Gon.

Go, bring ye forth
The banner of the Cid, and plant it here,
To stream above me, for an answering sign
That the good cross doth hold its lofty place
Within Valencia still! What see ye now?

Her. I see a kingdom's might upon its path,
Moving in terrible magnificence,

Unto revenge and victory! With the flash
Of knightly swords, up-springing from the ranks,
As meteors from a still and gloomy deep,
And with the waving of ten thousand plumes,
Like a land's harvest in the autumn-wind,
And with fierce light, which is not of the sun,
But flung from sheets of steel-it comes, it comes,
The vengeance of our God!
I hear it now,

Gon.

The heavy tread of mail-clad multitudes,

Like thunder-showers upon the forest paths.

Her. Ay, earth knows well the omen of that sound, And she hath echoes, like a sepulchre's,

Pent in her secret hollows, to respond

Unto the step of death!

Hark! how the wind

Gon.
Swells proudly with the battle-march of Spain!
Now the heart feels its power -A little while
Grant me to live, my God!-What pause is this?
Her. A deep and dreadful one !-the serried files
Level their spears for combat; now the hosts
Look on each other in their brooding wrath,
Silent and face to face.

Voices heard without, chanting.

Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit! rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod
His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death,

No more may fear to die.

·Elm. (to GONZALEZ). It is the death-hymn o'er thy daughter's bier!

But I am calm; and e'en like gentle winds,

That music, through the stillness of my heart,
Sends mournful peace.

Gon.

Oh! well those solemn tones

Accord with such an hour, for all her life

Breathed of a hero's soul !

[A sound of trumpets and shouting from the plain. Her. Now, now they close! Hark! what a dull dead sound

Is in the Moorish war-shout! I have known
Such tones prophetic oft. The shock is given-
Lo! they have placed their shields before their hearts,
And lowered their lances with their streamers on,
And on their steeds bent forward!-God for Spain!
The first bright sparks of battle have been struck
From spear to spear, across the gleaming field!-
There is no sight on which the blue sky looks
To match with this! 'Tis not the gallant crests
Nor banners with their glorious blazonry;
The very nature and high soul of man

Doth now reveal itself!

Gon.

Oh, raise me up,

That I may look upon the noble scene!

It will not be! That this dull mist would pass
A moment from my sight!-Whence rose that shout,
As in fierce triumph?

Her. (clasping his hands). Must I look on this?
The banner sinks-'tis taken!

Gon.

Her.

Gon. Oh, God of battles!

Elm.

Whose?

Castile's!

Calm thy noble heart!

Cheer thee yet!

Thou wilt not pass away without thy meed.

Nay, rest thee on my bosom.

Her.

Our knights have spurred to rescue.

There is now

A whirl, a mingling of all terrible things,
Yet more appalling than the fierce distinctness
Wherewith they moved before! I see tall plumes
All wildly tossing o'er the battle's tide,

Swayed by the wrathful motion, and the press
Of desperate men, as cedar-boughs by storms.
Many a white streamer there is dyed with blood,
Many a false corslet broken, many a shield
Pierced through! Now, shout for Santiago, shout!
Lo! javelins with a moment's brightness cleave
The thickening dust, and barbed steeds go down
With their helmed riders !-Who but One, can tell
How spirits part amidst that fearful rush

And trampling on of furious multitudes?

Gon. Thou'rt silent !-Seest thou more?—My soul grows dark.

Her. And dark and troubled as an angry sea,
Dashing some gallant armament in scorn
Against its rocks, is all on which I gaze!

I can but tell thee how tall spears are crossed,
And lances seem to shiver, and proud helms
To lighten with the stroke! But round the spot,
Where, like a storm-felled mast, our standard sank,
The heart of battle burns.

Gon.

Where is that spot?

Her. It is beneath the lonely tuft of palms,

That lift their green heads o'er the tumult still,
In calm and stately grace.

Gon.

There didst thou say?
Then God is with us, and we must prevail!
For on that spot they died!--My children's blood
Calls on the avenger thence!

Elm.

They perished there!
And the bright locks that waved so joyously
To the free winds, lay trampled and defiled
Even on that place of death!-Oh, Merciful!
Hush the dark thought within me!

Her. (with sudden exultation). Who is he,
On the white steed, and with the castled helm,
And the gold-broidered mantle, which doth float

E'en like a sunny cloud above the fight;

And the pale cross, which from his breastplate gleams
With star-like radiance?

Gon. (eagerly).

Didst thou say the cross?

Her. On his mailed bosom shines a broad white cross, And his long plumage through the darkening air Streams like a snow-wreath.

Gon. Her.

That should be

The king!

Was it not told us how he sent, of late,
To the Cid's tomb, e'en for the silver cross,
Which he who slumbers there was wont to bind
O'er his brave heart in fight?

Gon. (springing up joyfully). My king! my king!
Now all good saints for Spain !-My noble king!
And thou art there! That I might look once more
Upon thy face!-But yet I thank thee, Heaven,
That thou hast sent him, from my dying hands
Thus to receive his city!

[He sinks back into ELMINA's arms He hath cleared

Her.
A pathway 'midst the combat, and the light
Follows his charge through yon close living mass,
E'en as a gleam on some proud vessel's wake
Along the stormy waters -'Tis redeemed-
The castled banner! It is flung once more,
In joy and glory, to the sweeping winds!—
There seems a wavering through the paynim hosts-
Castile doth press them sore-Now, now rejoice!
Gon. What hast thou seen?

Her.
The man of blood!-the spoiler !-he hath sunk
In our king's path! Well hath that royal sword
Avenged thy cause, Gonzalez!

Abdullah falls! He falls!

They give way,
The Crescent's van is broker -On the hills
And the dark pine-woods may the infidel
Call vainly, in his agony of fear,

To cover him from vengeance !-Lo! they fly!
They of the forest and the wilderness

Are scattered, e'en as leaves upon the wind!
Woe to the sons of Afric! Let the plains,
And the vine-mountains, and Hesperian seas,
Take their dead unto them!-that blood shall wash
Our soil from stains of bondage.

Gon. (attempting to raise himself). Set me free!
Come with me forth, for I must greet my king,
After his battle-field!

O, blest in death!

Her.
Chosen of Heaven, farewell!-Look on the Cross,
And part from earth in peace!

Gon.

Now, charge once more!

God is with Spain, and Santiago's sword
Is reddening all the air!-Shout forth "Castile!"
The day is ours!-I go; but fear ye not!
For Afric's lance is broken, and my sons
Have won their first good field!

Elm.

[He dies.

Look on me yet!

Speak one farewell, my husband!-must thy voice
Enter my soul no more! Thine eve is fixed-

Now is my life uprooted.--And 'tis well.

(A sound of triumphant music is heard, and many Castilian Knights and Soldiers enter.)

A Cit. Hush your triumphal sounds, although ye come

E'en as deliverers!-But the noble dead,

And those that mourn them, claim from human heart's
Deep silent reverence.

Elm. (rising proudly). No, swell forth, Castile!
Thy trumpet-music, till the seas and heavens,
And the deep hills, give every stormy note

Echoes to ring through Spain!-How, know ye not
That all arrayed for triumph, crowned and robed,
With the strong spirit which hath saved the land,
E'en now a conqueror to his rest is gone?-
Fear not to break that sleep, but let the wind
Swell on with victory's shout! He will not hear―
Hath earth a sound more sad?

Her.

Lift ye the dead,

And bear him with the banner of his race

Waving above him proudly, as it waved
O'er the Cid's battles, to the tomb wherein
His warrior-sires are gathered.

Elm.

Ay, 'tis thus

Thou shouldst be honored !—And I follow thee
With an unfaltering and a lofty step,

To that last home of glory. She that wears

In her deep heart the memory of thy love,

[They raise the body

Shall thence draw strength for all things, till the God
Whose hand around her hath unpeopled earth,

Looking upon her still and chastened soul,

Call it once more to thine !

(To the Castilians.)

Awake, I say,

Tambour and trumpet, wake! And let the land

Through all her mountains hear your funeral peal-
So should a hero pass to his repose!

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

[Exeunt omnes.

Nobles, Soldiers, Messengers, Vassals, Peasants, &c., &c.

SCENE-Palermo.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-A Valley, with Vineyards and Cottages.

Groups of Peasants—PROCIDA disguised as a Pilgrim, among them.

1st Pea. Ay, this was wont to be a festal time In days gone by! I can remember well

The old familiar melodies that rose

At break of morn, from all our purple hills,
To welcome in the vintage. Never since
Hath music seemed so sweet.

But the light hearts