Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/118



That guilty plot, for which thy life was doom'd To be th' atonement.

'T is enough! Rejoice, Rejoice, my Constance! for I leave a name O'er which thou may'st weep proudly! (He sinks back. To thy breast Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart Hath touch'd my veins.

And must thou leave me, Raimond? Alas! thine eye grows dim—its wandering glance Is full of dreams.

Haste, haste, and tell my father I was no traitor!

(rushing forward.) To that father's heart Return, forgiving all thy wrongs, return! Speak to me, Raimond!—Thou wert ever kind, And brave, and gentle! Say that all the past Shall be forgiven! That word from none but thee My lips e'er ask'd.—Speak to me once, my boy, My pride, my hope!—And is it with thee thus? Look on me yet!—Oh! must this woe be borne?

Off with this weight of chains! it is not meet For a crown'd conqueror!—Hark, the trumpet's voice! (A sound of triumphant music is heard, gradually approaching. Is 't not a thrilling call?—What drowsy spell Benumbs me thus?—Hence! I am free again! Now swell your festal strains, the field is won! Sing me to glorious dreams. (He dies.