Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/115



'Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurn'd Mine aid, tho' 'twas deliverance; and their looks Had fallen, like blights, upon me.—There is one, Whose eye ne'er turn'd on mine, but its blue light Grew softer, trembling thro' the dewy mist Raised by deep tenderness!—Oh might the soul Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish! —Is 't not her voice?

Oh! happy they, kind sister, Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall With brave men side by side, when the roused heart Beats proudly to the last!—There are high souls Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied! (She approaches Raimond.) Young warrior, is there Thou here—and thus!—Oh! is this joy or woe?

Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed love, E'en on the grave's dim verge!—yes! it is joy! My Constance! victors have been crown'd, ere now, With the green shining laurel, when their brows Wore death's own impress—and it may be thus E'en yet, with me!—They freed me, when the foe Had half prevail'd, and I have proudly earn'd, With my heart's dearest blood, the meed to die Within thine arms.

Oh! speak not thus—to die!