Part 2 / Act 1 — ACT I.

1st Pea. Ay, this was wont to be a festal time In days gone by! I can remember well The old familiar melodies that rose At break of morn, from all our purple hills, To welcome in the vintage. Never since Hath music seem’d so sweet. But the light hearts Which to those measures beat so joyously, Are tamed to stillness now. There is no voice Of joy through all the land. 2d Pea. Yes! there are sounds Of revelry within the palaces, And the fair castles of our ancient lords, Where now the stranger banquets. Ye may hear From thence the peals of song and laughter rise At midnight’s deepest hour. 3d Pea. Alas! we sat, In happier days, so peacefully beneath The olives and the vines our fathers rear’d, Encircled by our children, whose quick steps Flew by us in the dance! The time hath been When peace was in the hamlet, wheresoe’er The storm might gather. But this yoke of France Falls on the peasant’s neck as heavily As on the crested chieftain’s. We are bow’d E’en to the earth. Pea’s Child. My father, tell me when Shall the gay dance and song again resound Amidst our chestnut-woods, as in those days Of which thou’rt wont to tell the joyous tale? 1st Pea. When there are light and reckless hearts once more In Sicily’s green vales. Alas, my boy! Men meet not now to quaff the flowing bowl, To hear the mirthful song, and cast aside The weight of work-day care: they meet to speak Of wrongs and sorrows, and to whisper thoughts They dare not breathe aloud. Pro. (from the background.) Ay, it is well So to relieve th’ o’erburthen’d heart, which pants Beneath its weight of wrongs; but better far In silence to avenge them! An Old Pea. What deep voice Came with that startling tone? 1st Pea. It was our guest’s, The stranger pilgrim who hath sojourn’d here Since yester-morn. Good neighbours, mark him well: He hath a stately bearing, and an eye Whose glance looks through the heart. His mien accords Ill with such vestments. How he folds around him His pilgrim-cloak, e’en as it were a robe Of knightly ermine! That commanding step Should have been used in courts and camps to move. Mark him! Old Pea. Nay, rather mark him not; the times Are fearful, and they teach the boldest hearts A cautious lesson. What should bring him here? A Youth. He spoke of vengeance! Old Pea. Peace! we are beset By snares on every side, and we must learn In silence and in patience to endure. Talk not of vengeance, for the word is death. Pro. (coming forward indignantly.) The word is death! And what hath life for thee, That thou shouldst cling to it thus? thou abject thing! Whose very soul is moulded to the yoke, And stamp’d with servitude. What! is it life Thus at a breeze to start, to school thy voice Into low fearful whispers, and to cast Pale jealous looks around thee, lest, e’en then, Strangers should catch its echo?—Is there aught In this so precious, that thy furrow’d cheek Is blanch’d with terror at the passing thought Of hazarding some few and evil days, Which drag thus poorly on? Some of the Peas. Away, away! Leave us, for there is danger in thy presence. Pro. Why, what is danger? Are there deeper ills Than those ye bear thus calmly? Ye have drain’d The cup of bitterness till naught remains To fear or shrink from—therefore, be ye strong! Power dwelleth with despair. Why start ye thus At words which are but echoes of the thoughts Lock’d in your secret souls? Full well I know There is not one among you but hath nursed Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make One conflict of his life. I know thy wrongs— And thine—and thine; but if within your breast There is no chord that vibrates to my voice, Then fare ye well. A Youth (coming forward.) No, no! say on, say on! There are still free and fiery hearts e’en here, That kindle at thy words. Pea. If that indeed Thou hast a hope to give us—— Pro. There is hope For all who suffer with indignant thoughts Which work in silent strength. What! think ye heaven O’erlooks the oppressor, if he bear awhile His crested head on high? I tell you, no! Th’ avenger will not sleep. It was an hour Of triumph to the conqueror, when our king, Our young brave Conradin, in life’s fair morn On the red scaffold died. Yet not the less Is Justice throned above; and her good time Comes rushing on in storms: that royal blood Hath lifted an accusing voice from earth, And hath been heard. The traces of the past Fade in man’s heart, but ne’er doth heaven forget. Pea. Had we but arms and leaders, we are men Who might earn vengeance yet; but wanting these, What wouldst thou have us do? Pro. Be vigilant; And when the signal wakes the land, arise! The peasant’s arm is strong, and there shall be A rich and noble harvest. Fare ye well. [Exit Procida. 1st Pea. 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. 2d Pea. Speak low; I know him well. At first his voice disturb’d me, like a dream Of other days; but I remember now His form, seen oft when in my youth I served Beneath the banners of our kings! ’Tis he Who hath been exiled and proscribed so long, The Count di Procida. Pea. And is this he? Then heaven protect him! for around his steps Will many snares be set. 1st Pea. He comes not thus But with some mighty purpose—doubt it not; Perchance to bring us freedom. He is one Whose faith, through many a trial, hath been proved True to our native princes. But away! The noontide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering through the vineyards; now We may resume our toil. Exeunt Peasants.