Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/44



Oh, father! what proud hopes This hour hath blighted!—yet, whate'er betide It is a noble privilege to look up Fearless in heaven's bright face.—and this is mine, And shall be still.— [Exit Raimond.

He's gone!—Why, let it be! I trust our Sicily hath many a son Valiant as mine.—Associates!—'tis decreed Our foes shall perish. We have but to name The hour, the scene, the signal.

It should be In the full city, when some festival Hath gathered throngs, and lull'd infatuate hearts To brief security. Hark! is there not A sound of hurrying footsteps on the breeze? We are betray'd.—Who art thou?

One alone Should be thus daring. Lady, lift the veil That shades thy noble brow.

Th' affianced bride Of our lost King!

And more, Montalba; know Within this form there dwells a soul as high, As warriors in their battles e'er have proved, Or patriots on the scaffold.

Valiant men! I come to ask your aid. Ye see me, one