The fiery impulse given, and valiant men
Had seal'd their freedom with their blood—when lo!
That false Alberti led his recreant vassals
To join th' invader's host.
Rai. His country's curse
Rest on the slave for ever!
Vit. Then distrust
E'en of their nobler leaders, and dismay,
That swift contagion, on Palermo's bands
Came, like a deadly blight. They fled!—Oh shame!
E'en now they fly!—Ay, thro' the city gates
They rush, as if all Etna's burning streams
Pursued their winged steps!
Rai. Thou hast not named
Their chief—Di Procida—He doth not fly
Vit. No! like a kingly lion in the toils,
Daring the hunters yet, he proudly strives
But all in vain! The few that breast the storm,
With Guido and Montalba, by his side,
Fight but for graves upon the battle-field.
Rai. And I am here!—Shall there be power, O God!
In the roused energies of fierce despair,
To burst my heart—and not to rend my chains?
Oh, for one moment of the thunderbolt
To set the strong man free!
Vit. (after gazing upon him earnestly.) Why, 'twere a deed
Worthy the fame and blessing of all time,
To loose thy bonds, thou son of Procida!
