Free and avenged! Yet on my soul there hangs
A darkness, heavy as the oppressive gloom
Of midnight fantasies. Ay, for this, too,
There is a cause.
Ans. How say’st thou, we are free?—
There may have raged, within Palermo’s walls,
Some brief wild tumult; but too well I know
They call the stranger lord.
Vit. Who calls the dead
Conqueror or lord? Hush! breathe it not aloud,