Desiderio and his son Adelchi are kings of the Longobards, and the tragedy opens with the return to their city Pavia of Ermenegarda, Adelchi's sister, who was espoused to Carlo, king of the Franks, and has been repudiated by him. The Longobards have seized certain territories belonging to the Church, and as they refuse to restore them, the ecclesiastics send a messenger, who crosses the Alps on foot, to the camp of the Franks, and invites their king into Italy to help the cause of the Church. The Franks descend into the valley of Susa, and soon after defeat the Longobards. It is in this scene that the chorus of the Italian peasants, who suffer, no matter which side conquers, is introduced. The Longobards retire to Verona, and Ermenegarda, whose character is painted with great tenderness and delicacy, and whom we may take for a type of what little goodness and gentleness, sorely puzzled, there was in the world at that time (which was really one of the worst of all the bad times in the world), dies in a convent near Brescia, while the war rages all round her retreat. A defection takes place among the Longobards; Desiderio is captured; a last stand is made by Adelchi at Verona, where he is mortally wounded, and is brought prisoner to his father in the tent of Carlo. The tragedy ends with his death; and I give the whole of the last scene: {_Enter_ CARLO _and_ DESIDERIO. _Desiderio._ Oh, how heavily Hast thou descended upon my gray head, Thou hand of God! How comes my son to me! My son, my only glory, here I languish, And tremble to behold thee! Shall I see Thy deadly wounded body, I that should Be wept by thee? I, miserable, alone, Dragged thee to this; blind dotard I, that fain Had made earth fair to thee, I digged thy grave. If only thou amidst thy warriors' songs Hadst fallen on some day of victory, Or had I closed upon thy royal bed Thine eyes amidst the sobs and reverent grief Of thy true liegemen, ah; it still had been Anguish ineffable! And now thou diest, No king, deserted, in thy foeman's land, With no lament, saving thy father's, uttered Before the man that doth exult to hear it. _Carlo._ Old man, thy grief deceives thee. Sorrowful, And not exultant do I see the fate Of a brave man and king. Adelchi's foe Was I, and he was mine, nor such that I Might rest upon this new throne, if he lived And were not in my hands. But now he is In God's own hands, whither no enmity Of man can follow him. _Des._ 'T is a fatal gift Thy pity, if it never is bestowed Save upon those fallen beyond all hope-- If thou dost never stay thine arm until Thou canst find no place to inflict a wound! (_Adelchi is brought in, mortally wounded._) _Des._ My son! _Adelchi._ And do I see thee once more, father? Oh come, and touch my hand! _Des._ 'T is terrible For me to see thee so!