Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/11



He died!—hast thou forgotten?—And thou'rt here, Thou meet'st my glance with eyes which coldly look'd, —Coldly!—nay, rather with triumphant gaze, Upon his murder!—Desolate as I am, Yet in the mien of thine affianced bride, Oh, my lost Conradin! there should be still Somewhat of loftiness, which might o'erawe The hearts of thine assassins.

Haughty dame! If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed, Know, danger is around thee: thou hast foes That seek thy ruin, and my power alone Can shield thee from their arts.

Provençal, tell Thy tale of danger to some happy heart, Which hath its little world of loved ones round, For whom to tremble; and its tranquil joys That make earth, Paradise. I stand alone; —They that are blest may fear.

Is there not one Who ne'er commands in vain?—proud lady, bend Thy spirit to thy fate; for know that he, Whose car of triumph in its earthquake path O'er the bow'd neck of prostrate Sicily, Hath borne him to dominion; he, my king, Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon My deeds have well deserved; and who hath power Against his mandates?

Viceroy, tell thy lord, That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land,