Eri.

Is there not one

Who ne'er commands in vain ?—proud lady, bend
Thy spirit to thy fate; for know that he,
Whose car of triumph in its earthquake path,
O'er the bow'd neck of prostrate Sicily,
Hath borne him to dominion; he, my king,
Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon
My deeds have well deserved; and who hath
Against his mandates?

Vit.

power

Viceroy, tell thy lord,
That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land,
Souls may not all be fetter'd. Oft, ere now,
Conquerors have rock'd the earth, yet fail'd to tame
Unto their purposes that restless fire

Inhabiting man's breast.—A spark bursts forth,
And so they perish!-'tis the fate of those

Who sport with lightning-and it may be his.

-Tell him I fear him not, and thus am free.

Eri. 'Tis well. Then nerve that lofty heart to bear

The wrath which is not powerless. Yet again Bethink thee, lady!-Love may change-hath changed

To vigilant hatred oft, whose sleepless eye

Still finds what most it seeks for. Fare thee well. -Look to it yet!-To-morrow I return.

[Exit ERIBERT.

Vit. To-morrow!-Some ere now have slept and dreamt

Of morrows which ne'er dawn'd-or ne'er for them, So silently their deep and still repose

Hath melted into death!-Are there not balms

In nature's boundless realm, to pour out sleep
Like this on me?-Yet should my spirit still
Endure its earthly bonds, till it could bear
To his a glorious tale of his own isle,
Free and avenged.-Thou should'st be now
work,

In wrath, my native Etna! who dost lift
Thy spiry pillar of dark smoke so high,

at

Through the red heaven of sunset!-sleep'st thou still,

With all thy founts of fire, while spoilers tread

The glowing vales beneath?

[PROCIDA enters, disguised.

Ha! who art thou,

Unbidden guest, that with so mute a step

Dost steal upon me?

Pro.

One, o'er whom hath pass'd

All that can change man's aspect!-Yet not long Shalt thou find safety in forgetfulness.

-I am he, to breathe whose name is perilous,

Unless thy wealth could bribe the winds to silence -Know'st thou this, lady?

[He shows a ring. Vit. Righteous Heaven! the pledge Amidst his people from the scaffold thrown By him who perish'd, and whose kingly blood E'en yet is unatoned.-My heart beats high-Oh, welcome, welcome! thou art Procida, Th' Avenger, the Deliverer!

Call me so,

Yet who can tell

If the return'd be welcome?—Many a heart
Is changed since last we met.

Vit.

With such a still and solemn earnestness,

Upon my alter'd mien ?

Pro.

Why dost thou gaze,

That I may read

If to the widow'd love of Conradin,

Or the proud Eribert's triumphant bride,

I now intrust my fate.

Vit.

Thou, Procida !

That thou shouldst wrong me thus !-prolong thy

gaze

Till it hath found an answer.

Pro.

'Tis enough.
I find it in thy cheek whose rapid change
Is from death's hue to fever's; in the wild
Unsettled brightness of thy proud dark eye,
And in thy wasted form. Ay, 'tis a deep
And solemn joy, thus in thy looks to trace,
Instead of youth's gay bloom, the characters
Of noble suffering;-on thy brow the same
Commanding spirit holds its native state,

Which could not stoop to vileness. Yet the voice
Of Fame hath told afar, that thou should'st wed
This tyrant Eribert.

Vit. And told it not A tale of insolent love repell'd with scorn, Of stern commands and fearful menaces Met with indignant courage?-Procida! It was but now that haughtily I braved His sovereign's mandate, which decrees my hand, With its fair appanage of wide domains And wealthy vassals, a most fitting boon,

To recompense his crimes. I smiled-ay, smiled

In proud security, for the high of heart
Have still a pathway to escape disgrace,
Though it be dark and lone.

Pro.

Thou shalt not need To tread its shadowy mazes. Trust my words: I tell thee, that a spirit is abroad,

Which will not slumber till its path be traced
By deeds of fearful fame. Vittoria, live!
It is most meet that thou shouldst live, to see
The mighty expiation; for thy heart

(Forgive me that I wrong'd its faith) hath nursed A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set

Deep on thy marble brow.

Vit.

Then thou canst tell, By gazing on the wither'd rose, that there Time, or the blight, hath work'd!—Ay, this is in Thy vision's scope: but oh! the things unseen, Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind To ruin struck by grief!-Yet doth my soul, Far 'midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope, Wherein is bright vitality.-'Tis to see His blood avenged, and his fair heritage, My beautiful native land, in glory risen, Like a warrior from his slumbers!

Hear'st thou not

Pro.
With what a deep and ominous moan, the voice

Of our great mountain swells?—There will be soon
A fearful burst!-Vittoria ! brood no more

In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth
Amidst thy vassals (yet be secret still)
And let thy breath give nurture to the spark

Thou❜lt find already kindled. I move on

In shadow, yet awakening in my path

That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well. Vit. When shall we meet again?-Are we not those

Whom most he loved on earth, and think'st thou not
That love e'en yet shall bring his spirit near
While thus we hold communion?

Pro.

Yes, I feel

Its breathing influence whilst I look on thee,
Who wert its light in life. Yet will we not
Make womanish tears our offering on his tomb;
He shall have nobler tribute!-I must hence,
But thou shalt soon hear more.

Await the time. [Exeunt separately.

SCENE III.-The Sea-Shore.

RAIMOND DI PROCIDA, CONSTtance.

Con. There is a shadow far within your eye, Which hath of late been deepening.

wont

Upon the clearness of your open

You were

brow

To wear a brighter spirit, shedding round
Joy like our southern sun. It is not well,

If some dark thought be gathering o'er your soul,
To hide it from affection. Why is this,

My Raimond, why is this?

Raim.

Oh! from the dreams

Of youth, sweet Constance, hath not manhood still A wild and stormy wakening ?-They depart,