Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/15



It is most meet that thou shouldst live, to see The mighty expiation; for thy heart (Forgive me that I wrong'd its faith) hath nursed A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set Deep on thy marble brow.

Then thou canst tell, By gazing on the wither'd rose, that there Time, or the blight, hath work'd!—Ay, this is in Thy vision's scope: but oh! the things unseen, Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind To ruin struck by grief!—Yet doth my soul, Far, midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope, Wherein is bright vitality.—'Tis to see His blood avenged, and his fair heritage, My beautiful native land, in glory risen, Like a warrior from his slumbers!

Hear'st thou not With what a deep and ominous moan, the voice Of our great mountain swells?—There will be soon A fearful burst!—Vittoria! brood no more In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth Amidst thy vassals, (yet be secret still) And let thy breath give nurture to the spark Thou 'lt find already kindled. I move on In shadow, yet awakening in my path That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well.

When shall we meet again?—Are we not those