Nobles, Soldiers, Messengers, Vassals, Peasants, &c. &c.

SCENE-Palermo.

ACT 1.

SCENE I.-A Valley with Vineyards and Cottages.
Groups of Peasants-PROCIDA, disguised as a
Pilgrim, among them.

1st Pea. Ay, this was wont to be a festal time In days gone by! I can remember well

The old familiar melodies that rose

But the light hearts
so joyously,
There is no voice

At break of morn, from all our purple hills,
To welcome in the vintage. Never since
Hath music seem'd so sweet.
Which to those measures beat
Are tamed to stillness now.
Of joy through all the land.
2d 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.

3d 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

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Falls on the peasant's neck as heavily
As on the crested chieftain's.

E'en to the earth.
Pea's Child.

We are bow'd

My father, tell me when

Shall the gay dance and song again resound
Amidst our chestnut-woods, as in those days
Of which thou'rt wont to tell the joyous tale?

1st 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.

Pro. (from the background.) Ay, it is well
So to relieve th' o'erburthen'd heart, which pants
Beneath its weight of wrong; but better far
In silence to avenge them!

An Old Pea.

What deep voice

Came with that startling tone?

1st Pea.

It was our guest's,

The stranger pilgrim who hath sojourn'd here
Since yestermorn. Good neighbors mark him well:
He hath a stately bearing, and an eye

Whose glance looks through the heart.

His mien accords Ill 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.)

And what hath life for thee,

The word is death!

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?

Some of Peas.

Away, away!

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

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 among you, but hath nursed
Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make
(ne conflict of his life. I know thy wrongs,
And thine-and thine,-but if within your breasts
here 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 thy words.

Pea.

If that indeed

There is hope

For all who suffer with indignant thoughts

Which work in silent strength. What! think ye Heaven,
O'erlooks th' oppressor, if he bear awhile
His crested head on high?-I tell you, no!
Th' avenger will not sleep.
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
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
Fade in man's heart, but ne'er doth Heaven forget.
Pea. Had we but arms and leaders we are men
Who might earn vengeance yet; but wanting these,
What wouldst 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.

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[Exit PROCIDA

1st Pea. 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.

2d Pea. 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.

Then Heaven protect him! for around his steps
Will many snares be set.

1st Pea.

He comes not thus

But with some mighty purpose; doubt it not;
Perchance to bring us freedom. He is one,

Whose faith, through many a trial, hath been prøved
True to our native princes. But away!

The noontide heat is past, and from the seas

Light gales are wandering through the vineyards; now
We may resuine our toil.

[Exeunt Peasants

SCENE II.-A Terrace of q Castle.

ERIBERT, VITTORIA.

Vit. 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.

Eri.

O lady! doth the flower

That sleeps entomb'd through 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 loved,
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;

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.

Provençal, 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

TEL VESPERS OF PALERMO.

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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,
Souls may not all be fetter'd. Oft, ere now,
Conquerors have rock'd the earth, yet fail'd 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 realms, 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,

Through the red heaven of sunset !-sleep'st thou still,

With all thy founts of fire, while spoilers tread

The glowing vales beneath? [PROCIDA enters, disguised. Ha! who art thou,

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.
Amidst his people from the scaffold thrown
By him who perish'd, and whose kingly blood

Righteous Heaven! the pledge