Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/184

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Writhed in the dust before him. My young heart Shrank at the sight of blood. The day arrived That saw the sentence executed: throngs Of heartless wretches crowded in the streets, Eager to see a fellow-creature die. The scaffold waved with black; the dismal bell Tolled forth a horrid sound. My striken soul Gave to the mournful drapery a tongue; And heard in that sepulchral clang, a voice Proclaiming, Vengeance! Vengeance on the race, Who tore a father from his children's arms, And made them orphans. Oh, my poor Giovanni!

The dark remembrance of that dreadful day Will never be erased; the air was hot As burning sulphur. Blinded by my tears, And all my senses steeped in agony, Still, still I saw him, weak, and faint, and pale;