Whether they bear, on their swift silent wing,

Pleasure or fate,

Eri.

Be not so full of thought

On such a day,-Behold, the skies themselves
Look on my joy with a triumphant smile

Unshadow'd by a cloud.

Vit.

'Tis very meet

That Heaven (which loves the just) should wear a smile
In honor of his fortunes.-Now, my lord,

Forgive me if I say, farewell until

Th' appointed hour.

Eri.

Lady a brief farewell. [Exeunt separately.

SCENE II.-The Seashore.

PROCIDA, RAIMOND.

Pro. And dost thou still refuse to share the glory Of this, our daring enterprise?

Raim.

Oh, father!

I, too, have dreamt of glory, and the word,
Hath to my soul been as a trumpet's voice,
Making my nature sleepless -But the deeds

Whereby 'twas won-the high exploits, whose tale
Bids the heart burn, were of another cast

Than such as thou requirest.

Pro.

Every deed

Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim

The freedom of our country; and the sword

Alike is honor'd in the patriot's hand,

Searching 'midst warrior-hosts, the heart which gave
Oppression birth; or flashing through the gloom
Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch,

At dead of night.

Raim. (turning away.) There is no path but one For noble natures.

Pro.

Wouldst thou ask the man

Who to the earth hath dash'd a nation's chains,

Rent as with Heaven's own lightning, by what means
The glorious end was won!-Go, swell th' acclaim :
Bid the deliverer, hail! and if his path

To that most bright and sovereign destiny

Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it call'd

A stern necessity but not a crime!

Raim. Father! my soul yet kindles at the thought

Of nobler lessons, in my boyhood learn'd

Ev'n from thy voice.-The high remembrances

Of other days are stirring in the heart

Where thou didst plant them; and they speak of men
Who needed no vain sophistry to gild

Acts that would bear Heaven's light-and such be mine!
Oh, father! is it yet too late to draw

The praise and blessing of all valiant hearts

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

On our most righteous cause?

Pro.

What wouldst thou do?
Raim. would go forth, and rouse th' indignant land
To generous combat. Why should freedom strike
Mantled with darkness?-Is there not more strength
Ev'n in the waving of her single arm

Than hosts can wield against her!-I would rouse
That spirit, whose fire doth press resistless
To its proud sphere-the stormy field of fight!
Pro. Ay! and give time and warning to the foe
To gather all his might:-It is too late.

There is a work to be this eve begun,

When rings the Vesper-bell: and, long before
To-morrow's sun hath reach'd i' th' noonday heaven
His throne of burning glory, every sound

Of the Provençal tongue within our walls,

As by one thunderstroke-(you are pale my son)-
Shall be forever silenced!

Raim.
What! such sounds
As falter on the lip of infancy,
In its imperfect utterance? or are breathed
By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe?
Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air
Pour'd by the timid maid ?—Must all alike
Be still'd in death; and wouldst thou tell my heart
There is no crime in this?

Since thou dost feel

Pro.
Such horror of our purpose, in thy power

Are means that might avert it.

Raim.

Speak! oh speak!

Pro. How would those rescued thousands bless thy name, Shouldst thou betray us!

Raim.
Father! I can bear-
Ay, proudly woo-the keenest questioning
Of thy soul-gifted eye; which almost seems
To claim a part of Heaven's dread royalty,
-The power that searches thought.

Pro. (after a pause.)

Thou hast a brow

Clear as the day-and yet I doubt thee, Raimond!
Whether it be that I have learn'd distrust

From a long look through man's deep-folded heart;
Whether my paths have been so seldom cross'd
By honor and fair mercy, that they seem
But beautiful deceptions, meeting thus
My unaccustom'd gaze ;-howe'er it be-

I doubt thee !-See thou waver not-take heed.
Time lifts the veil from all things!

Raim.
And 'tis thus
Youth fades from off our spirit; and the robes
Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith
We clothed our idols, drop !-Oh! bitter day,
When, at the crushing of our glorious world,

[Exit PROCIDA

We start, and find men thus !-Yet be it so!
Is not my soul still powerful in itself

To realize its dreams?-Ay, shrinking not
From the pure eye of Heaven, my brow may well
Undaunted meet my father's.-But away!

Thou shalt be saved, sweet Constance !-Love is yet
Mightier than vengeance.

[Exit RAIMOND

SCENE III.-Gardens of a Palace.

CONSTANCE, alone.

Con. There was a time when my thoughts wander'd not Beyond these fairy scenes!-when but to catch The languid fragrance of the southern breeze From the rich flowering citrons, or to rest, Dreaming of some wild legend, in the shade Of the dark laurel foliage, was enough Of happiness.-How have these calm delights Fled from before one passion, as the dews, The delicate gems of morning, are exhaled By the great sun!

[RAIMOND enters. Raimond! oh! now thou 'rt come

I read it in thy look-to say farewell
For the last time-the last!

Raim.

No, best beloved!

I come to tell thee there is now no power
To part us but in death.

Con.

I have dreamt of joy,

But never aught like this.-Speak yet again!
Say we shall part no more!

Raim.
No more, if love
Can strive with darker spirits, and he is strong
In his immortal nature! all is changed

Since last we met. My father-keep the tale
Secret from all, and most of all, my Constance,
From Eribert-my father is return'd:

I leave thee not.

Con.

Thy father! blessed sound!
Good angels be his guard!-Oh! if he knew

How my soul clings to thine, he could not hate
Even a Provençal maid!-Thy father!-now
Thy soul will be at peace, and I shall see

The sunny happiness of earlier days

Look from thy brow once more!-But how is this?
Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine;

And in thy look is that which ill befits

A tale of joy.

Raim.

A dream is on my soul.

I see a slumberer, crown'd with flowers, and smiling

As in delighted visions, on the brink

Of a dread chasm; and this strange fantasy
Hath cast so deep a shadow o'er my thoughts

THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.

I cannot but be sad.

Con.

Why, let me sing

One of the sweet wild strains you love so well,

And this will banish it

Raim.

It may not be.

Oh! gentle Constance, go not forth to-day;
Such dreams are ominous.

Con.
Have you then forgot
My brother's nuptial feast ?-I must be one
Of the gay train attending to the shrine

His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy

Will print earth lightly now. What fear'st thou, love ?
Look all around! the blue transparent skies,
And sunbeams pouring a more buoyant life

Through each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase
All thought of evil.-Why, the very air

Breathes of delight!-Through all its glowing realms
Doth music blend with fragrance, and e'en here
The city's voice of jubilee is heard.

Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds
Of human joy!

Raim.
There lie far deeper things-
Things that may darken thought for life, beneath
That city's festive semblance. I have pass'd
Through the glad multitudes, and I have mark'd
A stern intelligence in mecting eyes,

Which deem'd their flash unnoticed, and a quick
Suspicious vigilance, too intent to clothe

Its mien with carelessness; and now and then,
A hurrying start, a whisper, or a hand
Pointing by stealth to some one, singled out
Amidst the reckless throng. O'er all is spread
A mantling flush of revelry, which may hide
Much from unpractised eyes; but lighter signs
Have been prophetic oft.

Con.

I tremble!-Raimond!
What may these things portend?
Raim.

It was a day

Of festival, like this; the city sent

Up through her sunny firmament a voice

Joyous as now; when, scarcely heralded

By one deep moan, forth from his cavernous depths
The earthquake burst; and the wide splendid scene
Became one chaos of all fearful things,

Till the brain whirl'd, partaking the sick motion
Of rocking palaces.

Con.

And then dist thou,

My noble Raimond! through the dreadful paths

Laid open by destruction, past the chasms,

Whose fathomless clefts, a moment's work, had given

One burial unto thousands, rush to save

Thy trembling Constance! she who lives to bless

25

Thy generous love, that still the breath of Heaven
Wafts gladness to her soul!

Raim.
Heaven!-Heaven is just
And being so, must guard thee, sweet one, still.
Trust none beside.-Oh! the omnipotent skies
Make their wrath manifest, but insidious man
Doth compass those he hates with secret snares,
Wherein lies fate. Know, danger walks abroad,
Mask'd as a reveller. Constance! oh! by all
Our tried affection, all the vows which bind
Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers,
Here, I adjure thee, meet me, when the bell
Doth sound for vesper-prayer!

Con.

"Twill be the bridal hour

Raim.

And knowst thou no

It will not, love!

That hour will bring no bridal!-Naught of this
To human ear; but speed thou hither-fly,
When evening brings that signal.-Dost thou heed?
This is no meeting by a lover sought

To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves
And stars attest its vows, deem thou not so,
Therefore denying it!-I tell thee, Constance !
If thou wouldst save me from such fierce despair
As falls on man, beholding all he loves
Perish before him while his strength can but
Strive with his agony-thou❜lt meet me then?
Look on me, love!-I am not oft so moved—
Thou'lt meet me?

Con.
Oh! what mean thy words ?—If then
My steps are free,-I will. Be thou but calm.
Raim. Be calm!-there is a cold and sullen calm,
And, were my wild fears made realities,

It might be mine; but in this dread suspense,-
This conflict of all terrible fantasies,

There is no calm.-Yet fear thou not, dear love!
I will watch o'er thee still. And now, farewell
Until that hour!

Con.

My Raimond, fare thee well.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Room in the Citadel of Palermo.
ALBERTI, DE COUCI.

De Cou. Said'st thou this night?

Alb.

E'en now the sun declines.

De Cou.

This very night-and lo!

What! are they arin'd?

Alb. All arm'd, and strong in vengeance and despair. De Cou. Doubtful and strange the tale! Why was not this reveal'd before?

Alb.
That stern and jealous Procida hath kept

Mistrust me not, my lord.