Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/117



There is no home for liberty, or love, Beneath these festal skies!—Be not deceived; My way lies far beyond!—I shall be soon That viewless thing which, with its mortal weeds Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust, Forgets not how to love!

And must this be? Heaven, thou art merciful!—Oh! bid our souls Depart together!

Constance! there is strength Within thy gentle heart, which hath been proved Nobly, for me:—Arouse it once again! Thy grief unmans me—and I fain would meet That which approaches, as a brave man yields With proud submission to a mightier foe. —It is upon me now!

I will be calm. Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond, And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs, They shall but rock thee to thy rest. There is A world, (ay, let us seek it!) where no blight Falls on the beautiful rose of youth, and there I shall be with thee soon!

Lift up thy head, Brave youth, exultingly! for lo! thine hour Of glory comes!—Oh! doth it come too late? E'en now the false Alberti hath confess'd