Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/84



Ay, thus doth sensitive conscience quicken thought, Lending reproachful voices to a breeze, Keen lightning to a look.

Leave me in peace! Is't not enough that I should have a sense Of things thou canst not see, all wild and dark, And of unearthly whispers, haunting me With dread suggestions, but that thy cold words, Old man, should gall me too?—Must all conspire Against me?—Oh! thou beautiful spirit! wont To shine upon my dreams with looks of love, Where art thou vanish'd?—Was it not the thought Of thee which urged me to the fearful task, And wilt thou now forsake me?—I must seek The shadowy woods again, for there, perchance, Still may thy voice be in my twilight-paths; —Here I but meet despair! [Exit Vittoria.

(to Constance.) Despair not thou, My daughter!—he that purifies the heart With grief, will lend it strength.

(endeavouring to rouse herself.) Did she not say That some one was to die?

I tell thee not Thy pangs are vain—for nature will have way. Earth must have tears; yet in a heart like thine, Faith may not yield its place.

Have I not heard Some fearful tale?—Who said, that there should rest Blood on my soul?—What blood?—I never bore