Raim.
Ay! Thou canst feel
The calm thou would'st impart, for unto thee
All men alike, the warrior and the slave,
Seem, as thou say'st, but pilgrims, pressing on
To the same bourne.-Yet call it not the same;
Their graves who fall in this day's fight, will be
As altars to their country, visited

By fathers with their children, bearing wreaths,
And chanting hymns in honor of the dead:
Will mine be such?

Vit.

VITTORIA rushes in wildly, as if pursued.
Anselmo! art thou found!

Haste, haste, or all is lost! Perchance thy voice,
Whereby they deem Heaven speaks, thy lifted cross,
And prophet mien, may stay the fugitives,

Or shame them back to die.

Ans.

The fugitives! What words are these?—the sons of Sicily Fly not before the foe?

Vit.

It is too true!

Ans.

That I should say

And thou-thou bleedest, lady!
Vit. Peace! heed not me, when Sicily is lost!
I stood upon the walls, and watch'd our bands,
As, with their ancient royal banner spread,
Onward they march'd. The combat was begun,
The fiery impulse given, and valiant men

Had seal'd their freedom with their blood-when, lo!
That false Alberti led his recreant vassals

To join th' invader's host.

Raim

Rest on the slave for ever!

Vit.

His country's curse

Then distrust

E'en of their noble leaders, and dismay,

That swift contagion, on Palermo's bands

Came like a deadly blight. They fled!-Oh shame!
E'en now they fly!-Ay, through the city gates

They rush, as if all Etna's burning streams,
Pursued their wing'd steps!

Raim.

Thou hast not named

Their chief-Di Procida-He doth not fly?
Vit. No! but like a kingly lion in the toils,
Daring the hunters yet, he proudly strives;

But all in vain! The few that breast the storm,

With Guido and Montalba, by his side,

Fight but for graves upon the battle-field.

Raim. And I am here! Shall there be power, Oh God!

In the roused energies of fierce despair,

To burst my heart-and not to rend my chains?
Oh, for one moment of the thunderbolt
To set the strong man free!

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

Vit. (after gazing at him earnestly.) Why, 'twere a deed Worthy the fame and blessing of all time, To loose thy bonds, thou son of Procida! Thou art no traitor!-from thy kindled brow Looks out thy lofty soul!-arise! go forth! And rouse the noble heart of Sicily Unto high deeds again. Anselmo, haste; Unbind him! Let my spirit still prevail, Ere I depart-for the strong hand of death Is on me now.

83

[She sinks back against a pillar.
Ans.
Oh Heaven! the life-blood streams
Fast from thy heart-thy troubled eyes grow dim.
Who hath done this?

Vit.
Before the gates I stood,
And in the name of him, the loved and lost,
With whom I soon shall be, all vainly strove
To stay the shameful flight. Then from the foe,
Fraught with my summons, to his viewless home,
Came the fleet shaft which pierced me.

Ans.

It may not be too late. Help, help!
Vit.

Yet, oh yet,

Away!

Bright is the hour which brings me liberty!

Attendants Enter.

Haste, be those fetters riven !-Unbar the gates,

And set the captive free!

(The Attendants seem to hesitate.) Know ye not her

Who should have worn your country's diadem?

Att. Oh! lady, we obey.

[They take off RAIMOND's chains. He springs up exultingly. Raim. Is this no dream?

Mount, eagle! thou art free!-Shall I then die,

Not 'midst the mockery of insulting crowds,
But on the field of banners, where the brave
Are striving for an immortality?—

It is e'en so!-Now for bright arms of proof,
A helm, a keen-edged falchion, and e'en yet
My father may be saved!

Vit.
Away, be strong!
And let thy battle-word, to rule the storm,
Be-Conradin.

[He rushes out.

Oh! for one hour of life,
To hear that name blent with th' exulting shout
Of victory! It will not be !-A mightier power
Doth summon me away.

Ans.

To purer worlds

Yes! he is there,

Raise thy last thoughts in hope.

Vit.

All glorious in his beauty!-Conradin !
Death parted us—and death shall reunite!

He will not stay-it is all darkness now!
Night gathers o'er my spirit.

Ans.

She is gone!

It is an awful hour which stills the heart

That beat so proudly once. Have mercy, Heaven!

[She dies.

[He kneels beside her.

SCENE IV. Before the gates of Palermo.

Sicilians flying tumultuously towards the Gates

Voices. (without.) Montjoy! Montjoy! St. Dennis for Anjou! Provençals on!

Sicilians. Fly, fly, or all is lost!

[RAMIOND appears in the gateway, armed, and carrying a banner.

Raim. Back, back, I say! ye men of Sicily!

All is not lost! Oh! shame! A few brave hearts
In such a cause, ere now, have set their breasts
Against the rush of thousands, and sustain’d, ·
And made the shock recoii.-Ay, man. free man,
Still to be call'd so, hath achieved such deeds
As heaven and earth have marvell'd at; and souls,
Whose spark yet slumbers with the days to come,
Shall burn to hear; transmitting brightly thus
Freedom from race to race Back! or prepare
Amidst your hearths, your bowers, your very shrines,
To bleed and die in vain !-Turn!-follow me!
Conradin, Conradın!-for Sicily

His spirit fights!-Remember Conradin !

[They begin to rally round him.

Ay, this is well!-Now, follow me, and charge!

[The Provencals rush in, but are repulsed by the Sicilians. -Exeunt.

SCENE V-Part of the field of Battle.

MONTALBA enters, wounded, and supported by RAIMOND, whose face is concealed by his helmet.

Raim. Here rest thee, warrior.

Rest! ay, death is rest,

Mon.
And such will soon be mine.-But, thanks to thee,

I shall not die a captive. Brave Sicilian!

These lips are all unused to soothing words,
Or I should bless the valor which hath won,
For my last hour, the proud free solitude

Wherewith my soul would gird itself.-Thy name?
Raim. "Twill be no music to thine ear, Montalba.
Gaze-read it thus !
[He lifts the visor of his helmet.

Mon. Raimond di Procida!

Raim. Thou hast pursued me with a bitter hate: But fire the well!-Heaven's peace be with thy soul! I must away.-One glorious effort more,

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

And this proud field is won!

65

[Exit RAIMOND.

Mon.
Am I thus humbled ?
How my heart sinks within me! But 'tis death
And he can tame the mightiest) hath subdued
My towering nature thus? Yet is he welcome!
That youth-'twas in his pride he rescued me!
I was his deadliest foe, and thus he proved
His fearless scorn. Ha! ha! but he shall fail
To melt me into womanish feebleness.
There I still baffle him-the grave shall seal
My lips for ever-mortal shall not hear
Montalba say-“forgive!”

SCENE VI.-Another part of the Field.
PROCIDA, GUIDO, and other Sicilians.
Pro. The day is ours; but he, the brave unknown,
Who turn'd the tide of battle-he whose path
Was victory-who hath seen him?

[He dies.

ALBERTI is brought in, wounded and fettered.
Procida!

Alb.
Pro. Be silent, traitor! Bear him from my sight
Unto your deepest dungeons.

Alb.

A nearer home awaits me.
Ere my voice fail-thy son-

In the grave
Yet one word

Pro.

Speak, speak!

Alb.

Thy son

[He is led away.

Attest it, earth and heaven!

Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait'rous plot
Was mine alone.

Pro.

My son is guiltless!-Hear it, Sicily!

The blood of Procida is noble still!

My son!--He lives, he lives!-His voice shall speak
Forgiveness to his sire!-His name shall cast

Its brightness o'er my soul!

Gui.

O day of joy!

The brother of my heart is worthy still

The lofty name he bears.

Pro.

In a glad hour we meet; for know, my son

Thy noble Raimond!—by Vittoria's hand
Freed from his bondage, in that awful hour

When all was flight and terror.

Pro.

Now my cup

Of joy too brightly mantles!-Let me press

My warrior to a father's heart-and die;

For life hath naught beyond. Why comes he not?
Anselmo, lead me to my valiant boy!

Ans. Temper this proud delight.

Pro.

Ha hath not fallen?

Ans.

Pro.

What means that look?

He lives.

Away, away!

Bid the wide city with triumphal pomp

Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour
Atone for all his wrongs!

SCENE VII.-Garden of a Convent.

[Exeunt.

RAIMOND is led in wounded, leaning on Attendants. Raim. Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die

In the bright face of nature !-Lift my helm,

That I may look on Heaven.

1st Att. (to 2d Attendant.) Lay him to rest
On this green sunny bank, and I will call
Some hol sister to his aid; but thou
Return unto the field, for high-born men
There need the peasant's aid.

[Exit 2d Attendant. (To Raim.) Here gentle hands Shall tend thee, warrior; for in these retreats They dwell whose vows devote them to the care Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them!

[Exit 1st Attendant Raim. Thus have I wish'd to die!-'Twas a proud strife! My father bless'd th' unknown who rescued him, Bless'd him, alas, because unknown!) and Guido, Beside me bravely struggling, call'd aloud, "Noble Sicilian, on!" Oh! had they deem'd "Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurn'd Mine aid, though 'twas deliverance; and their looks Had fallen like blights upon me.Whose eye ne'er turn'd on mine, but its blue light Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist Raised by deep tenderness!—Oh, might the soul Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish! -Is't not her voice?

There is one,

CONSTANCE enters, speaking to a Nun, who turns into another

Con.

path.

Oh! happy they, kind sister,

Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall

With brave men side by side, when the roused heart
Beats proudly to the last!-There are high souls

Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied!

[She approaches RAIMOND.

Young warrior, is there aught-Thou here, my Raimond! Thou here-and thus!-Oh! is this joy or woe?

Raim. Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed love, F'en on the grave's dim verge!—yes! it is joy!