Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/79



'T is strange he comes not!—Is not this the still And sultry hour of noon?—He should have been Here by the day-break.—Was there not a voice? —"No! 'tis the shrill Cicada, with glad life "Peopling these marble ruins, as it sports "Amidst them, in the sun.—Hark! yet again!" No! no!—Forgive me, father! that I bring Earth's restless griefs and passions to disturb The stillness of thy holy solitude; My heart is full of care.

There is no place So hallow'd, as to be unvisited By mortal cares. Nay, whither should we go, With our deep griefs and passions, but to scenes Lonely and still; where he that made our hearts Will speak to them in whispers? I have known Affliction too, my daughter.

Hark! his step! I know it well—he comes—my Raimond, welcome!

Oh heaven! that aspect tells a fearful tale.

(not observing her.) There is a cloud of horror on my soul;