Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/64



Of those whose blood is claim'd, I thought for them Who, in a darkness thicker than the night E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long: How blessed were the stroke which makes them things Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust, There is, at least, no bondage!—But should we From such a scene as this, where all earth's joys Contend for mastery, and the very sense Of life is rapture; should we pass, I say, At once from such excitements to the void And silent gloom of that which doth await us— —Were it not dreadful?

Banish such dark thoughts! They ill beseem the hour.

There is no hour Of this mysterious world, in joy or woe, But they beseem it well!—Why, what a slight, Impalpable bound is that, th' unseen, which severs Being from death!—And who can tell how near Its misty brink he stands?

(aside.) What mean her words?

There's some dark mystery here.

No more of this! Pour the bright juice which Etna's glowing vines Yield to the conquerors! And let music's voice Dispel these ominous dreams!—Wake, harp and song! Swell out your triumph!