Had been worn down in gathering, on the pyre, Ay, at their household hearths have lit the brand, Even from that shrine of quiet love to bear

The flame which gave their temples and their homes,

In ashes, to the winds!-They have done this,
Making a blasted void where once the sun
Looked upon lovely dwellings; and from earth
Razing all record that on such a spot
Childhood hath sprung, age faded, misery wept,
And frail Humanity knelt before her God;
-They have done this, in their free nobleness,
Rather than see the spoiler's tread pollute
Their holy places!-Praise, high praise be theirs,
Who have left man such lessons!-And these
things,

Made your own hills their witnesses!-The sky,
Whose arch bends o'er you, and the seas, wherein
Your rivers pour their gold, rejoicing saw
The altar, and the birth-place, and the tomb,
And all memorials of man's heart and faith,
Thus proudly honoured!- Be ye not outdone
By the departed!-Though the godless foe
Be close upon us, we have power to snatch
The spoils of victory from him. Be but strong!
A few bright torches and brief moments yet
Shall baffle his flushed hope, and we may die,
Laughing him unto scorn.-Rise, follow me,
And thou, Valencia! triumph in thy fate,
The ruin, not the yoke, and make thy towers
A beacon unto Spain!

Citizen. We'll follow thee!
-Alas! for our fair city, and the homes
Wherein we reared our children!-But away!
The Moor shall plant no crescent o'er our fanes!
Voice (from a Tower on the Walls.) Suc-
cours!-Castile! Castile!

Citizens (rushing to the spot.) It is even so! Now blessing he to Heaven, for we are saved! Castile, Castile!

Voice (from the Tower.) Line after line of
spears,

Lance after lance, upon the horizon's verge,
Like festal lights from cities bursting up,
Doth skirt the plain!-In faith, a noble host!
Another Voice. The Moor hath turned him

from our walls, to front

Th' advancing might of Spain!

Citizens (shouting.) Castile! Castile!

(GONZALEZ enters, supported by ELMINA and a Citizen.)

Gonzalez. What shouts of joy are these? Hernandez. Hail, chieftain! hail! Thus ev'n in death 'tis given thee to receive The conqueror's crown!-Behold our God hath

heard,

And armed himself with vengeance!-Lo! they come!

The lances of Castile!

Gonzalez. I knew, I knew

Thou wouldst not utterly, my God, forsake
Thy servant in his need!-My blood and tears
Have not sunk vainly to th' attesting earth!
Praise to thee, thanks and praise, that I have lived
To see this hour!

Elmina. And I too bless thy name,
Though thou hast proved me unto agony!
Oh God!-Thou God of chastening!

Voice (from the Tower.) They move on!
I see the royal banner in the air,
With its emblazoned towers!

Gonzalez. Go, bring ye forth

The banner of the Cid, and plant it here,
To stream above me, for an answering sign
That the good cross doth hold its lofty place
Within Valencia still!-What see ye now?
Hernandez. I see a kingdom's might upon its
path,

Moving in terrible magnificence,

Unto revenge and victory!-With the flash
Of knightly swords, up-springing from the ranks,
As meteors from a still and gloomy deep,
And with the waving of ten thousand plumes,
Like a land's harvest in the autumn-wind,
And with fierce light, which is not of the sun,
But flung from sheets of steel-it comes, it comes,
The vengeance of our God!

Gonzalez. I hear it now,

The heavy tread of mail-clad multitudes,
Like thunder-showers upon the forest-paths.
Hernandez. Ay, earth knows well the omen of
that sound,

And she hath echoes, like a sepulchre's,
Pent in her secret hollows, to respond
Unto the step of death!

Gonzalez. Hark! how the wind

Swells proudly to the battle-march of Spain! Now the heart feels its power!-A little while Grant me to live, my God!-What pause is this! Hernandez. A deep and dreadful one!--the

serried files

Level their spears for combat; now the hosts Look on each other in their brooding wrath, Silent, and face to face.

VOICES HEARD WITHOUT, CHANTING.

Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit! rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His scal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die."

Elmina (to Gonzalez.) It is the death-hymn

o'er thy daughter's bier!

-But I am calm, and e'en like gentle winds,
That music, through the stillness of my heart,
Sends mournful peace.

Gonzalez. Oh! well those solemn tones
Accord with such an hour, for all her life
Breathed of a hero's soul!

[A sound of trumpets and shouting from the plain. Hernandez. Now, now they close!- Hark! what a dull dead sound

Is in the Moorish war-shout! I have known
Such tones prophetic oft.—The shock is given
Lo! they have placed their shields before their
hearts,

And lowered their lances with the streamers on,
And on their steeds bent forward!—God for Spain!
The first bright sparks of battle have been struck
From spear to spear, across the gleaming field!
-There is no sight on which the blue sky looks
To match with this!-'Tis not the gallant crests,
Nor banners with their glorious blazonry;
The very nature and high soul of man
Doth now reveal itself!

Gonzalez. Oh, raise me up,

That I may look upon the noble scene!

-It will not be!-That this dull mist would pass A moment from my sight!-Whence rose that shout,

Dashing some gallant armament in scorn
Against its rocks, is all on which I gaze!
-I can but tell thee how tall spears are crossed,
And lances seem to shiver, and proud helms
To lighten with the stroke!-But round the spot,
Where, like a storm-felled mast, our standard sank,
The heart of battle burns.

Gonzalez. Where is that spot?

Hernadez. It is beneath the lonely tuft of palms, That lift their green heads o'er the tumult still, In calm and stately grace.

Gonzalez. There, didst thou say? Then God is with us, and we must prevail! For on that spot they died!-My children's blood Calls on th' avenger thence!

Elmina. They perished there!

-And the bright locks that waved so joyously
To the free winds, lay trampled and defiled
Ev'n on that place of death!-Oh, Merciful!
Hush the dark thought within me!

Hernandez (with sudden exultation). Who is he, On the white steed, and with the castled helm, And the gold-broidered mantle, which doth float E'en like a sunny cloud above the fight;

And the pale cross, which from his breast-plate gleams

With star-like radiance?

Gonzalez (eagerly). Didst thou say the cross? Hernandez. On his mailed bosom shines a broad

white cross,

And his long plumage through the darkening air Streams like a snow-wreath.

Gonzalez. That should be

Hernandez. The king!

-Was it not told us how he sent, of late,
To the Cid's tomb, e'en for the silver cross,
Which he who slumbers there was wont to bind
O'er his brave heart in fight ?(9)

Gonzalez (springing up joyfully). My king! my king!

Now all good saints for Spain!-My noble king! And thou art there!-That I might look once more Upon thy face!-But yet I thank thee, Heaven! That thou hast sent him from my dying hands Thus to receive his city!

[He sinks back into Elmina's arms. Hernandez. He hath cleared

A pathway 'midst the combat, and the light
Follows his charge through yon close living mass,
E'en as the gleam on some proud vessel's wake
Along the stormy waters!-'Tis redeemed-
The castled banner!—It is flung once more
In joy and glory, to the sweeping winds!
-There seems a wavering through the paynim
hosts-

Castile doth press them sore-Now, now rejoice!
Gonzalez. What hast thou seen?
Hernandez. Abdullah falls! He falls!
The man of blood!-the spoiler! he hath sunk

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

COUNT DI PROCIDA..

RAIMOND DI PROCIDA, his Son.
ERIBERT, Viceroy.
DE COUCI.
MONTALBA.

GUIDO.

ALBERTI.

ANSELMO, a Monk.
VITTORIA.

CONSTANCE, Sister to Eribert.

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

tal 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 seemed so sweet. But the light hearts
Which to those measures beat so joyously
Are tamed to stillness now. There is no voice
Of joy through all the land.

Second Peasant. 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.

Third Peasant. Alas! we sat
In happier days, so peacefully beneath

The olives and the vines our fathers reared,
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. We are bowed
E'en to the earth.

Peasant's Child. My father, tell me when
Shall the gay dance and song again resound
Amidst our chesnut-woods, as in those days
Of which thou'rt wont to tell the joyous tale?
First Peasant. When there are light and reck-
less 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 wel: So to relieve th' o'erburdened heart, which pants Beneath its weight of wrongs; but better far In silence to avenge them!

An old Peasant. What deep voice Came with that startling tone?

First Peasant. It was our guest's,

The stranger pilgrim, who hath sojourned here Since yester-morn. Good neighbours, 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 Peasant. 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 Peasant. 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.
Procida (coming forward indignantly). 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 stamped 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 furrowed cheek
Is blanched with terror at the passing thought
Of hazarding some few and evil days,
Which drag thus poorly on ?

Some of the Peasants. Away, away!
Leave us, for there is danger in thy presence.
Procida. Why, what is danger?-Are there
deeper ills

Than those ye bear thus calmly? Ye have drained
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
Locked 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 thy 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 thy words.

Peasant. If that indeed

Thou hast a hope to give us.

Procida. There is hope

For all who suffer with indignant thoughts

First Peasant. This man should be a prophet: how he seemed

To read our hearts with his dark searching glance
And aspect of command! And yet his garb
Is mean as ours.

Second Peasant. Speak low; I know him well.
At first his voice disturbed 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.

Peasant. And is this he?

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

First Peasant. 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 proved True to our native princes. But away! The noon-tide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering through 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 seared it; all is fled from mine. Urge me no more.

Eribert. O lady! doth the flower

Heaven

O'erlooks 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
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.

storms

Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring;
And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair,
Wake at love's voice?

Vittoria. Love!-make love's name thy spell,
And I am strong!-the very word calls up
From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers,
arrayed

In arms against thee!-Knowest thou whom I loved,
While my soul's dwelling-place was still on earth?
One who was born for empire, and endowed
With such high gifts of princely majesty,