Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/101



Ay, so 'tis said, To die before that gate thro' which he purposed The foe should enter in.

'Twas a vile plot! And yet I would my hands were pure as his From the deep stain of blood. Didst hear the sounds I'th' air last night?

Since the great work of slaughter, Who hath not heard them duly, at those hours Which should be silent?

Oh! the fearful mingling, The terrible mimicry of human voices, In every sound which to the heart doth speak Of woe and death.

Ay, there was woman's shrill And piercing cry; and the low feeble wail Of dying infants; and the half-suppress'd Deep groan of man in his last agonies! And now and then there swell'd upon the breeze Strange, savage bursts of laughter, wilder far Than all the rest.

Of our own fate, perchance These awful midnight wailings may be deem'd An ominous prophecy.—Should France regain Her power amongst us, doubt not, we shall have Stern reckoners to account with.—Hark! (The sound of trumpets is heard at distance.

'Twas but A rushing of the breeze.