Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/7



The stranger pilgrim, who hath sojourn'd here Since yester-morn. Good neighbours, mark him well: He hath a stately bearing, and an eye Whose glance looks thro' the heart. His mien accords Ill with such vestments. How he folds round him His pilgrim-cloak, e'en as it were a robe Of knightly ermine! That commanding step Should have been used in courts and camps to move. Mark him!

Nay, rather, mark him not: the times Are fearful, and they teach the boldest hearts A cautious lesson. What should bring him here?

He spoke of vengeance!

Peace! we are beset By snares on every side, and we must learn In silence and in patience to endure. Talk not of vengeance, for the word is death.

(coming forward indignantly.)—The word is death! And what hath life for thee, That thou shouldst cling to it thus? thou abject thing! Whose very soul is moulded to the yoke, And stamp'd with servitude. What! is it life, Thus at a breeze to start, to school thy voice Into low fearful whispers, and to cast Pale jealous looks around thee, lest, e'en then, Strangers should catch its echo?—Is there aught In this so precious, that thy furrow'd cheek Is blanch'd with terror at the passing thought Of hazarding some few and evil days, Which drag thus poorly on?