It is most meet that thou shouldst live, to see
The mighty expiation; for thy heart
(Forgive me that I wrong'd its faith) hath nursed
A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set
Deep on thy marble brow.
Vit.Then thou canst tell,
By gazing on the wither'd rose, that there
Time, or the blight, hath work'd!—Ay, this is in
Thy vision's scope: but oh! the things unseen,
Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass
Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind
To ruin struck by grief!—Yet doth my soul,
Far, midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope,
Wherein is bright vitality.—'Tis to see
His blood avenged, and his fair heritage,
My beautiful native land, in glory risen,
Like a warrior from his slumbers!
Pro.Hear'st thou not
With what a deep and ominous moan, the voice
Of our great mountain swells?—There will be soon
A fearful burst!—Vittoria! brood no more
In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth
Amidst thy vassals, (yet be secret still)
And let thy breath give nurture to the spark
Thou 'lt find already kindled. I move on
In shadow, yet awakening in my path
That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well.
Vit. When shall we meet again?—Are we not those
