FIRST PEASANT. This man should be a prophet: how he seem'd To read our hearts with his dark searching glance And aspect of command! And yet his garb Is mean as ours. SECOND PEASANT. Speak low; I know him well. At first his voice disturb'd me like a dream His form, seen oft when in my youth I served PEASANT. And is this he? Then Heaven protect him! for around his steps Will many snares be set. FIRST PEASANT. He comes not thus But with some mighty purpose; doubt it not: The noon-tide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering through the vineyards; now We may resume our toil. [Exeunt PEASANTS. SCENE II.-The Terrace of a Castle. ERIBERT. VITTORIA. VITTORIA. Have I not told thee, that I bear a heart Which hath its home in woman's breast, ere yet ERIBERT. O lady! doth the flower That sleeps entomb'd through the long wintry storms Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring; And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair, VITTORIA. Love!-make love's name thy spell, And I am strong!-the very word calls up From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers, array'd As bow'd all hearts before him!-Was he not He died!-hast thou forgotten?-And thou 'rt here, Yet in the mien of thine affianced bride, Oh, my lost Conradin! there should be still ERIBERT. Haughty dame! If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed, Know, danger is around thee: thou hast foes Can shield thee from their arts. VITTORIA. Provençal, tell Thy tale of danger to some happy heart, Which hath its little world of loved ones round, ERIBERT. Is there not one Who ne'er commands in vain ?-proud lady, bend Thy spirit to thy fate; for know that he, Hath borne him to dominioa; he, my king, Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon My deeds have well deserved; and who hath power Against his mandates? VITTORIA. Viceroy, tell thy lord, That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land, Souls may not all be fetter'd. Oft, ere now, Conquerors have rock'd the earth, yet fail'd to tame Unto their purposes, that restless fire, Inhabiting man's breast.-A spark bursts forth, And so they perish!-'tis the fate of those Who sport with lightning-and it may be his. ERIBERT. 'Tis well. Then nerve that lofty heart to bear Still finds what most it seeks for. Fare thee well. -Look to it yet!-To-morrow I return. VITTORIA. [Exit ERIBERT. To-morrow!-Some ere now have slept, and dreamt Of morrows which ne'er dawn'd-or ne'er for them; Hath melted into death!-Are there not balms Free and avenged.-Thou should'st be now at work, Thy spiry pillar of dark smoke so high, Through the red heaven of sunset !-sleep'st thou still, |