Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/53



Ay! and give time and warning to the foe To gather all his might!—It is too late. There is a work to be this eve begun, When rings the vesper-bell; and, long before To-morrow's sun hath reach'd i' th' noonday heaven His throne of burning glory, every sound Of the Provençal tongue within our walls, As by one thunderstroke—(you are pale, my son)— Shall be for ever silenced.

What! such sounds As falter on the lip of infancy In its imperfect utterance? or are breathed By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe? Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air Pour'd by the timid maid?—Must all alike Be still'd in death; and wouldst thou tell my heart There is no crime in this?

Since thou dost feel Such horror of our purpose, in thy power Are means that might avert it.

Speak! Oh speak!

How would those rescued thousands bless thy name Shouldst thou betray us!

Father! I can bear— Ay, proudly woo—the keenest questioning Of thy soul-gifted eye; which almost seems To claim a part of heaven's dread royalty, —The power that searches thought!

(after a pause)Thou hast a brow