Whose car of triumph in its earthquake path,
O’er the bow’d neck of prostrate Sicily,
Hath borne him to dominion; he, my king,
Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon
My deeds have well deserved; and who hath power
Against his mandates?
Vit. Viceroy, tell thy lord
That, e’en where chains lie heaviest on the land,
Souls may not all be fetter’d. Oft, ere now,
Conquerors have rock’d the earth, yet fail’d to tame