Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/109



Is this no dream? —Mount, eagle! thou art free!—Shall I then die, Not midst the mockery of insulting crowds, But on the field of banners, where the brave Are striving for an immortality? —It is e'en so!—Now for bright arms of proof, A helm, a keen-edged falchion, and e'en yet My father may be saved!

Away, be strong! And let thy battle-word, to rule the storm, Be—Conradin! (He rushes out. Oh! for one hour of life To hear that name blent with th' exulting shout Of victory!—'t will not be!—A mightier power Doth summon me away.

To purer worlds Raise thy last thoughts in hope.

Yes! he is there, All glorious in his beauty!—Conradin! Death parted us—and death shall re-unite! —He will not stay—it is all darkness now; Night gathers o'er my spirit. (She dies.

She is gone It is an awful hour which stills the heart That beat so proudly once.—Have mercy, heaven! (He kneels beside her.