Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/88



I will plead That cause before a mightier judgment-throne, Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel Too buoyantly the glory and the joy Of my free spirit's whiteness; for e'en now Th' embodied hideousness of crime doth seem Before me glaring out.—Why, I saw thee, Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast, Trampling our nature's last convulsive heavings. —And thou—thy sword—Oh, valiant chief!—is yet Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once, A mother and the babe, whose little life Was from her bosom drawn!—Immortal deeds For bards to hymn!

(aside.) I look upon his mien, And waver.—Can it be?—My boyish heart Deem'd him so noble once!—Away, weak thoughts! Why should I shrink, as if the guilt were mine, From his proud glance?

Oh, thou dissembler!—thou, So skill'd to clothe with virtue's generous flush The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy, That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce Believe thee guilty!—look on me, and say Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved De Couci with his bands, to join our foes, And forge new fetters for th' indignant land? Whose was this treachery? (Shows him papers. Who hath promised here, (Belike to appease the manès of the dead,)