The Vespers of Palermo A Tragedy, In Five Acts |
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Scene II.
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 | The Vespers of Palermo |  |
Scene II.
—A Street of Palermo.Many Citizens assembled.
1 Citizen.
The morning breaks; his time is almost come:
Will he be led this way?
97
Ay, so 'tis said,
To die before that gate thro' which he purposed
The foe should enter in.
3 Cit.
'Twas a vile plot!
And yet I would my hands were pure as his
From the deep stain of blood. Didst hear the sounds
I'th'air last night?
2 Cit.
Since the great work of slaughter,
Who hath not heard them duly, at those hours
Which should be silent?
3 Cit.
Oh! the fearful mingling,
The terrible mimicry of human voices,
In every sound which to the heart doth speak
Of woe and death.
2 Cit.
Ay, there was woman's shrill
And piercing cry; and the low feeble wail
Of dying infants; and the half-suppress'd
Deep groan of man in his last agonies!
And now and then there swell'd upon the breeze
Strange, savage bursts of laughter, wilder far
Than all the rest.
1 Cit.
Of our own fate, perchance
These awful midnight wailings may be deem'd
An ominous prophecy.—Should France regain
Her power amongst us, doubt not, we shall have
Stern reckoners to account with.—Hark!
(The sound of trumpets is heard at distance.
2 Cit.
'Twas but
A rushing of the breeze.
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E'en now, 'tis said,
The hostile bands approach.
(The sound is heard gradually drawing nearer.
2 Cit.
Again!—that sound
Was no illusion. Nearer yet it swells—
They come, they come!
Procida enters.
Procida.
The foe is at your gates;
But hearts and hands prepared shall meet his onset:
Why are ye loitering here?
Cits.
My lord, we came—
Pro.
Think ye I know not wherefore?—'twas to see
A fellow-being die!—Ay, 'tis a sight
Man loves to look on, and the tenderest hearts
Recoil, and yet withdraw not, from the scene.
For this ye came—What! is our nature fierce,
Or is there that in mortal agony,
From which the soul, exulting in its strength,
Doth learn immortal lessons?—Hence, and arm!
Ere the night dews descend, ye will have seen
Enough of death; for this must be a day
Of battle!—'Tis the hour which troubled souls
Delight in, for its rushing storms are wings
Which bear them up!—Arm, arm! 'tis for your homes,
And all that lends them loveliness—Away!
[Exeunt.
| The Vespers of Palermo | |