Thou art no traitor!—from thy kindled brow
Looks out thy lofty soul! Arise! go forth!
And rouse the noble heart of Sicily
Unto high deeds again. Anselmo, haste;
Unbind him! Let my spirit still prevail,
Ere I depart—for the strong hand of death
Is on me now.
[She sinks back against a pillar.
Ans. Oh, heaven! the life-blood streams
Fast from thy heart—thy troubled eyes grow dim.