University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

—Garden of a Convent.
Raimond is led in wounded, leaning on Attendants.
Raimond.
Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die
In the bright face of nature!—Lift my helm,
That I may look on heaven.

1 Att.
(to 2 Att.)
Lay him to rest
On this green sunny bank, and I will call
Some holy sister to his aid; but thou
Return unto the field, for high-born men
There need the peasant's aid.
[Exit 2 Att.
(to Raimond)
Here gentler hands
Shall tend thee, warrior; for in these retreats
They dwell, whose vows devote them to the care
Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them!
[Exit 1 Att.

Rai.
Thus have I wish'd to die!—'Twas a proud strife!
My father bless'd th'unknown who rescued him,
(Bless'd him, alas! because unknown!) and Guido,
Beside me bravely struggling, call'd aloud,
“Noble Sicilian, on!” Oh! had they deem'd
'Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurn'd
Mine aid, tho' 'twas deliverance; and their looks
Had fallen, like blights, upon me.—There is one,
Whose eye ne'er turn'd on mine, but its blue light
Grew softer, trembling thro' the dewy mist
Raised by deep tenderness!—Oh might the soul
Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish!
—Is't not her voice?

Constance enters, speaking to a Nun, who turns into another path.
Constance.
Oh! happy they, kind sister,
Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall
With brave men side by side, when the roused heart
Beats proudly to the last!—There are high souls
Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied!
(She approaches Raimond.)
Young warrior, is there aught—thou here, my Raimond!
Thou here—and thus!—Oh! is this joy or woe?

Rai.
Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed love,
E'en on the grave's dim verge!—yes! it is joy!
My Constance! victors have been crown'd, ere now,
With the green shining laurel, when their brows
Wore death's own impress—and it may be thus
E'en yet, with me!—They freed me, when the foe
Had half prevail'd, and I have proudly earn'd,
With my heart's dearest blood, the meed to die
Within thine arms.

Con.
Oh! speak not thus—to die!
These wounds may yet be closed.
(She attempts to bind his wounds.)
Look on me, love!
Why, there is more than life in thy glad mien,
'Tis full of hope! and from thy kindled eye
Breaks e'en unwonted light, whose ardent ray
Seems born to be immortal!

Rai.
'Tis e'en so!
The parting soul doth gather all her fires
Around her; all her glorious hopes, and dreams,
And burning aspirations, to illume
The shadowy dimness of th'untrodden path
Which lies before her; and, encircled thus,
Awhile she sits in dying eyes, and thence
Sends forth her bright farewell. Thy gentle cares
Are vain, and yet I bless them.

Con.
Say, not vain;
The dying look not thus. We shall not part!

Rai.
I have seen death ere now, and known him wear
Full many a changeful aspect.

Con.
Oh! but none
Radiant as thine, my warrior!—Thou wilt live!
Look round thee!—all is sunshine—is not this
A smiling world?

Rai.
Ay, gentlest love, a world
Of joyous beauty and magnificence,
Almost too fair to leave!—Yet must we tame
Our ardent hearts to this!—Oh, weep thou not!
There is no home for liberty, or love,
Beneath these festal skies!—Be not deceived;
My way lies far beyond!—I shall be soon
That viewless thing which, with its mortal weeds
Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust,
Forgets not how to love!

Con.
And must this be?
Heaven, thou art merciful!—Oh! bid our souls
Depart together!

Rai.
Constance! there is strength
Within thy gentle heart, which hath been proved
Nobly, for me:—Arouse it once again!
Thy grief unmans me—and I fain would meet
That which approaches, as a brave man yields
With proud submission to a mightier foe.
—It is upon me now!

Con.
I will be calm.
Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond,
And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs,
They shall but rock thee to thy rest. There is
A world, (ay, let us seek it!) where no blight
Falls on the beautiful rose of youth, and there
I shall be with thee soon!

Procida and Anselmo enter. Procida on seeing Raimond starts back.
Anselmo.
Lift up thy head,
Brave youth, exultingly! for lo! thine hour
Of glory comes!—Oh! doth it come too late?
E'en now the false Alberti hath confess'd
That guilty plot, for which thy life was doom'd
To be th'atonement.

Rai.
'Tis enough! Rejoice,
Rejoice, my Constance! for I leave a name
O'er which thou may'st weep proudly! (He sinks back.

To thy breast
Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart
Hath touch'd my veins.

Con.
And must thou leave me, Raimond?
Alas! thine eye grows dim—its wandering glance
Is full of dreams.

Rai.
Haste, haste, and tell my father
I was no traitor!

Procida.
(rushing forward.)
To that father's heart
Return, forgiving all thy wrongs, return!
Speak to me, Raimond!—Thou wert ever kind,
And brave, and gentle! Say that all the past
Shall be forgiven! That word from none but thee
My lips e'er ask'd.—Speak to me once, my boy,
My pride, my hope!—And is it with thee thus?
Look on me yet!—Oh! must this woe be borne?

Rai.
Off with this weight of chains! it is not meet
For a crown'd conqueror!—Hark, the trumpet's voice!
(A sound of triumphant music is heard, gradually approaching.
Is't not a thrilling call?—What drowsy spell
Benumbs me thus?—Hence! I am free again!
Now swell your festal strains, the field is won!
Sing me to glorious dreams.

(He dies.
Ans.
The strife is past.
There fled a noble spirit!

Con.
Hush! he sleeps—
Disturb him not!

Ans.
Alas! this is no sleep
From which the eye doth radiantly unclose:
Bow down thy soul, for earthly hope is o'er!

(The music continues approaching. Guido enters, with Citizens and Soldiers.
Guido.
The shrines are deck'd, the festive torches blaze—
Where is our brave deliverer?—We are come
To crown Palermo's victor!

Ans.
Ye come late.
The voice of human praise doth send no echo
Into the world of spirits.

(The music ceases.
Pro.
(after a pause.)
Is this dust
I look on—Raimond!—'tis but sleep—a smile
On his pale cheek sits proudly. Raimond, wake!
Oh, God! and this was his triumphant day!
My son, my injured son!

Con.
(starting.)
Art thou his father?
I know thee now.—Hence! with thy dark stern eye,
And thy cold heart!—Thou canst not wake him now!
Away! he will not answer but to me,
For none like me hath loved him! He is mine!
Ye shall not rend him from me.

Pro.
Oh! he knew
Thy love, poor maid!—Shrink from me now no more!
He knew thy heart—but who shall tell him now
The depth, th'intenseness, and the agony,
Of my suppress'd affection?—I have learn'd
All his high worth in time—to deck his grave!
Is there not power in the strong spirit's woe
To force an answer from the viewless world
Of the departed?—Raimond!—Speak! forgive!
Raimond! my victor, my deliverer, hear!
Why, what a world is this!—Truth ever bursts
On the dark soul too late: And glory crowns
Th'unconscious dead! And an hour comes to break
The mightiest hearts!—My son! my son! is this
A day of triumph?—Ay, for thee alone!

(He throws himself upon the body of Raimond.
[Curtain falls.