—But no—the rush, the trampling, and the stir
Of this great city, arming in her haste,
Pierce not these dungeon-depths. The foe hath reach’d
Our gates, and all Palermo’s youth, and all
Her warrior men, are marshall’d, and gone forth,
In that high hope which makes realities,
To the red field. Thy father leads them on.
Raim. (starting up.) They are gone forth! my father leads them on!
All—all Palermo’s youth! No! one is left,
Shut out from glory’s race! They are gone forth!