Of no ignoble consort lead thee still!—
Gonzago! take the hand which thou hast pressed
Oft in the morn of battle, when our hearts
Had cause to doubt if we should meet at eve.
Wilt thou yet press it, pledging me thy faith
To guide and guard these mourners, till they join
Their friends and kindred?
GONZAGO.
Rest assured, I will.
CARMAGNOLA.
I am content. And if, when this is done,
Thou to the field returnest, there for me
Salute my brethren; tell them that I died
Guiltless; thou hast been witness of my deeds,
Hast read my inmost thoughts—and know'st it well.
Tell them I never, with a traitor's shame,
Stained my bright sword. Oh! never—I myself
Have been ensnared by treachery. Think of me
When trumpet-notes are stirring every heart,
And banners proudly waving in the air,
Think of thine ancient comrade! And the day
Following the combat, when upon the field
Amidst the deep and solemn harmony
Of dirge and hymn, the priest of funeral rites,
With lifted hands, is offering for the dead
His sacrifice to Heaven—forget me not!
For I, too, hoped upon the battle plain
E'en so to die.
ANTONIETTA.
Have mercy on us, Heaven!
CARMAGNOLA.
My wife! Matilda! Now The hour is nigh,
And we must part.—Farewell!
MATILDA.
No, Father, no!
CARMAGNOLA.
Come to this breast yet, yet once more, and then
For pity's sake, depart!
ANTONIETTA.
No! force alone
Shall tear us thence.
[A sound of arms is heard.
MATILDA.
Hark, what dread sound?
ANTONIETTA.
Great God!
(The door is half opened, and armed men enter, the chief of whom advances to the Count. His wife and daughter fall senseless.)
CARMAGNOLA.
O God, I thank thee! O most merciful!
Thus to withdraw their senses from the pangs
Of this dread moment's conflict.
Thou, my friend,
Assist them, bear them from this scene of woe,
And tell them, when their eyes again unclose
To meet the day—that nought is left to fear.
