Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/107



The fiery impulse given, and valiant men Had seal'd their freedom with their blood—when lo! That false Alberti led his recreant vassals To join th' invader's host.

His country's curse Rest on the slave for ever!

Then distrust E'en of their nobler leaders, and dismay, That swift contagion, on Palermo's bands Came, like a deadly blight. They fled!—Oh shame! E'en now they fly!—Ay, thro' the city gates They rush, as if all Etna's burning streams Pursued their winged steps!

Thou hast not named Their chief—Di Procida—He doth not fly

No! like a kingly lion in the toils, Daring the hunters yet, he proudly strives But all in vain! The few that breast the storm, With Guido and Montalba, by his side, Fight but for graves upon the battle-field.

And I am here!—Shall there be power, O God! In the roused energies of fierce despair, To burst my heart—and not to rend my chains? Oh, for one moment of the thunderbolt To set the strong man free!

(after gazing upon him earnestly.) Why, 'twere a deed Worthy the fame and blessing of all time, To loose thy bonds, thou son of Procida!