The mountain-fastnesses thy dwelling still, While hostile banners o'er thy rampart walls Wave their proud blazonry?
1st Sicilian. Even so. I stood
Last night before my own ancestral towers An unknown outcast, while the tempest beat On my bare head. What reck'd it? There was joy Within, and revelry; the festive lamps 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 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. The 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?
2d Sicilian. He bears a sheathless sword! -Call on the orphan when revenge is nigh. [men Pro. Our band shows gallantly-but there are 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 among us?
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 theirs of whom ye spoke; and I have knelt- 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 cancell'd! 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 hers For what she blindly works! When slavery's cup O'erflows its bounds, the creeping poison, meant To dull our senses, through each burning vein Pours fever, lending a delirious strength To burst man's fetters. And they shall be burst! I have hoped, when hope seem'd 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 The arm that strikes for freedom-speak! decree The fate of our oppressors.
When dreaming least of peril!-when the heart, Basking in sunny pleasure, doth forget [sword That hate may smile, but sleeps not. Hide the With a thick veil of myrtle; and in halls Of banqueting, where the full wine-cup shines Red in the festal torchlight, 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 must repeat
Their import. Let th' avenging sword burst forth In some free festal hour-and woe to him Who first shall spare!
Raim. Must innocence and guilt Perish alike?
Mon. Who talks of innocence?
When hath their hand been stay'd for innocence? Let them all perish!-Heaven will choose its own. Why should their children live? The earthquake whelms
Its undistinguish'd 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 hush the mother's pangs?
Raim. (rushing forward indignantly.) Our faith No! I but dreamt I heard it! Can it be? My countrymen, my father!-is it thus That freedom should be won? 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 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, And our blood curdle at-ay, yours and mineA murderer! Heard ye? Shall that name with
Go down to after days? O friends! a cause Like that for which we rise, hath made bright
Of th' 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 thrilling rapture from the grave! At the vain breath of praise? I tell thee, youth Our souls are parch'd with agonising thirst, Which must be quench'd, though death were in
We must have vengeance, for our foes have left No other joy unblighted.
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-whate'er the deeds by which We burst our bondage-is it not enough
That in the chronicle of days to come, We, through a bright "For Ever," shall be call'd The men who saved their country?
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 It is enough of glory to be call'd
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 through 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.
Raim. Montalba! know
I shrink from crime alone. Oh! if my voice Might yet have power among 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
Have been defiled and trampled to the earth. Boy! we are slaves—and our revenge shall be Deep as a slave's disgrace.
Raim. Why, then, farewell:
I leave you to your counsels. 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 !
Raim. O father! what proud hopes This hour hath blighted! Yet, whate'er betide, It is a noble privilege to look up 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 gather'd throngs, and lull'd infatuate hearts To brief security. Hark! is there not
I come to ask your aid. You see me, one 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? [lady! Sicilians. Never! oh, never! Fear not, noble Worthy of Conradin !
His bride, that Eribert's, who notes our tears With his insulting eye of cold derision, [works, And, could he pierce the depths where feeling Would number e'en our agonies as crimes. -Say, is this meet?
Gui. We deem'd these nuptials, lady, Thy willing choice; but 'tis a joy to find Thou'rt 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 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
Is heard o'er land and wave. 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! Remember! Sicilians. Fear us not. The Vesper-bell!
SCENE I.-Apartment in a Palace.
ERIBERT, VITTORIA.
Vit. Speak not of love-it is a word with deep Strange magic in its melancholy sound, To summon up the dead; and they should rest, At such an hour, forgotten. There are things
-Who shall look through the far futurity, And, as the shadowy visions of events Develop on his gaze, midst their dim throng, Dare, with oracular mien, to point, and say, "This will bring happiness?" Who shall do this? Who, 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 Serenely to repose. Of this no more.
I have a boon to ask.
Eri. Command my power,
And deem it thus most honour'd.
Vit. Have I then
Soar'd such an eagle pitch, as to command The mighty Eribert?-And yet 'tis meet; For I bethink me now, I should have worn A crown upon this forehead. Generous lord! Since thus you give me freedom, know, there is 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 To peace-which is forgetfulness; I mean The Vesper-bell. I pray you let it be
The summons to our bridal. Hear you not? To our fair bridal!
Eri. Lady, let your will
Appoint each circumstance. I am too bless'd,
Proving my homage thus.
Vit. Why, then, 'tis 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'm 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 seem Slow till the Vesper-bell.
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, but not a crime!
Raim. 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 Who needed no vain sophistry to gild [mine! Acts that would bear heaven's light-and such be O 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?
Raim. I would go forth, and rouse th' indignant land
To generous combat. Why should freedom strike Mantled with darkness? Is there not more strength Ev'n 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! 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 Provençal tongue within our walls,
As by one thunderstroke (you are pale, my son)- Shall be for ever silenced!
Raim. 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.
Raim. Speak! oh speak!
Pro. How would those rescued thousands bless
Shouldst thou betray us!
Raim. Father! I can bear
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 Clear as the day-and yet I doubt thee, Raimond! Whether it be that I have learn'd distrust From a long look through man's deep-folded heart; Whether my paths have been so seldom cross'd By honour and fair mercy, that they seem But beautiful deceptions, 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. Raim. And 'tis thus
Youth fades from off our spirit; and the robes Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith We clothed our idols, drop! Oh, 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 realise its dreams? Ay, shrinking not From the pure eye of heaven, my brow may well Undaunted meet my father's. But, away! [yet Thou shalt be saved, sweet Constance !-Love is Mightier than vengeance. [Exit RAIMOND.
SCENE III.-Gardens of a Palace.
Con. There was a time when my thoughts wander'd not
Beyond these fairy scenes !-when but to catch The languid fragrance of the southern breeze From the rich flowering citrons, or to rest, 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! oh! now thou'rt come-
I read it in thy look-to say farewell For the last time-the last!
Raim. 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!
Raim. No more-if love
Can strive with darker spirits; and he is strong In his immortal nature! All is changed Since last we met. My father-keep the tale Secret from all, and most of all, my Constance,
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