Not midst the mockery of insulting crowds,
But on the field of banners, where the brave
Are striving for an immortality?
It is e’en so! Now for bright arms of proof,
A helm, a keen-edged falchion, and e’en yet
My father may be saved!
Vit. Away, be strong!
And let thy battle-word, to rule the storm,
Be—Conradin.
[He rushes out.