Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/27



Will you not hear me?—Oh! that they who need Hourly forgiveness, they who do but live, While Mercy's voice, beyond th' eternal stars, Wins the great Judge to listen, should be thus, In their vain exercise of pageant power, Hard and relentless!—Gentle brother, yet, 'T is in your choice to imitate that heaven Whose noblest joy is pardon.

'T is too late. You have a soft and moving voice, which pleads With eloquent melody—but they must die.

What, die!—for words?—for breath, which leaves no trace To sully the pure air, wherewith it blends, And is, being utter'd, gone?—Why, 't were enough For such a venial fault, to be deprived One little day of man's free heritage, Heaven's warm and sunny light! —Oh! if you deem That evil harbours in their souls, at least