Beatrice of Swabia
Prince. You think so? But—oh me!
Princess. What if they rend him limb from limb the moment
He steps on shore? What though the vesper hour
Be over—am I raving? Hear I not—
Do you not hear it too? Across the bay
The cry of "Muoja, muoja?" Look! look! look!
The enemy's fleet is bursting into stars.
Oh God! That hoarse, wild roar! Carlo, my Carlo!
Card. Lady, be calm! be calm! Why, see you not
The boat that bears the Lady Beatrice
Is but this moment lost among the lights?
'Tis her they greet so wildly, 'tis not "muoja,"
But "Viva! viva!" that you hear.
Princess. What if they rend him limb from limb the moment
He steps on shore? What though the vesper hour
Be over—am I raving? Hear I not—
Do you not hear it too? Across the bay
The cry of "Muoja, muoja?" Look! look! look!
The enemy's fleet is bursting into stars.
Oh God! That hoarse, wild roar! Carlo, my Carlo!
Card. Lady, be calm! be calm! Why, see you not
The boat that bears the Lady Beatrice
Is but this moment lost among the lights?
'Tis her they greet so wildly, 'tis not "muoja,"
But "Viva! viva!" that you hear.
Beatrice, conveyed by a boat from the French fleet, is transferred to the Sicilian, and approaches Palermo.
Loria. (To Beatrice.) Come, lady, the day brightens. Now you see
Shine clearer 'gainst yon purple mountain pile
The spires and cupolas of a fair town
(More like a Moorish than a Christian, though)
Along the sea-line. Look and feast your eyes;
For that's Palermo. There was born your sister—
And you.
Shine clearer 'gainst yon purple mountain pile
The spires and cupolas of a fair town
(More like a Moorish than a Christian, though)
Along the sea-line. Look and feast your eyes;
For that's Palermo. There was born your sister—
And you.
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