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 [RAIMOND enters. Raimond! oh! now thou'rt come I read it in thy look-to say farewell 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! No more, if love Raim. I leave thee not. Con. Thy father! blessed sound! Good angels be his guard!-Oh! if he knew 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, Con. Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, Raim. It may not be. Oh! gentle Constance, go not forth to-day: Con. 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 Doth music blend with fragrance, and e'en here Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Raim. There lie far deeper thingsThings 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 meeting eyes, Which deem'd their flash unnoticed, and a quick, Con. I tremble!-Raimond! What may these things portend? Raim. It was a day Of festival, like this; the city sent By one deep moan, forth from his cavernous depths Till the brain whirl'd, partaking the sick motion Con. And then didst thou, My noble Raimond! through the dreadful paths Thy trembling Constance! she who lives to bless 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 know'st thou not It will not, love! That hour will bring no bridal!-Naught of this To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves Strive with his agony-thou❜lt meet me then? Con. Oh! what mean thy words?—If then It might be mine; but, in this dread suspense,— There is no calm.-Yet fear thou not, dear love! Con. My Raimond, fare thee well. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Room in the Citadel of Palermo. 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. Mistrust me not, my lord! That stern and jealous Procida hath kept O'er all my steps (as though he did suspect The purposes, which oft his eye hath sought To read in mine) a watch so vigilant, I knew not how to warn thee, though for this |