University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

A Square in the City.—Alarums.—Conclusion of the Massacre —The Stage and Terraces strewed with the dead. —The Houses of the French consumed.
Loridan enters, eagerly, yet tottering with debility; suddenly rests on his sword, unable to proceed. Villanelli, with other citizens and conspirators, with torches, follow and surround him.
VILLANELLI.
You strive in vain. Rest here!

LORIDAN.
My father!

VILLANELLI.
Your friends on every hand are seeking him.
Behold, he comes!

Enter Procida, Salviati, Borella, &c.
PROCIDA.
My son! (Loridan seizes on his hand and falls.)

How is it with thee?

LORIDAN.
Well; all now is well.
The storm but sweeps away a blighted thing,
Not worth the weeping for.
Palermo's free, and—Montfort—is no more.
Our name is not dishonoured!

PROCIDA.
Thou art the bravest of our race. I've wrong'd thee.

LORIDAN.
No! thou hast done thy noble name but justice.

PROCIDA.
Curse on the tyrant! Could I but restore
The blood to that pale cheek—

LORIDAN.
'Tis freely shed!
In the red torrent that oppression pours
Thine own hath mingled; and if more of mine,
My country's victory is at little cost.
My heart's last wish my tongue now dares utter—
Thou wilt respect a hero's ashes—Montfort
Shall be entombed with honour.

PROCIDA.
Else be Heaven
Deaf to my prayers for thee, for Sicily!

LORIDAN.
'Tis all I live to hear. (Dies.)


PROCIDA
(after a solemn pause.)
Not less than this! Not less than this, my country!
Oh, Loridan! My brave, unhappy boy!
Art thou then gone for ever? Am I left
Childless and lonely-hearted in my day
Of pride and glory! Oh! my friends, forgive
This gush of sorrow,—Nature must awhile
Subdue the patriot for a father's tears.
(Suppressed but deep emotion; then recovering from the struggle with renewed energy.)
Be ready with the dawn to crown our triumph!

Martial salute.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.