Sicilians. Fly, fly, or all is lost! RAIMOND 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 recoil. 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, Conradin !"-for Sicily His spirit fights! Remember "Conradin !" [They begin to rally round him. Ay, this is well!-Now, follow me, and charge! [The Provençals 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. Mon. Rest! ay, death is rest, And such will soon be mine. But, thanks to thee, [He lifts the visor of his helmet. Mon. Raimond di Procida ! Raim. Thou hast pursued me with a bitter hate : But fare thee well! Heaven's peace be with thy soul ! I must away. One glorious effort more, [Exit RAIMOND. Am I thus humbled? Mon. 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!" [He dics. 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 holy 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 him 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. There is one, Whose eye ne'er turn'd on mine but its blue light Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist CONSTANCE enters speaking to a Nun, who turns into another path. Con. 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! E'en on the grave's dim verge. Yes! it is joy! My Constance! victors have been crown'd ere now, With the green shining laurel, when their brows Wore death's own impress-and it may be thus E'en yet, with me! They freed me, when the foo Had half prevail'd, and I have proudly earn'd, With my heart's dearest blood, the meed to die Within thine arms. Con. Oh! speak not thus-to die! These wounds may yet be closed. [She attempts to bind his wounds. Look on me, love! Why, there is more than life in thy glad mien"Tis full of hope! and from thy kindled eye Breaks e'en unwonted light, whose ardent ray Seems born to be immortal! Raim. 'Tis e'en so! The parting soul doth gather all her fires The shadowy dimness of the untrodden path Con. Say not vain; The dying look not thus. We shall not part! Raim. I have seen death ere now, and known him wear Full many a changeful aspect. Con. Oh! but none Radiant as thine, my warrior! Thou wilt live! Look round thee! all is sunshine. Is not this A smiling world? Raim. Ay, gentlest love! a world Of joyous beauty and magnificence, Almost too fair to leave! Yet must we tame ardent hearts to this! Oh, weep thou not! re is no home for liberty, or love, eath these festal skies! Be not deceived; way lies far beyond! I shall be soon t viewless thing, which, with its mortal weeds ing off meaner passions, yet, we trust, gets not how to love! on. And must this be? ven, thou art merciful!--Oh! bid our souls art together! aim. Constance! there is strength hin thy gentle heart, which hath been proved ›ly, for me: arouse it once again! grief unmans me-and I fain would meet it which approaches, as a brave man yields h proud submission to a mightier foe. t is upon me now! Con. And must thou leave me, Raimond? las! thine eye grows dim-its wandering glance full of dreams. Raim. Haste, haste, and tell my father was no traitor! Pro. (rushing forward.) To thy father's heart eturn, forgiving all thy wrongs-return! peak to me, Raimond !-thou wert ever kind, nd brave, and gentle ! Say that all the past hall be forgiven! That word from none but thee y lips e'er ask'd.-Speak to me once, my boy, y pride, my hope! And it is with thee thus? ook on me yet!-Oh! must this woe be borne? Raim. Off with this weight of chains! it is not meet [more! Pro. Oh! he knew Thy love, poor maid! Shrink from me now no He knew thy heart-but who shall tell him now The depth, th' intenseness, and the agony, Of my suppress'd affection? I have learn'd All his high worth in time to deck his grave. Is there not power in the strong spirit's woe To force an answer from the viewless world Of the departed? Raimond!-speak!-forgive! Raimond my victor, my deliverer! hear! -Why, what a world is this! Truth ever bursts On the dark soul too late and glory crowns Th' unconscious dead. There comes an hour to break The mightiest hearts -My son ! my son is this A day of triumph! Ay, for thee alone! [He throws himself upon the body of RAIMOND. Curtain falls. ANNOTATIONS ON THE " VESPERS OF PALERMO." "The Vespers of Palermo was the earliest of the dramatic productions of our author. The period in which the scene is laid, is sufficiently known from the title of the play. The whole is full of life and action. The same high strain of moral propriety marks this piece as all others of her writings. The hero is an enthusiast for glory, for liberty, and for virtue : and on his courage, his forbearance, the integrity of his love, making the firmness of his patriotism appear doubtful, rests the interest of the plot. It is worthy of remark, that some of its best parts have already found their way into an excellent selection of pieces for schools, and thus contribute to give lessons of morality to those who are most susceptible of the interest of tragedy. "It may not be so generally remembered, that the same historical event was made the subject of a French tragedy, about the same time that the English one was written, and by a poet now of great popularity in France. We hesitate not to give the preference to Mrs Hemans, for invention and interest, accurate delineation of character, and adherence to probability. Both the tragedies are written in a style of finished elegance."-PROFESSOR NORTON in North American Review, 1827. It was in 1821, as mentioned in the prefatory note, that Mrs Hemans composed The Vespers of Palermo, and that the MS. was handed over to the Managing Committee of Covent Garden. Two years elapsed before her doubts regarding its fate were removed, and the result was as follows. In giving it here, let the reader remember, meanwhile, that we are carried forward, for the space of time mentioned, beyond the pale of our literary chronology : "After innumerable delays, uncertainties, and anxieties," writes her sister, "the fate of the tragedy, so long in abeyance, was now drawing to a crisis. Every thing connected with its approaching representation was calculated to raise the highest hopes of success. All is going on,' writes Mrs Hemans on the 27th November, as well as I could possibly desire. Only a short time will yet elapse before the ordeal is over. I received a message yesterday from Mr Kemble, informing me of the unanimous opinion of the green room conclave in favour of the piece, and exhorting me to "be of good courage." Murray has given me two hundred guineas for the copyright of the "tragedy, drama, poem, composition, or book," as it is called in the articles which I signed yesterday. The managers made exceptions to the name of Procida-why or wherefore I know not; and out of several others which I proposed to them, The Vespers of Palermo has been finally chosen.' "Under these apparently favourable auspices, the piece was produced at Covent Garden on the night of December 12, 1823, the principal characters being taken by Mr Young, Mr C. Kemble, Mr Yates, Mrs Bartley, and Miss F. H. Kelly. Two days had to elapse before the news of its reception could reach St Asaph. Not only Mrs Hemans's own family, but all her more immediate friends and neighbours, were wrought up to a pitch of intense expectation. Various newspapers were ordered expressly for the occasion, and the post-office was besieged at twelve o'clock at night, by some of the more zealous of her friends, eager to be the first heralds of the triumph so undoubtingly anticipated. The boys had worked themselves up into an uncontrollable state of excitement, and were all lying awake to hear about mamma's play;' and perhaps her bitterest moment of mortification was, when she went up to their bedsides, which she nerved herself to do almost immediately, to announce that all their bright visions were dashed to the ground, and that the performance had ended in all but a failure. The reports in the newspapers were strangely contradictory, and, in some instances, exceedingly illiberal: but all which were written in anything like an unbiassed tone, concurred entirely with the private accounts, not merely of partial friends, but of perfectly unprejudiced observers, in attributing this most unexpected result to the inefficiency of the actress who personated Constance, and who absolutely seemed to be under the influence of some infatuating spell, calling down hisses, and even laughter, on scenes the most pathetic and affecting, and, to crown all, dying gratuitously at the close of the piece. The acting of Young and Kemble in the two Procidi, was universally pronounced to have been beyond all praise, and their sustained exertions showed a determination to do all possible justice to the author. It was admitted that, at the fall of the curtain, applause decidedly predominated: still the marks of disapprobation were too strong to be disregarded by the managers, who immediately decided upon withdrawing the piece, till another actress should have fitted herself to undertake the part of Constance, when they fully resolved to reproduce it. Mrs Hemans herself was very far from wishing that this fresh experiment should be made. 'Mr Kemble,' writes she to a friend, will not hear of The Vespers being driven off the stage. It is to be reproduced as soon as Miss Foote, who is now unwell, shall be sufficiently recovered to learn her part; but I cannot tell you how I shrink, after the fiery ordeal through which I have passed, from such another trial. Mr Kemble attributes the failure, without the slightest hesitation, to what he delicately calls "a singularity of intonation in one of the actresses." I have also heard from Mr Milman, Mr J. T. Coleridge, and several others, with whom there is but one opinion as to the cause of the disaster.' "Few would, perhaps, have borne so unexpected a reverse with feelings so completely untinged with bitterness, or with greater readiness to turn for consolation to the kindness and sympathy which poured in upon her from every side. It would be doing her injustice to withhold her letter to Mr Milman, written in the first moments of disappointment. Bronwylfa, Dec. 16, 1823. "MY DEAR SIR,-It is difficult to part with the hopes of three years, without some painful feelings; but your kind letter has been of more service to me than I can attempt to describe. I will not say that it revives my hopes of success, because I think it better that I should fix my mind to prevent those hopes from gaining any ascendency; but it sets in so clear a light the causes of failure, that my disappointment has been greatly softened by its perusal. The many friends from whom I have heard on this occasion, express but one opinion. As to Miss Kelly's acting, and its fatal effect on the fortunes of the piece, I cannot help thinking that it wil! be impossible to counteract the unfavourable impression which this must have produced, and I almost wish, as far as relates to my own private feelings, that the attempt may not be made. I shall not, however, interfere in any way on the subject. I have not heard from Mr Kemble; but I have written both to him and to Mr Young, to express my grateful sense of their splendid exertions in support of the piece. As a female, I cannot help feeling rather depressed by the extreme severity with which I have been treated in the morning papers. I know not why this should be, for I am sure I should not have attached the slightest value to their praise; but I suppose it is only a proper chastisement for my temerity--for a female who shrinks from such things has certainly no business to write tragedies. "For your support and assistance, as well as that of my other friends, I cannot be too grateful; nor can I ever consider any transaction of my life`unfortunate, which has given me the privilege of calling you a friend, and afforded me the recollection of so much long-tried kindness.-Ever believe me, my dear sir, most faithfully, your obliged "F. HEMANS.' "Notwithstanding the determination of the managers again to bring forward The Vespers, a sort of fatality seemed to attend upon it, and some fresh obstacle was continually arising to prevent the luckless Constance from obtaining an efficient representative on the London stage. Under these circumstances, Mr Kemble at length confessed that he could not recommend the reproduction of the piece; and Mrs Hemans acquiesced in the decision, with feelings which partook rather of relief than of disappointment. She never ceased to speak in the warmest terms of Mr Kemble's liberal and gentlemanly conduct, both before and after the appearance of the piece, and of his surpassing exertions at the time of its representation. "It was with no small degree of surprise that, in the course of the following February, she learned, through the medium of a letter from Mrs Joanna Baillie, that the tragedy was shortly to be represented at the Edinburgh theatre -Mrs Henry Siddons undertaking the part of Constance. The play was brought out on the 5th of April, and the following particulars of its reception, transmitted by one of the zealous friends who had been instrumental in this arrangement, will prove how well their kindly intentions were fulfilled: "The tragedy went off in a style which exceeded our most sanguine expectations, and was announced for repetition on Wednesday, amidst thunders of applause. The actors seem to have done wonders, and every one appeared to strain every nerve, as if all depended on his own exertions. Vandenhoff was the elder, and Calcraft the younger Procida. The first recognition between father and son, was acted by them to such perfection, that one of the most hearty and unanimous plaudits followed that ever was heard. 1 Though Mrs Hemans had never the advantage of being personally known to this gifted and excellent lady, the occasional interchange of letters which, from this time forward, was kept up between them, was regarded as one of the most valuable privileges she possessed. It was always delightful to her when she could love the character, as well as admire the talents, of a celebrated author; and never, surely, was there an example better fitted to call forth the willing tribute of veneration, both towards the woman and the poetess. In one of her letters to Mrs Baillie, Mrs Hemans thus apologised for indulging in a strain of egotism, "Every reappearance of the gentle Constance won the spectators more and more. The scene in the judgment-hall carried off the audience into perfect illusion, and handkerchiefs were out in every quarter. Mrs Siddons's searching the faces of the judges, which she did in a wild manner, as if to find Raimond's father was to save him, was perfect. She flew round the circle-went, as if distracted, close up to judge after judge-paused before Procida, and fell prostrate at his feet. The effect was magical, and was manifested by three repeated bursts of applause.' "A neatly turned and witty epilogue, surmised, though not declared, to be the production of Sir Walter Scott, was recited by Mrs H. Siddons. When deference to a female was there laid claim to, loud bursts of applause ensued; but when generosity to a stranger was bespoken, the house absolutely rang with huzzas.” "I knew how much you would rejoice,' wrote Mrs Hemans to a warm-hearted friend, in the issue of my Edinburgh trial; it has, indeed, been most gratifying, and I think, amongst the pleasantest of its results I may reckon a letter from Sir Walter Scott, of which it has put me in possession. I had written to thank him for the kindness he had shown with regard to the play, and hardly expected an answer; but it came, and you would be delighted with its frank and unaffected kindliness. He acknowledges the epilogue, "stuffed," as he it was, says "with parish jokes, and bad puns; " and courteously says, that his country folks have done more credit to themselves than to me, by their reception of The Vespers.' "To another uncompromising champion she wrote:-' I must beg you will "bear our faculties meekly:" you really seem to be rather in an intoxicated state; and if we indulge ourselves in this way, I am afraid we shall have something to sober us. I dare say I must expect some sharp criticism from Edinburgh ere all this is over; but any thing which deserves the name of criticism I can bear. I believe I could point out more faults in The Vespers myself than any one has done yet.'"-Memoir, pp. 69-76. which the nature of their acquaintance might scarcely seem to justify. -"The kindly warmth of heart which seems to breathe over all your writings, and the power of early association over my mind, make me feel, whenever I address you, as if I were writing to a friend." It would have been very dear to her could she have foreseen how graciously that "kindly warmth of heart" would be extended to those of her children, who are more fortunate than herself, in enjoying the personal intercourse she would have prized so highly. STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE THE THIRD. "Among many nations was there no King like him."-NEHEMIAH. "Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?"-SAMUEL. ANOTHER warning sound! The funeral bell, Startling the cities of the isle once more With measured tones of melancholy swell, Strikes on th' awaken'd heart from shore to shore. He at whose coming monarchs sink to dust, The chambers of our palaces hath trod; And the long-suffering spirit of the just, Vain voice of Reason, hush!-they yet must flow, A thousand feelings sanctify the woe, |