Streams like a snow-wreath.

That snould be

The king!-

Gon. Her.

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?

Gon. (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.
He hath cleared

Her.
A pathway 'midst the combat, and the light
Follows his charge through yon close living mass,
E'en as a 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!
Gon. What hast thou seen?
Her.

Abdullah falls! He falls:

The man of blood !-the spoiler !—he hath sunk
In our king's path! Well hath that royal sword
Avenged thy cause, Gonzalez !

They give way,
The Crescent's van is broken!-On the hills
And the dark pine-woods may the infidel
Call vainly, in his agony of fear,

To cover him from vengeance !-Lo! they fly!
They of the forest and the wilderness

Are scattered, e'en as leaves upon the wind!

Woe to the sons of Afric! Let the plains,

And the vine-mountains, and Hesperian seas,

Take their dead unto them!-that blood shall wash
Our soil from stains of bondage.

Gon. (attempting to raise himself). Set me free!
Come with me forth, for I must greet my king,
After his battle-field!

Her.
Chosen of Heaven, farewell!-Look on the Cross,
And part from earth in peace!

Gon.

O, blest in death!

Now, charge once more :

God is with Spain, and Santiago's sword

Is reddening all the air!-Shout forth "Castile!"
The day is ours!-I go; but fear ye not!
For Afric's lance is broken, and my sons
Have won their first good field!

Elm.

[He dws. Look on me yet!

Speak one farewell, my husband!-must thy voice
Enter my soul no more! Thine eye is fixed-
Now is my life uprooted.-And 'tis well.

(A sound of triumphant music is heard, and many
Castilian Knights and Soldiers enter.)

A Cit. Hush your triumphal sounds, although ye come E'en as deliverers !-But the noble dead,

And those that mourn them, claim from human hearts
Deep silent reverence.

Elm. (rising proudly). No, swell forth, Castile!
Thy trumpet-music, till the seas and heavens,
And the deep hills, give every stormy note

Echoes to ring through Spain!-How, know ye not
That all arrayed for triumph, crowned and robed,
With the strong spirit which hath saved the land,
E'en now a conqueror to his rest is gone?—
Fear not to break that sleep, but let the wind
Swell on with victory's shout! He will not hear-
Hath earth a sound more sad?

Her
Lift ye the dead,
And bear him with the banner of his race
Waving above him proudly, as it waved
O'er the Cid's battles, to the tomb wherein
His warrior-sires are gathered.

[They raise the body. Ay, 'tis thus

Elm.
Thou shouldst be honoured!-And I follow thee
With an unfaltering and a lofty step,

To that last home of glory. She that wears

In her deep heart the memory of thy love,

Shall thence draw strength for all things, till the God

Whose hand around her hath unpeopled earth,

Looking upon her still and chastened soul,

Call it once more to thine!

(To the Castilians.)

Awake, I say,

Tambour and trumpet, wake! And let the land
Through all her mountains hear your funeral peal—
So should a hero pass to his repose!

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

SCENE-Palermo.

ACT I.

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,

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

2d Pea.

Of revelry within the palaces,

There is no voice

Yes! there are sounds

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 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.

E'en to the earth.

We are bowed

Pea's. Child. 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 the o'erburthened heart, which pants
Beneath its weight of wrongs; but better far
In silence to avenge them!

An Old Pea.

What deep voice

It was our guest's,

Came with that startling tone?

Ist Pea.

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 around 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.) 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 Peas.

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 drained
The cup of bitterness till naught 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 among 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 breast
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.

Pea.

Thou hast a hope to give us

Pro.

If that indeed

There is hope

For all who suffer with indignant thoughts

Which work in silent strength. What! think ye Heaven
O'erlooks the oppressor, if he bear awhile
His crested head on high? I tell you, no!
The 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.

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.

[Exit PROCIDA.