CON. No ! but that earth Should arm in madness. Brother ! I have seen Dark eyes bent on you, e'en midst festal throngs, With such deep hatred settled in their glance, My heart hath died within me. ERI. Am I then To pause, and doubt, and shrink, because a girl, A dreaming girl, hath trembled at a look ? CON. Oh ! looks are no illusions, when the soul, Which may not speak in words, can find no way But theirs, to liberty ! Have not these men Brave sons, or noble brothers ? Etf/. 2n Yes ! whose name It rests with me to make a word of fear, A sound forbidden midst the haunts of men. Sc. 1.] OP PALERMO. 25 CON. But not forgotten! Ah ! beware, beware ! Nay, look not sternly on me. There is one Of that devoted band, who yet will need Years to be ripe for death. He is a youth, A very boy, on whose unshaded cheek The spring-time glow is lingering. T was but now His mother left me, with a timid hope Just dawning in her breast ; and I I dared To foster its faint spark. You smile ! Oh ! then He will be saved ! ERI. Nay, I but smiled to think What a fond fool is hope ! She may be taught To deem that the great sun will change his course To work her pleasure ; or the tomb give back Its inmates to her arms. In sooth, 'tis strange ! Yet, with your pitying heart, you should not thus Have mock'd the boy's sad mother I have said, You should not thus have mock'd her! Now, farewell. [Exit Eribert. CON. Oh, brother ! hard of heart ! for deeds like these There must be fearful chastening, if on high | oT Justice doth hold her state. And I must tell jfa A Yon desolate mother that her fair young son Is thus to perish ! Haply the dread tale May slay her too ; for heaven is merciful^gniariJ tuff, 'Twill be a bitter task ! Jon i [Exit Constance. ow js. si/sot ol om iftiw e&st Jl in io Blnufiii orfltebini nabbidiol braros & 26 THE VESPERS [Act II. SCENE II. A mined Tower, surrounded by Woods. Procida. Vittoria. PROCIDA. Thy vassals are prepared then ? VITTORIA. Yes, they wait Thy summons to their task. PRO. Keep the flame bright, But hidden, till its hour. Wouldst thou dare, lady, To join our councils at the night's mid-watch, In the lone cavern by the rock-hewn cross ? VIT. What should I shrink from ? PRO. Oh! the forest-paths Are dim and wild, e'en when the sunshine streams Thro' their high arches : but when powerful night Comes, with her cloudy phantoms, and her pale Uncertain moonbeams, and the hollow sounds Of her mysterious winds ; their aspect then Is of another and more fearful world ; A realm of indistinct and shadowy forms, Wakening strange thoughts, almost too much for this, Our frail terrestrial nature. VIT. Well I know All this, and more. Such scenes have been th' abodes Where thro' the silence of my soul have pass'd Voices, and visions from the sphere of those That have to die no more ! Nay, doubt it not ! If such unearthly intercourse hath e'er Been granted to our nature, 'tis to hearts Sc. 2.] OP PALERMO. 2? Whose love is with the dead. They, they alone, Unmadden'd could sustain the fearful joy And glory of its trances ! at the hour Which makes guilt tremulous, and peoples earth And air with infinite, viewless multitudes, r \J I will be with thee, Procida. PRO. Thy presence Will kindle nobler thoughts, and, in the souls Of suffering and indignant men, arouse That which may strengthen our majestic cause With yet a deeper power. Know'st thou the spot ? VIT. Full well. There is no scene so wild and lone In these dim woods, but I have visited Its tangled shades. PRO. At midnight then we meet. [Exit Procida. VIT. Why should I fear? Thou wilt be with me, . J thou. Th' immortal dream and shadow of my soul, Spirit of him I love ! that meet'st me still In loneliness and silence ; in the noon Of the wild night, and in the forest-depths, Known but to me ; for whom thou giv'st the winds And sighing leaves a cadence of thy voice. Till my heart faints with that o'erthrilling joy ! Thou wilt be with me there, and lend my lips Words, fiery words, to flush dark cheeks with shame, That thou art unavenged! [Exit Vittoria. 28 THE VESPERS [Act II. ; araori usl nv/o ^m issn wsib I* I neJail luS bnuoB on .ails:// eli gaols Iri^il on SBW emifF SCENE III. A Chapel, with a Monument, on which is laid a Sword. Moonlight. flwoiffo si&>. . , TV srft te TV, ,, Procida. Pvaimond. Montalba. >fni ta^ MONTALBA. And know you not my story ? d PROciDA.yrf i $ifj j In the lands Where I have been a wanderer, your deep wrongs Were number'd with our country's ; but their tale Came only in faint echoes to mine ear. I would fain hear it now. MON. Hark ! while you spoke, bnA There was a voice-like murmur in the breeze, Which ev'n like death came o'er me : 'twas a night Like this, of clouds contending with the moon, j'.>nA A night of sweeping winds, of rustling leaves, And swift wild shadows floating o'er the earth, Clothed with a phantom-life ; when, after years A $ Of battle and captivity, I spurr'd My good steed homewards.- Oh ! what lovely dreams Rose on my spirit ! There were tears and smiles, But all of joy ! And there were bounding steps, And clinging arms, whose passionate clasp of lovelj ui Doth twine so fondly round the warrior's neck, When his plumed helm is dofF'd. Hence, feeble thoughts ! I am sterner now, yet once such dreams were mine ! RAIMOND. And were they realiz'd ? MON. Youth ! Ask me not, Sc. 3.] OF PALERMO. 29 But listen ! I drew near my own fair home ; There was no light along its walls, no sound Of bugle pealing from the watch-tower's height At my approach, although my trampling steed Made the earth ring ; yet the wide gates were thrown All open. Then my heart misgave me first, And on the threshold of my silent hall I paused a moment, and the wind swept by With the same deep and dirge-like tone which pierced My soul e'en now. I calPd my struggling voice Gave utterance to my wife's, my children's, names ; They answer'd not I roused my failing strength, And wildly rush'd within and they were there. RAI. And was all well .' Mox. Ay, well ! for death is well, And they were all at rest ! I see them yet, #& Pale in their innocent beauty, which had fail'd To stay th' assassin's arm ! RAI. Oh, righteous heaven ! Who had done this ? MON. Who ! PRO. Can'st thou question, who ? Whom hath the earth to perpetrate such deecte,^ J In the cold-blooded revelry of crime, n& c RAI. fflfoftAPfcb#irf nsdW What words hath pity for despair like thine ? MON. Pity! fond youth! My soul disdains the grief b'siLsai \$A$ eiaw bnA .(I>IOMIA$ Which doth unbosom its deep secrecies, 30 THE VESPERS [Act II. To ask a vain companionship of tears, And so to be relieved ! PRO. For woes like these, There is no sympathy but vengeance. MON. None ! Therefore I brought you hither, that your hearts Might catch the spirit of the scene ! Look round 1 We are in the awful presence of the dead ; Within yon tomb they sleep, whose gentle blood Weighs down the murderer's soul. 'They sleep ! but I Am wakeful o'er their dust ! I laid my sword, Without its sheath, on their sepulchral stone, As on an altar ; and th' eternal stars, And heaven, and night, bore witness to my vow, No more to wield it save in one great cause, The vengeance of the grave ! And now the hour Of that atonement comes ! ( He takes the sword from the tomb. RAI. My spirit burns ! And my full heart almost to bursting swells. Oh ! for the day of battle ! PRO. Raimond ! they Whose souls are dark with guiltless blood must die ; But not in battle. RAI. How, my father ! PRO. No ! Look on that sepulchre, and it will teach Another lesson. But i\\ appointed hour Advances. Thou wilt join our chosen band, Noble Montalba? So. 3.] OF PALERMO. 3i MON. Leave me for a time, That I may calm my soul by intercourse With the still dead, before I mix with men, And with their passions. I have nursed for years, In silence and in solitude, the flame Which doth consume me ; and it is not used Thus to be look'd or breath'd on. Procida ! I would be tranquil or appear so ere I join your brave confederates. Thro' my heart There struck a pang but it will soon have pass'd. PRO. Remember ! in the cavern by the cross. Now, follow me, my son. [Exeunt Procida and Raimond. MON. (after a pause, leaning on the tomb.) Said he, " my son?" Now, why should this man's life' Go down in hope, thus resting on a son, And I be desolate ? How strange a sound Was that " my son!" I had a boy, who might Have worn as free a soul upon his brow As doth this youth. Why should the thought of Mm Thus haunt me ? when I tread the peopled ways Of life again, I shall be pass'd each hour By fathers with their children, and I must Learn calmly to look on. Methinks 'twere now A gloomy consolation to behold All men bereft, as I am! But away, Vain thoughts ! One task is left for blighted hearts, And it shall be fulfill'd. {Exit Montalba. 32 THE VESPERS [Act II. . :.. : ' . . -:::.,.,. SCENE IV. Entrance of a Cave, surrounded by Rocks and Forests. A rude Cross seen amongst the Rocks. .ted ^ ' . Procida. Raimond j.. PROCIDA. And it is thus, beneath the solemn skies Of midnight, and in solitary caves, Where the wild forest-creatures make their lair, Is't thus the chiefs of Sicily must hold The councils of their country ! RAIMOND. Why, such scenes In their primeval majesty, beheld Thus by faint starlight, and the partial glare Of the red-streaming lava, will inspire Far deeper thoughts than pillar'd halls, wherein Statesmen hold weary vigils. Are we not O'ershadow'd by that Etna, which of old d id JS With its dread prophecies, hath struck dismay Thro' tyrants' hearts, and bade them seek a home In other climes ? Hark ! from its depths e'en now What hollow moans are sent ! jrfT Enter Montalba, Guido, and other Sicilians. PRO. Welcome,my brave associates ! We can share The wolf's wild freedom here! Th' oppressor's haunt Is not midst rocks and caves. Are we all met? SICILIANS. All, all ! PRO. The torchlight, sway'd by every gust, But dimly shows your features. Where is he Se. 4.] OF PALERMO. 33 Who from his battles had return 'd to breathe Once more, without a corslet, and to meet The voices, and the footsteps, and the smiles, Blent with his dreams of home ? Of that dark tale The rest is known to vengeance ! Art thou here, With thy deep wrongs and resolute despair, Childless Montalba ? MON. ( advancing.} He is at thy side. nW Call on that desolate father, in the hour When his revenge is nigh. PRO. Thou, too, come forth, From thine own halls an exile ! Dost thou make The mountain-fastnesses thy dwelling still, While hostile banners, o'er thy rampart walls, Wave their proud blazonry ? 1 Sici. Even so. I stood Last night before my own ancestral towers mtfeit3*C An unknown outcast, while the tempest beat On my bare head what reck'd it ? There was joy Within, and revelry ; the festive lamps gnorib tadk> fH Were streaming from each turret, and gay songs, I 'th' stranger's tongue, made mirth. They little deem'd Who heard their melodies ! but there are thoughts Best nurtured in the wild ; there are dread vows Known to the mountain- echoes. Procida ! Call on the outcast when revenge is nigh. PRO. I knew a young Sicilian, one whose heart Should be all fire. On that most guilty day, When, with our martyr'd Conradin, the flower D 34 THE VESPERS [Act II. Of the land's knighthood perish'd ; he, of whom I speak, a weeping boy, whose innocent tears Melted a thousand hearts that dared not aid, Stood by the scaffold, with extended arms, Calling upon his father, whose last look Turn'd full on him its parting agony. That father's blood gush'd o'er him ! and the boy Then dried his tears, and, with a kindling eye, And a proud flush on his young cheek, look'd up To the bright heaven. Doth he remember still That bitter hour ? 2 Sici. He bears a sheathless sword ! Call on the orphan when revenge is nigh. PRO. Our band shows gallantly but there are men Who should be with us now, had they not dared In some wild moment of festivity To give their full hearts way, and breathe a wish For freedom ! and some traitor it might be A breeze perchance bore the forbidden sound To Eribert : so they must die unless Fate, (who at times is wayward) should select Some other victim first! But have they not Brothers or sons amongst us ? GUI DO. Look on me ! I have a brother, a young high-soul'd boy, And beautiful as a sculptor's dream, with brow That wears, amidst its dark rich curls, the stamp Of inborn nobleness. In truth, he is A glorious creature ! But his doom is seal'd With thcir's of whom you spoke ; and I have knelt Sc. 3.] OF PALERMO. 35 Ay, scorn me not ! 'twas for his life I knelt E'en at the viceroy's feet, and he put on That heartless laugh of cold malignity We know so well, and spurn'd me. But the stain Of shame like this, takes blood to wash it off, And thus it shall be cancelPd ! Call on me, When the stern moment of revenge is nigh. PRO. I call upon thee now ! The land's high soul Is roused, and moving onward, like a breeze Or a swift sunbeam, kindling nature's hues To deeper life before it. In his chains, The peasant dreams of freedom ! ay, 'tis thus Oppression fans th' imperishable flame With most unconscious hands. No praise be her's For what she blindly works ! When slavery's cup O'erflows its bounds, the creeping poison, meant To dull our senses, thro* each burning vein Pours fever, lending a delirious strength To burst man's fetters and they shall be burst ! I have hoped, when hope seemed frenzy ; but a power Abides in human will, when bent with strong Unswerving energy on one great aim, To make and rule its fortunes ! I have been A wanderer in the fulness of my years, A restless pilgrim of the earth and seas, Gathering the generous thoughts of other lands, To aid our holy cause. And aid is near : But we must give the signal. Now, before The majesty of yon pure heaven, whose eye Is on our hearts, whose righteous arm befriends D 2 36 THE VESPERS [Act II. The arm that strikes for freedom ; speak ! decree The fate of our oppressors. MON. ggoi UP Let them fall When dreaming least of peril ! When the heart, Basking in sunny pleasure, doth forget That hate may smile, but sleeps not. Hide the sword With a thick veil of myrtle, and in halls Of banquetting, where the full wine-cup shines Red in the festal torch-light ; meet we there, . And bid them welcome to the feast of death. PRO. Thy voice is low and broken, and thy words Scarce meet our ears. MON. Why, then, I thus repeat Their import. Let th' avenging sword burst forth In some free festal hour, and woe to him Who first shall spare ! RAI. Must innocence and guilt Perish alike ? MON. Who talks of innocence ? When hath their hand been stay'd for innocence ? n Q Let them all perish ! Heaven will chuse its own. Why should their children live? The earthquake -jj^whelms Its undistinguished thousands, making graves Of peopled cities in its path and this Is Heaven's dread justice ay, and it is well ! Why then should we, be tender, when the skies Deal thus with man ? What, if the infant bleed ? Is there not power to bush the mother's pangs ? What, if the youthful bride perchance should fall r Sc. 3.] OP PALERMO. 37 In her triumphant beauty ? Should we pause ?* As if death were not mercy to the pangs Which make our lives the records of our foes ? Let them all perish ! And if one be found > nsdW Amidst our band, to stay th' avenging* steel For pity, or remorse, or boyish love, Then be his doom as theirs ! [A pause. Why gaze ye thus ? Brethren, what means your silence ? Sici. Be it so ! If one amongst us stay th 5 avenging steel For love or pity, be his doom as theirs ! Pledge we our faith to this ! RAI. (RuMng forward indignantly.) Our faith to this ! No ! I but dreamt I heard it ! Can it be ? My countrymen, my father ! Is it thus That freedom should be won ? Awake ! Awake To loftier thoughts ! Lift up, exultingly, On the crown'd heights, and to the sweeping winds, Your glorious banner ! Let your trumpet's blast Make the tombs thrill with echoes ! Call aloud, Proclaim from all your hills, the land shall bear The stranger's yoke no longer ! What is he ^niJ Who carries on his practised lip a smile, Beneath his vest a dagger, which but waits Till the heart bounds with joy, to still its beatings ? That which our nature's instinct doth recoil from, F Y And our blood curdle at Ay, yours and mine A murderer ! Heard ye ? Shall that name with ours 38 THE VESPERS [Act II. Go down to after days ? Oh, friends ! a cause Like that for which we rise, hath made bright names Of the elder time as rallying-words to men, Sounds full of might and immortality ! And shall not ours be such ? MON. Fond dreamer, peace ! Fame ! What is fame ? Will our unconscious dust Start into thriDing rapture from the grave, At the vain breath of praise ? I tell thee, youth, Our souls are parch'd with agonizing thirst, "" Which must be quench'd tho' death were in the draught : We must have vengeance, for our foes have left No other joy unblighted. PRO. Oh ! my son, The time is past for such high dreams as thine; Thou know'st not whom we deal with. Knightly faith, And chivalrous honour, are but things whereon They cast disdainful pity. We must meet Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge. And, for our names whatever the deeds, bv which -rrr We burst our bondage is it not enough That in the chronicle of days to come, We, thro' a bright * For Ever,' shall be call'd The men who saved their country ? RAI. Many a land Hath bow'd beneath the yoke, and then arisen, As a strong lion rending silken bonds, And on the open field, before high heaven, " Won such majestic vengeance, as hath made Its name a power on earth, Ay, nations own Sc. 3.] OF PALERMO. 39 It is enough of glory to be calFd The children of the mighty, who redeem'd Their native soil but not by means like these. MON. I have no children. Of Montalba's blood Not one red drop doth circle thro' the veins Of aught that breathes ! Why, what have I to do With far futurity 'My spirit lives But in the past. Away ! when thou dost stand On this fair earth, as doth a blasted tree Which the warm sun revives not, then return, Strong in thy desolation: but, till then, Thou art not for our purpose ; we have need Of more unshrinking hearts. RAI. Montalba, know, I shrink from crime alone. Oh ! if m$ voice Might yet have power amongst you, I would say, Associates, leaders, be avenged ! but yet As knights, as warriors ! MON. Peace ! have we not borne Th' indelible taint of contumely and chains ? We are not knights and warriors. Our bright crests Have been defiled and trampled to the earth. Boy ! we are slaves and our revenge shall be Deep as a slave's disgrace. RAI. Why, then, farewell : I leave you to your councils. He that still Would hold his lofty nature undebased, And his name pure, were but a loiterer here. PRO. And is it thus indeed? dost thou forsake Our cause, my son? 40 THE VESPERS [Act II. no Ohj father ! what proud hopes This hour hath blighted ! yet, whate'er betide It is a noble privilege to look up ;ijj noio. Fearless in heaven's bright face and this is mine, And shall be still. [Exit Raimond. PRO. He 's gone ! Why, let it be ! I trust our Sicily hath many a son Valiant as mine. Associates ! 'tis decreed Our foes shall perish. We have but to name The hour, the scene, the signal. MON. It should be In the full city, when some festival Hath gathered throngs, and lull'd infatuate hearts To brief security. Hark ! is there not A sound of hurrying footsteps on the breeze ? We are betray 'd. Who art thou? Vittoria enters. .1 ami e; PRO. One aloneocuuO Should be thus daring. Lady, lift the veil That shades thy noble brow. (She raises her veil, the Sicilians draw back with respect.) Sici. Th' affianced bride Of our lost King! PRO. And more, Montalba; know Within this form there dwells a soul as high, As warriors in their battles e'er have proved, Or patriots on the scaffold. VITTORIA. - Valiant men ! I come to ask your aid. Ye see me, one Sc.3.] OF PALERMO. 41 Whose widow'd youth hath all been consecrate To a proud sorrow, and whose life is held In token and memorial of the dead. Say, is it meet that, lingering thus on earth, But to behold one great atonement made, And keep one name from fading in men's hearts, A tyrant's will should force me to profane Heaven's altar with unhallow'd vows and live Stung by the keen, unutterable scorn Of my own bosom, live another's bride ? Sici. Never, oh never ! fear not, noble lady ! Worthy of Conradin ! VIT. Yet hear me still. His bride, that Eribert's, who notes our tears With his insulting eye of cold derision, And, could he pierce the depths where feeling works, Would number e'en our agonies as crimes. Say, is this meet? GUIDO. We deem'd these nuptials, lady, " Thy willing choice ; but 'tis a joy to find Thou art noble still. Fear not ; by all our wrongs This shall not be. PRO. Vittoria, thou art come To ask our aid, but we have need of thine. Know, the completion of our high designs Requires a festival ; and it must be Thy bridal ! VIT. Procida ! PRO. " Nay, start not thus. Tis no hard task to bind your raven hair .42 THE VESPERS [Act II With festal garlands, and to bid the song Rise, and the wine-cup mantle. No nor yet To meet your suitor at the glittering shrine, Where death, not love, awaits him ! VIT. Can my soul Dissemble thus ? PRO. We have no other means Of winning our great birthright back from those Who have usurp'd it, than so lulling them Into vain confidence, that they may deem All wrongs forgot ; and this may best be done By what I ask of thee. MON. Then will we mix With the flush'd revellers, making their gay feast The harvest of the grave. VIT. A bridal day ! Must it be so ? Then, chiefs of Sicily, I bid you to my nuptials ! but be there With your bright swords unsheath'd, for thus alone My guests should be adorn'd. PRO. And let thy banquet Be soon announced, for there are noble men Sentenced to die, for whom we fain would purchase Reprieve with other blood. VIT. Be it then the day Preceding that appointed for their doom. GUIDO. My brother, thou shalt live ! Oppression boasts No gift of prophecy ! It but remains To name our signal, chiefs ! Sc.3.] OF PALERMO. 43 MON. The Vesper-bell. PRO. Even so, the vesper-bell, whose deep-toned peal Is heard o'er land and wave. Part of our band, Wearing the guise of antic revelry, Shall enter, as in some fantastic pageant, The halls of Eribert ; and at the hour Devoted to the sword's tremendous task, I follow with the rest. The vesper-bell! That sound shall wake th' avenger ; for 'tis come, The time when power is in a voice, a breath, To burst the spell which bound us. But the night Is waning, with her stars, which, one by one, Warn us to part. Friends, to your homes ! your homes ? That name is yet to win. Away, prepare For our next meeting in Palermo's walls. The Vesper-bell t Remember ! Sici. Fear us not. The Vesper-bell ! [Exeunt 0003 aS ; ovoriq^fl OF ACT THE SECOND. gnifaoorfl ,oaiu'D ->od o 44 THE VESPERS [Act III. etia orfw <$flQ 8'6-la'rfTr^! Ik bns ,1 fans s. ff Therefore, no more of love! But, if to robe This form in bridal ornaments, to smile, (I can smile yet,) at thy gay feast, and stand At th' altar by thy side ; if this be deem'd Enough, it shall be done. >m swft li mosb ERIBERT. My fortune's star Doth rule th' ascendant still ; (Apart.) If not of love, Then pardon, lady, that I speak of joy, And with exulting heart - VIT. There w no joy 1 Who shall look thro' the far futurity, And, as the shadowy visions of events Develope on his gaze, midst their dim throng, Dare, with oracular mien, to point, and say, " This will bring happiness?" Who shall do this ? Sc. 1.] OF PALERMO. 45 Why, thou, and I, and all ! There's One, who sits In his own bright tranquillity enthroned, High o'er all storms, and looking far beyond Their thickest clouds ; but we, from whose dull eyes A grain of dust hides the great sun, e'en we, Usurp his attributes, and talk, as seers, Of future joy and grief! ERI. Thy words are strange. Yet will I hope that peace at length shall settle Upon thy troubled heart, and add soft grace To thy majestic beauty. Fair Vittoria ! Oh ! if my cares VIT. I know a day shall come Of peace to all. Ev'n from my darken'd spirit Soon shall each restless wish be exorcised, Which haunts it now, and I shall then lie down uiT Serenely to repose. Of this no more. MT I have a boon to ask. ERI. Command my power, And deem it thus most honoured. VIT. Have I then Soar'd such an eagle-pitch, as to command The mighty Eribert? And yet 'tis meet ; sq norfX For I bethink me now, I should have worn bnA. A crown upon this forehead. Generous lord ! Since thus you give me freedom, know, there is iWV An hour I have loved from childhood, and a sound, Whose tones, o'er earth and ocean sweetly bearing A sense of deep repose, have lull'd me oft >r/KI airffofa Ilisfia orlW- rqqfid grind Iliw airfT * 46 THE VESPERS [Act III- To peace which is forgetfulness : I mean The Vesper-bell. I pray you, lei it be The summons to our bridal Hear you not ? To our fair bridal ! ERI. Lady, let your will Appoint each circumstance. I am but too bless'd Proving my homage thus. VIT. Why, then, 't is mine To rule the glorious fortunes of the day, And I may be content. Yet much remains For thought to brood on, and I would be left Alone with my resolves. Kind Eribert ! (Whom I command so absolutely,) now Part we a few brief hours; and doubt not, when I am at thy side once more, but I shall stand There to the last. ERI. Your smiles are troubled, lady ; May they ere long be brighter ! Time will seemLteH Slow till the vesper-bell. VIT. 'T is lovers' phrase IsTeriW To say time lags ; and therefore meet for you : But with an equal pace the hours move on, Whether they bear, on their swift silent wing, Pleasure or fate. ERI. Be not so full of thought ' ; On such a day. Behold, the skies themselves Look on my joy with a triumphant smile, Unshadow'd by a cloud. VIT. >Tis very meet JA S6.2.] OF PALERMO. 47 That heaven (which loves the just) should wear a smile In honour of his fortunes. Now, my lord, Forgive me if I say, farewell, until Th' appointed hour. ERI. Lady, a brief farewell. [Exeunt separately. SCENE II.- The Sea-shore. Procida. Raimond. PROCIDA. And dost thou still refuse to share the glory Of this, our daring enterprize ? RAIMOND. Oh, father! I too have dreamt of glory, and the word Hath to my soul been as a trumpet's voice, Making my nature sleepless. But the deeds Whereby 'twas won, the high exploits, whose tale Bids the heart burn, were of another cast Than such as thou requirest. PRO. Every deed Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim The freedom of our country ; and the sword Alike is honour'd in the patriot's hand, Searching, midst warrior-hosts, the heart which gave Oppression birth ; or flashing thro' the gloom Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch, At dead of night. 48 THE VESPERS [Act III. RAI. (turning away.) There is no path but one For noble natures. PRO. Wouldst thou ask the man Who to the earth hath dash'd a nation's chains, Rent as with heaven's own lightning, by what means The glorious end was won /Go, swell th' acclaim ! Bid the deliverer, hail ! and if his path To that most bright and sovereign destiny Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it call'd A stern necessity, and not a crime ! RAI. Father ! my soul yet kindles at the thought Of nobler lessons, in my boyhood learn'd Ev'n from thy voice. The high remembrances Of other days are stirring in the heart Where thou didst plant them ; and they speak of men Who needed no vain sophistry to gild Acts, that would bear heaven's light. And such be mine! Oh, father ! is it yet too late to draw The praise and blessing of all valiant hearts On our most righteous cause ? PRO. What wouldst thou do ? RAI. I would go forth, and rouse th' indignant land To generous combat. Why should freedom strike Mantled with darkness ? Is there not more strength E'en in the waving of her single arm Than hosts can wield against her ? I would rouse That spirit, whose fire doth press resistless on To its proud sphere, the stormy field of fight ! Sc.2,] OP PALERMO. 49 PRO. Ay ! and give time and warning to the foe To gather all his might ! It is too late. There is a work to be this eve begun, When rings the vesper-bell ; and, long before To-morrow's sun hath reach'd i* th* noonday heaven His throne of burning glory /every sound Of the Provencal tongue within our walls, As by one thunderstroke (you rfre pale, my son) Shall be for ever silenced. RAI. What! such sounds As falter on the lip of infancy In its imperfect utterance ? or are breathed By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe? Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air Pour'd by the timid maid ? Must all alike Be still'd in death ; and wouldst thou tell my heart There is no crime in this ? PRO. Since thou dost feel Such horror of our purpose, in thy power Are means that might avert it. RAI. Speak! Oh speak! PRO. How would those rescued thousands ble thy name Shouldst thou betray us ! RAI. Father! Icanbea^ Ay, proudly woo the keenest questioning Of thy soul-gifted eye; which almost seems To claim a part of heaven's dread royalty, The power that searches thought ! PRO, (after a pause, ) Thou hast a brow 50 THE VESPERS [Act III. Clear as the day and yet I doubt thee, Raimond ! Whether it be that I have learn'd distrust From a long look thro' man's deep-folded heart ; Whether my paths have been so seldom cross'd By honour and fair mercy, that they seem But beautiful deceptioas, meeting thus My unaccustom'd gaze ; howe'er it be I doubt thee ! See thou waver not take heed ! Time lifts the veil from all things ! [Exit Procida. RAI. And 'tis thus Youth fades from off our spirit ; and the robes Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith We .clothed our idols, drop ! O ! bitter day, When, at the crushing of our glorious world, We start, and find men thus!- Yet be it so ! Is not my soul still powerful, in itself To realize its dreams ? Ay, shrinking not From the pure eye of heaven, my brow may well Undaunted meet my father's. But, away ! Thou shalt be saved, sweet Constance ! Love is yet Mightier than vengeance. [Exit Raimond. SCENE III. Gardens of a Palace. ^\\ Constance, alone. CONSTANCE. There was im when my thoughts wander' d not Beyond these fairy scenes ; when, but to catch The languid fragrance of the southern breeze From the ncli-Howering citrons, or to rest, Sc. 3.] OP PALERMO. 51 Dreaming of some wild legend, in the shade Of the dark laurel-foliage, was enough Of happiness. How have these calm delights Fled from before one passion, as the dews, The delicate gems of morning, are exhaled By the great sun ! (Raimond enters.) Raimond I oh! now thou'rt come I read it in thy look, to say farewell For the last time the last I RAI. No, best beloved ! I come to tell thee there is now no power To part us but in death. CON. I have dreamt of joy, But never aught like this. Speak yet again ! Say, we shall part no more ! RAI. No more, if love Can strive with darker spirits, and he is strong Jn his immortal nature ! all. is changed Since last we met. My father keep the tale Secret from all, and most of all, my Constance, From Eribert my father is returned : I leave thee not. CON. Thy father ! blessed sound ! Good angels be his guard ! Oh ! if he knew How my soul clings to thine, he could not hate Even a Provencal maid !Thy father ! now Thy soul will be at peace, and I shall see The sunny happiness of earlier days 52 THE VESPERS [Act III. Look from thy brow once more ! But how is this ? Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine ; And in thy look is that which ill befits A tale of joy. RAI. A dream is on my soul. I see aslumberer, crown'd with flowers, and smiling As in delighted visions, on the brink Of a dread chasm ; and this strange phantasy Hath cast so deep a shadow o'er my thoughts, f I cannot but be sad. CON. Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, And this will banish it. RAI. It may not be. Oh ! gentle Constance, go not forth to-day : Such dreams are ominous. CON. Have you then forgot My brother's nuptial feast? I must be onfevlteoH Of the gay train attending to the shrine iorl His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy Will print earth lightly now What fear'st thou, love ? Look all around ! those blue transparent skies, And sun-beams pouring a more buoyant life Thro* each glad thrilling- vein, will brightly chaseflrT All thought of evil. Why, the very air Breathes of delight-! Thro* all its glowing realnte Doth music blend with fragance, and e'en here The city's voice of jubilee is heard Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Of bum^n j<^ P 3 * d^tf* tsbosai/oiit f ol eoyil orivf ods ! apwsteaoD gnilcfmail ^T Sc. 3.] OF PALERMO. 53 RAI. * There lie far deeper things#iml iooJ Things, that may darken thought for life, beneath , That city's festive semblance. I have pass'd ,- Thro' the glad multitudes, and I have mark'do elsJ A A stern intelligence in meeting eyes, Which deem'd their flash unnoticed, and a quick, ; Suspicious vigilance, too intent to cloth&Jrigifafa ni aA Its mien with carelessness ; and, now and thenb JslO-" A hurrying start, a 'whisper, or a hand Pointing by stealth to some one, singled out ...OHKBD I Amidst the reckless throng. O'er all is spread A mantling flush of revelry, which may hide 1 16'onO Much from unpractised eyes ; but lighter sigftfe Have been prophetic oft. CON. I tremble ! Raimond| t What may these things portend ? RAI. It was aday 3 Of festival, like this ; the city sent srftard Up thro' her sunny firmament a voice .r Joyous as now ; when, scarcely her aided ' By one deep moan, forth from his cavernous depths The earthquake burst ; and the wide splendid scene Became one chaos of all fearful things mac f. n0a Till the brain whirl'd, partaking ^ Of rocking palaces^y ^rfj t -.Jr/o 'io CON. And then didst thou, : My noble Raimond ! thro' the dreadful paths ra Laid open by destruction, past the chasms^ . \ Whose fathomless cleftsraTmoment's work, had given One burial unto thousands, rush to save , asmi/ri^O Thy trembling Constance ! she who Jiyes to bless 54 THE VESPERS [Act III mi i * (Jfi^ <- J- Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven Wafts gladness to her soul ! RAI. Heaven !-Heaven is just! And being so, must guard thee, sweet one, still. Trust none beside. Oh ! the omnipotent skies Make their wrath manifest, but insidious man Doth compass those he hates with secret snares, Wherein lies fate. Know, danger walks abroad, Mask'd as a reveller. Constance ! oh ! by all Our tried affection ; all the vows which bind Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers, Here, I adjure thee, meet me, when the bell Doth sound for vesper-prayer ! CON. And know'st thou not Twill be the bridal hour? RAI. It will not, love ! That hour will bring no bridal ! Nought of this To human ear ; but speed thou hither, fly, When evening brings that signal. Dost thou heed ? This is no meeting, by a lover sought To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves And stars, attest his vows ; deem thou not so, Therefore denying it ! I tell thee, Constance ! If thou woulds't save me from such fierce despair As falls on man, beholding all he loves Perish before him, while his strength can but Strive with his agony thou 'It meet me then ? Look on me, love ! I am not oft so moved Thou 'It meet me? CON. Oh ! what mean thy words ? If then My steps are free, I will. Be thou but calm. Sc. 4.] OF PALERMO. 55 RAI. Be calm ! there is a cold and sullen calm, And, were my wild fears made realities, It might be mine ; but, in this dread suspense, This conflict of all terrible phantasies, There is no- calm. Yet fear thou not, dear love ! I will watch o'er thee still. And now, farewell Until that hour ! CON. My Raimond, fare thee well. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Room in the Citadel of Palermo. Alberti. De Couci. DE Couci. Said'st thou this night? ALBERTI. This very night and lo ! E'en now the sun declines. DE Cou. What ! are they arm'd? ALB. All arm'd, and strong in vengeance and despair. DE Cou. Doubtful and strange the tale ! Why was not this D i^ u f i Reveal'd before ? ALB. Mistrust me not, my lord ! That stern and jealous Procida hath kept ^, 1, / 1 1 1 TJ ^ftA er all my steps, (as though he did suspect rpu I.- U A U' I, ^ 1* The purposes, which oft his eye hath sought m i \ x T_ -i To read in mine,) a watch so vigilant, 1 knew not how to warn thee, tho' for this Alone I mingled with his bands, to learn Their projects and their strength. Thou know'st my faith To Anjou's house full well. J ^SDIOW ^dl.Ajsam tolw !iip HOI!) ott Jliw I ,ooil aus a 1 XT Ul 77 J Provencal Nobles assembled. K 8J3W I 1 NOBLE. Joy be to this fair meeting ! Who hath seei*)fJT The viceroy's bride ? 1 ,bn.6 j 2 NOBLE. I saw her, as she passed The gazing throngs assembled in the city. Tis said she hath not left for years, till now, *1Q Her castle's wood- girt solitude. 'Twill gall These proud Sicilians, that her wide domains Should be the conqueror's guerdon. 3 NOBLE. 'Twas their boast With what fond faith she worshipp'd still the name Of the boy, Conradin. How will the slaves Brook this new triumph of their lords ? m noioiqau8 2 NoBLj^i I bluoriri In soolbla hnJ It stings them to the quick. In the full streetadt 'olrf They mix with our Provencals, and assume A guise of mirth, but it sits hardly on them. aBiarnov 'Twere worth a thousand festivals, to see With what a bitter and unnatural effort They strive to smile ! 1 NOBLE. Is this Vittoria fair ? TOdh3 10^' 2 NOBLE. Of a most noble mien ; but yet her beauty Is wild and awful, and her large dark eye,>rtf 'oirfJ fan A In its unsettled glances, hath strange power, From which thou 'It shrink, as I did. .nhcf aiij no I NOBLE. Hush ! they come. 58 THE VESPERS [Act III- * Enter Eribert, Vittoria, Constance, and others. ERIBERT. Welcome, my noble friends ! there must not lower One clouded brow to-day in Sicily ! J . Ty 11350(5 Jfi'Qi/.GJ ocf Vi r Behold my bride ! NOBLES. Receive .our homage, lady ! VITTORIA. I bid all welcome. May the feast we offer Prove worthy of such guests ! ERI. Look on her, friends ! And say, if that majestic brow is not Meet for a diadem ? 'D1OW 3 iXWt* T'tfn Y VIT. 'Tis well, my lord ! When memory's pictures fade, 'tis kindly done To brighten their dimm'd hues ! 1 NOBLE (apart.) Mark'd you her glance ? 2 NOBLE, (apart.) What eloquent scorn was there ! yet he, th* elate Of heart, perceives it not. ERI. Now to the feast ! Constance, you look not joyous, I have said That all should smile to-day. CON. Forgive me, brother ! The heart is wayward, and its garb of pomp At times oppresses it. ERI - Why, how is this ? , CON. Voices of woe, and prayers of agony Unto my soul have risen, and left sad sounds There echoing still. Yet would I fain be gay, Sc. 5.] OP PALERMO. 59 Since 'tis your wish, In truth, I should have been A village-maid ! ERI. But, being as you are, Not thus ignobly free, command your looks, (They may be taught obedience,) to reflect The aspect of the time. VIT. And know, fair maid! That if in this unskill'd, you stand alone Amidst our court of pleasure. ERI. To the feast ! Now let the red wine foam ! There should be mirth When conquerors revel ! Lords of this fair isle ! Your good sword's heritage, crown each bowl, and pledge The present and the future ! for they both Look brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride? VIT. Yes, Eribert! thy prophecies of joy Have taught e'en me to smile. ERI. 'Tis well. To-day I have won a fair and almost royal bride ; To-morrow let the bright sun speed his course, To waft me happiness ! my proudest foes Must die and then my slumber shall be laid On rose-leaves, with no envious fold, to mar The luxury of its visions ! Fair Vittoria, Your looks are troubled ! VIT. It is strange, but oft, Midst festal songs and garlands, o'er my soul Death comes, with some dull inlage ! as you spo ^3 SM n ^& I fallow J.3 1 .llite gnionbo 60 THE VESPERS [Act III. Of those whose blood is claim'd, I thought for them Who, in a darkness thicker than the night E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long : How blessed were the stroke which makes them Y dJgj- ,1 'Jficflcf ^fu &fl3in J/>jij f i "SwA-trIJ*iitfj^Ux>drIii tob bnA Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust, There is, at least, no bondage! But should we From such a scene as this, where all earth's joys Contend for mastery, and the very sense Of life is rapture ; should we pass, I say, At once from such excitements to the void And silent gloom of that which doth await us--? 7 Were it not dreadful? ERI. Banish such dark thoughts ! They ill beseem the hour. VIT. There is no hour Of this mysterious world, in joy or woe, ru/oiA But they beseem it-well! Whv, what a slight, T i UT u 1-, , , i -tfte'tfa fanA impalpable bound is that, th unseen, which severs Being from death ! And who can tell how near Its misty brink he stands ? 1 NOBLE, (a.ridc.) What mean her words ? Ui NOBLE. There's some dark mystery here. ERI. No more of this ! n ai^aEtfJLffi-za c^^RSQ t^P^T 1 B 1 lJJd'"2. . iV rour the bright juice which Etna s glowing vines Yield to the conquerors ! And let music's voice Dispel these ominous dreams ! Wake, harp and ' r : luin)' ^ellouty^tfrtriump^ nh, rii idl laaM Sc. 5.] OF PALERMO. 6i (.4 Messenger enter*, bearing a letter.) oo 33omi. MESS. Pardon, my good lord ! ,y g But this demands ^ ^ , H woH ERI. What means thy breathless haste ? ' And that ill-boding mien ?-Away ! Befit not hours like these. ^1 i^ai eieriT MES. The Lord De Couci^ ^ ^ ^j Bade me bear this, and say, 'tis fraught with tidings Of life and death. ; g,^' -ViT. (hurriedly.) Is this a time for ought But revelry? My lord, these dull intrusions jj g j Mar the bright spirit of the festal scene ! ERI. (to the Messenger) Hence! tell the Lord De V O / Couci we will talk od Hi Y 9dT Of life and death to-morrow. [Exit Messenger. OW 10 YO ^ 10 Around me none but joyous looks to-day, .^ ^ ^g- And strains whose very echoes wake to mirth ! ftofuVT' ,nf)9Sfiu rtJ . ; jnucJQ 9Ki.BUJL6crfni (A band of the conspirators enter) to the sound ^ ' 7 . , uJfi&D rao o/ mwszc, disguised as shepherds* ba^ ehanals, &c. ^ ' - ^ ^ jaoK j ERI. What forms are these? \Vhat means this antic triumph? ^ VIT. 'Tis but a rustic pageant, by my vassals ,. Prepared to grace our bridal. Will you not Hear their wild music ? Our Sicilian va^^ laqgid Have many a sweet and mirthful melody, To which the glad heart bounds. Breathe ye some strain Meet for the time, ye sons of Sicily ! 62 THE VESPERS [Act III. ><^ (One of the Masquers sings.) i THE festal eve, o'er earth and sky, * f , , , , . . .7 ml) In her sunset robe, looks bright, And the purple hills of Sicily, With their vineyards, laugh in light ; From the marble cities of her plainsfd Glad voices mingling swell ; But with yet more loud and lofty strains, They shall hail the Vesper-bell I iH.t yd f^A T tern Oh ! sweet its tones, when the summer breez Their cadence wafts afar, 8 9J jjj To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas, As they gleam to the first Restart The shepherd greets them on his height, The hermit in his cell ; But a deeper power shall breathe, to-night, In the sound of the Vesper-bell ! ! mobasi Th 6 Bell rings. ERI. It is the hour! Hark, hark ! my bride, our summons ! The altar is prepared and crown'd with flowers That wait VIT. The victim ! (A tumult heard without.) ijjod orfT rilvtvrr/- lp] (Procida and Montalba enter, with others, armed.) PnnnrV C^ri Baite'\ fc^r i .t , fRociDA. btnke ! the hour is come ! { VIT. Welcome, avengers, welcome! Now, be strong ! (The Collators throw off their disguise, and rush, with their swords drawn, upon the Provencals. Eribert 'is icounded, and falls. .Sc. 5.] OF PALERMO. 3 PRO. Now hath fate reached thee in thy mid career, Thou reveller in a nation's agonies ! (The Provencals are driven off, and pursued by the Sicilians. CON. (supporting Eribert.) My brother ! oh ! my brother ! ERI. Have I stood A leader in the battle-fields of kings, To perish thus at last ? Ay, by these pangs, And this strange chill, that heavily doth creep, Like a slow poison, thro' my curdling veins, This should be death ! In sooth a dull exchange For the gay bridal feast ! VOICES, (without,) Remember Conradin! spare none, spare none ! VIT. (throwing off her bridal wreath and ornaments.) This is proud freedom ! Now my soul may cast, In generous scorn, her mantle of dissembling To earth for ever !< And it is such joy, As if a captive, from his dull, cold cell, j icJl Might soar at once on charter'd wing to ranger The realms of starr'd infinity ! Away ! Vain mockery of a bridal wreath ! The hour For which stern patience ne'er kept watch in vain Is come ; and I may give my bursting hearjt^QjjCj Full and indignant scope. Now, Eribert ! T1 y Believe in retribution ! What, proud man ! Prince, ruler, conqueror ! didst thou deem heaven i , ^ i , ^ slept " Or that the unseen, immortal ministers, 64 THE VESPERS [Adt lit " Ranging the world, to note e'en purposed crime " In burning characters, had laid aside " Their everlasting attributes for thee?" Oh ! blind security ! He, in whose dread hand The lightnings vibrate, holds them back, until Thetrampler.of this goodly earth hath reach'd His pyramid-height of power ; that so his fall May, with more fearful, oracles, make pale Man's crown'd oppressors ! *;W CON. Oh! reproach him not I His soul is trembling on the dizzy brink i oiH Of that dim world where passion may not enter. >W Leave him in peace ! VOICES (without.) Anjou, Anjou ! De Couci to the rescue ! ERI. (half -raising himself.) My brave Provencals! do ye. combat still ? And I, your chief, am here! Now, now I feel That death indeed is bitter ! VIT. Fare thee well ! Thine eyes so oft, with their insulting smile, Have looked on man's last pangs, thou shouldst, by this, Be perfect how to die ! [Exit Vittoria. Raimond enters. RAIMOND. Away, my Constance ! Now is the time for flight. Our slaughtering bands Are scattered far and wide. A little while And thou shalt be in safety. Know'st thou not s*.'5.]. f PALERMO: M That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy man, Anselmo ? He whose hermitage is rear'd 'Mid some old temple *s ruins ? Round the spot His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm, 'Tis hallow 'd as a sanctuary, wherein Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm Have spent its fury. Haste ! CON. I will not fly ! While in his heart there is one throb of life, One spark in his dim eyes, I will not leave The brother of my youth to perish thus, Without one kindly bosom to sustain His dying head. ERI. The clouds are darkening round. There are strange voices ringing in mine ear That summon me to what ? But I have been Used to command ! Away ! I will not die But on the field (He ,?. CON. (kneeling by Mm.) Oh heaven ! be merciful, As thou art just ! for he is now where nought But mercy can a.vail him f It is past ! Guide titter*, with. AM* xword drawn. Gr,rn>(/0 Raimond.) I've sou art thou lingering her* .' Haste, follow me ! Suspicion with thy name Joins that word Traitor ! RAI, Traitor! -Guide.' GUIDO. Jfes! Hast thou not beard that, with his raeu-at-an 6G THE VESPERS [Act IIL Sc. 5 After vain conflict with a people's wrath, De Couci hath escaped ? And there are those Who murmur that from thee the warning came Which saved him from our vengeance. But e'en yet In the red current of Provencal blood That doubt may be effaced. Draw thy good sword, And follow me ! RAI. And thou couldst doubt me, Guido ! Tis come to this ! Away ! mistrust me still. I will not stain my sword with deeds like thine. Thou know'st me not ! GUIDO. Raimond di Procida ! If thou art he whom once I deemed so noble Call me thy friend no more ! [JEn/ Guido. RAI. (after a pause.) Rise, dearest, rise ! Thy duty's task hath nobly been fulfilFd, E'en in the face of death ; but all is o'er, And this is now no place where nature's tears In quiet sanctity may freely flow. Hark ! the wild sounds that wait on fearful deeds Are swelling on the winds, as the deep roar Of fast* advancing billows ; and for thee I shame not thus to tremble. Speed, oh, speed ! [Exeunt. END OF ACT THE THIRD. Act IV* ill JoA] . OF PALEMO s'alqooq s riJiw Joiiinoo flifiY tsrfi luimuox oiT/T te^ ffoirfW aril nl ACT THE FOURTH. v/olb't j>flA >nA. JA$[ SCENE I.-4 S/ree/ in Palermo. ^ g?r <*1 Procida enters. PROCIDA. How strange and deep a stillness loads ob the air, As with the power of midnight ! Ay, where death Hath pass'd, there should be silence. But this hush Of nature's heart, this breathlessness of all things, Doth press on thought too heavily, and the sky, With its dark robe of purple thunder-clouds Brooding in sullen masses, o'er my spirit Weighs like an omen ! Wherefore should this be ? . Is not our task achieved, the mighty work Of our deliverance ? Yes ; I should be J }' 01 ^^^^ T But this our feeble nature, with its quick Instinctive superstitions, will drag down Th' ascending soul. And I have fearful bodings That treachery lurks amongst us. Raimond ! Rai- mond ! Oh ! Guilt ne'er made a mien Jike his its garb ! It cannot be ! 08 THE VESPERS [Act IV. oJ ggrmij legaeb avsrf oW Jon j^Mmi )1 , PRO. I know some voice in secret must have warn 'd De Couci ; or his scattered bands had ne'er .aid sriT So soon been marshalled, and in close array Led hetiee as from the field. . Hast thou heard aught That may dcvelope this ? MON. The guards we set To watch the city-gates have seized, this morn, '3 One whose quick fearful glance, and hurried step Betray'd his guilty purpose. Mark ! he borouv ifaoCL (Amidst the tumult deeming that his flight Might all unnoticed pass) these scrolls to him, The fugitive Provencal. Read and judge ! PRO. Where is this messenger ? MON. Where should he be ? They slew him in their wrath. PRO . Unwisely don&Mflfli c Give me the scrolls. [ He reads/ Now, if there be such things ' As may to drn.ih add sharpness, yet delay* t The pangivhich gives release; if there be po\^v/8 A In execration, to call do\vn the fires Of yon avenging heaven, whose rapid shafts But for such guilt were aimless ; be they heap'd Upon the traitor's head ! Scorn make his name ^n o Her mark for ever ! MON 'srfJrj In our passionate blindness, jjoitr jsbifa aiotelorfW jtiiA msz lofl 70 THE VESPERS [Act IV. We send forth curses, whose deep stings recoil : Oil on ourselves. PRO. Whatever fate hath of ruin Fall on his house ! What ! to resign again That freedom for whose sake our souls have now Engrain'd themselves in blood ! Why, who is he That hath devised this treachery ? To the scroll Why fix'd he not his name, so stamping it With an immortal infamy, whose brand Might warn men from him ? Who should be so vile ? Alberti ? In his eye is that which ever Shrinks from encountering mine ! But no ! his race Is of our noblest Oh ! he could not shame That high descent ! Urbino ? Conti ? No ! They are too deeply pledged. There's one name more ! I cannot utter it ! Now shall I read Each face with cold suspicion, which doth blot From man's high mien its native royalty, -ni mrf And seal his noble forehead with the impress sii I Of its o^n vile imaginings ! Speak your thoughts, Montalba ! Guido ! Who should this man be? MON. Why what Sicilian youth unsheath'd, last night His sword to aid our foes, and turn'd it's edge Against his country's chiefs ? He that did t./iiv,