First Chorus (CAJETAN). Alas to thee, Messina! Woe forever! Sad city! From thy blood-stained walls this deed Of nameless horror taints the skies; ill fare Thy mothers and thy children, youth and age, And offspring yet, unborn! DON CAESAR. Too late your grief-- Here give your help. [Pointing to BEATRICE. Call her to life, and quick Depart this scene of terror and of death. I must away and seek my sister:--Hence! Conduct her to my mother-- And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her! [Exit. [The senseless BEATRICE is placed on a litter and carried away by the Second Chorus. The First Chorus remains with the body, round which the boys who bear the bridal presents range themselves in a semicircle. Chorus (CAJETAN). List, how with dreaded mystery Was signed to my prophetic soul, Of kindred blood the dire decree:-- Hither with noiseless, giant stride I saw the hideous fiend of terror glide! 'Tis past! I strive not to control My shuddering awe--so swift of ill The Fates the warning sign fulfil. Lo! to my sense dismayed, Sudden the deed of death has shown Whate'er my boding fears portrayed. The visioned thought was pain; The present horror curdles every vein One of the Chorus (MANFRED). Sound, sound the plaint of woe! Beautiful youth! Outstretched and pale he lies, Untimely cropped in early bloom; The heavy night of death has sealed his eyes;-- In this glad hour of nuptial joy, Snatched by relentless doom, He sleeps--while echoing to the sky, Of sorrow bursts the loud, despairing cry! A second (CAJETAN). We come, we come, in festal pride, To greet the beauteous bride; Behold! the nuptial gifts, the rich attire The banquet waits, the guests are there; They bid thee to the solemn rite Of hymen quick repair. Thou hear'st them not--the sportive lyre, The frolic dance, shall ne'er invite; Nor wake thee from thy lowly bed, For deep the slumber of the dead! The whole Chorus. No more the echoing horn shall cheer Nor bride with tones of sweetness charm his ear. On the cold earth he lies, In death's eternal slumber closed his eyes. A third (CAJETAN). What are the hopes, and fond desires Of mortals' transitory race? This day, with harmony of voice and soul, Ye woke the long-extinguished fires Of brothers' love--yon flaming orb Lit with his earliest beams your dear embrace At eve, upon the gory sand Thou liest--a reeking corpse! Stretched by a brother's murderous hand. Vain projects, treacherous hopes, Child of the fleeting hour are thine; Fond man! thou rear'st on dust each bold design, Chorus (BERENGAR).