University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Gardens of a Palace.
Constance, alone.
Constance.
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!

Rai.
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!

Rai.
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.

Rai.
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 phantasy
Hath cast so deep a shadow o'er my thoughts,
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.

Rai.
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! these blue transparent skies,
And sun-beams pouring a more buoyant life
Thro' each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase
All thought of evil.—Why, the very air
Breathes of delight!—Thro' all its glowing realms
Doth music blend with fragance, and e'en here
The city's voice of jubilee is heard
Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds
Of human joy!

Rai.
There lie far deeper things,—
Things, that may darken thought for life, beneath
That city's festive semblance.—I have pass'd
Thro' the glad multitudes, and I have mark'd
A stern intelligence in meeting 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?

Rai.
It was a day
Of festival, like this; the city sent
Up thro' 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 didst thou,
My noble Raimond! thro' 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
Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven
Wafts gladness to her soul!

Rai.
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.
And know'st thou not
'Twill be the bridal hour?

Rai.
It will not, love!
That hour will bring no bridal!—Nought 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 his vows; deem thou not so,
Therefore denying it!—I tell thee, Constance!
If thou woulds't 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.

Rai.
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 phantasies,
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.