(A MESSENGER enters, bearing a letter.)

But this demands

MESSENGER.

Pardon, my good lord!

ERIBERT.

What means thy breathless haste?

And that ill-boding mien?-Away! such looks

Befit not hours like these.

MESSENGER.

The Lord De Couci

Bade me bear this, and say, 'tis fraught with tidings

Of life and death.

VITTORIA (hurriedly).

Is this a time for aught

But revelry?-My lord, these dull intrusions
Mar the bright spirit of the festal scene!

ERIBERT (to the MESSENGER).

Hence! tell the Lord De Couci we will talk

Of life and death to-morrow.

[Exit MESSENGER.

Let there be

Around me none but joyous looks to-day,

And strains whose very echoes wake to mirth!

(A band of the conspiritors enter, to the sound of music, disguised as shepherds, baccha

nals, &c.

ERIBERT.

What forms are these?-What means this antic triumph?

VITTORIA.

"Tis but a rustic pageant, by my vassals

Prepared to grace our bridal. Will you not

Hear their wild music? Our Sicilian vales

Have many a sweet and mirthful melody,

To which the glad heart bounds.-Breathe ye some strain Meet for the time, ye sons of Sicily!

(One of the Masquers sings.)

The festal eve, o'er earth and sky,

In her sunset robe, looks bright,

And the purple hills of Sicily,

With their vineyards, laugh in light;

From the marble cities of her plains

Glad voices mingling swell;

-But with yet more loud and lofty strains,
They shall hail the Vesper-bell!

Oh! sweet its tones, when the summer breeze
Their cadence wafts afar,

To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas,

As they gleam to the first pale star!

The shepherd greets them on his height,
The hermit in his cell;

-But a deeper power shall breathe, to-night,

In the sound of the vesper-bell!

[The Bell rings.

ERIBERT.

-It is the hour!-Hark, hark!-my bride, our sum

mons!

The altar is prepared and crown'd with flowers

That wait

VITTORIA.

The victim!

(A tumult heard without.)

PROCIDA and MONTALBA enter, with others, armed.

PROCIDA.

Strike! the hour is come!

VITTORIA.

Welcome, avengers, welcome! Now, be strong!

(The Conspirators throw off their disguise, and rush with their Swords drawn, upon the Provençals. ERIBERT is wounded, and falls.)

PROCIDA.

Now bath fate reach'd thee in thy mid career,

Thou reveller in a nation's agonies!

(The Provençals are driven off, and pursued by the Sicilians.)

CONSTANCE (supporting ERIBERT).

My brother! oh! my brother!

ERIBERT.

Have I stood

A leader in the battle-fields of kings,

To perish thus at last ?-Aye, by these pangs,
And this strange chill, that heavily doth creep,
Like a slow poison, through my curdling veins,
This should be-death!-In sooth a dull exchange
For the gay bridal feast!

VOICES (without).

Remember Conradin !-spare none, spare none!

VITTORIA (throwing off her bridal wreath and
ornaments).

This is proud freedom! Now my soul may cast,
In generous scorn, her mantle of dissembling
To earth forever!—And it is such joy,

As if a captive, from his dull, cold cell,
Might soar at once on charter'd wing to range
The realms of starr'd infinity!-Away!

Vain mockery of a bridal wreath! The hour

For which stern patience ne'er kept watch in vain
Is come; and I may give my bursting heart
Full and indignant scope.-Now, Eribert!

Believe in retribution! What, proud man!

Prince, ruler, conqueror! didst thou deem Heaven slept?

"Or that the unseen, immortal ministers,

Ranging the world, to note e'en purposed crime

In burning characters, had laid aside