Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/17



Rousing the fiery feelings, and proud thoughts, In all their fearful strength!—'Tis ever thus, And doubly so with me; for I awoke With high aspirings, making it a curse To breathe where noble minds are bow'd, as here. —To breathe!—it is not breath!

I know thy grief, — And is't not mine?—for those devoted men Doom'd with their life to expiate some wild word, Born of the social hour. Oh! I have knelt, E'en at my brother's feet, with fruitless tears, Imploring him to spare. His heart is shut Against my voice; yet will I not forsake The cause of mercy.

Waste not thou thy prayers, Oh, gentle love, for them. There's little need For Pity, tho' the galling chain be worn By some few slaves the less. Let them depart! There is a world beyond th' oppressor's reach, And thither lies their way.

Alas! I see That some new wrong hath pierced you to the soul.

Pardon, beloved Constance, if my words, From feelings hourly stung, have caught, perchance, A tone of bitterness.—Oh! when thine eyes, With their sweet eloquent thoughtfulness, are fix'd Thus tenderly on mine, I should forget All else in their soft beams; and yet I came To tell thee—