Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/112



There I still baffle him—the grave shall seal My lips for ever—mortal shall not hear Montalba say—"forgive!"(He dies.

The day is ours; but he, the brave unknown, Who turn'd the tide of battle; he whose path Was victory—who hath seen him?

Procida!

Be silent, traitor!—Bear him from my sight Unto your deepest dungeons.

In the grave A nearer home awaits me.—Yet one word Ere my voice fail—thy son—

Speak, speak!

Thy son Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait'rous plot Was mine alone.(He is led away.

Attest it, earth and heaven! My son is guiltless!—Hear it, Sicily! The blood of Procida is noble still!