Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/85



Hatred, kind father, unto aught that breathes; Raimond doth know it well.—Raimond!—High heaven, It bursts upon me now!—and he must die! For my sake—e'en for mine!

Her words were strange, And her proud mind seem'd half to frenzy wrought— —Perchance this may not be.

It must not be. Why do I linger here?(She rises to depart.

Where wouldst thou go?

To give their stern and unrelenting hearts A victim in his stead.

Stay! wouldst thou rush On certain death?

I may not falter now. —Is not the life of woman all bound up In her affections?—What hath she to do In this bleak world alone?—It maybe well For man on his triumphal course to move, Uncumber'd by soft bonds; but we were born For love and grief.

Thou fair and gentle thing, Unused to meet a glance which doth not speak Of tenderness or homage! how shouldst thou Bear the hard aspect of unpitying men, Or face the king of terrors?

There is strength Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck But little, till the shafts of heaven have pierced