Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/10



True to our native princes. But away! The noon-tide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering thro' the vineyards; now We may resume our toil. [Exeunt Peasants.

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 sear'd it; all is fled from mine. Urge me no more.

O lady! doth the flower That sleeps entomb'd thro' the long wintry storms Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring; And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair, Wake at love's voice?

Love!—make love's name thy spell, And I am strong!—the very word calls up 'From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers, array'd In arms against thee!—Know'st thou whom I lov'd, While my soul's dwelling place was still on earth? One who was born for empire, and endow'd With such high gifts of princely majesty, As bow'd all hearts before him!—Was he not Brave, royal, beautiful?—And such he died;