Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/69



That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy man, Anselmo? He whose hermitage is rear'd 'Mid some old temple's ruins?—Round the spot His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm, 'Tis hallow'd as a sanctuary, wherein Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm Have spent its fury. Haste!

I will not fly! While in his heart there is one throb of life, One spark in his dim eyes, I will not leave The brother of my youth to perish thus, Without one kindly bosom to sustain His dying head.

The clouds are darkening round. There are strange voices ringing in mine ear That summon me—to what?—But I have been Used to command!—Away! I will not die But on the field— (He dies.

(kneeling by him.) Oh heaven! be merciful, As thou art just!—for he is now where nought But mercy can avail him!—It is past!

(to Raimond.) I've sought thee long—Why art thou lingering here? Haste, follow me!—Suspicion with thy name Joins that word—Traitor!

Traitor!——Guido?

Yes! Hast thou not heard that, with his men-at-arms,