Some of the Peasants. Away, away!
Leave us, for there is danger in thy presence.
Pro. Why, what is danger?—Are there deeper ills
Than those ye bear thus calmly? Ye have drain'd
The cup of bitterness, till nought remains
To fear or shrink from—therefore, be ye strong!
Power dwelleth with despair.—Why start ye thus
At words which are but echoes of the thoughts
Lock'd in your secret souls?—Full well I know,
There is not one amongst you, but hath nursed
Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make
One conflict of his life. I know thy wrongs,
And thine—and thine,—but if within your breasts,
There is no chord that vibrates to my voice,
Then fare ye well.
A Youth. (coming forward.) No, no! say on, say on!
There are still free and fiery hearts e'en here,
That kindle at thy words.
Peas. If that indeed
Thou hast a hope to give us.
Pro. There is hope
For all who suffer with indignant thoughts
Which work in silent strength. What! think ye Heaven
O'erlooks th' oppressor, if he bear awhile
His crested head on high?—I tell you, no!
Th' avenger will not sleep. It was an hour
Of triumph to the conqueror, when our king,
Our young brave Conradin, in life's fair morn,
On the red scaffold died. Yet not the less
