Are vain, and yet I bless them.

Con.

The dying look not thus.

Say not vain;
We shall not part!

Raim. 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?

Raim.

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!

Raim.

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,

There is

And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs,
They shall but rock thee to thy rest.
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.

Ans.

seeing RAIMOND, starts back.

PROCIDA, on

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.

Raim.

'Tis enough! Rejoice,

Rejoice, my Constance! for I leave a name
O'er which thou may'st weep proudly!

Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart

Hath touch'd my veins.

[He sinks back.

To thy breast

Con. And must thou leave me, Raimond?

Alas! thine eye grows dim-its wandering glance

Is full of dreams.

Raim.

I was no traitor!

Haste, haste, and tell my father

Pro. (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 ?
Raim. 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 gradu-
ally 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.

Ans.

There fled a noble spirit!

Con.

Disturb him not!

Ans.

[He dies.

The strife is past.

Hush he sleeps

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.

Gui. 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 too 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!

Ye shall not rend him from me.

Pro.

He is mine!

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! 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.

ANNOTATION

ON

"THE VESPERS OF PALERMO."

"The Vespers of Palermo was the earliest of the dramatic productions of our author. The period in which the scene is laid, is sufficiently known from the title of the play. The whole is full of life and action. The same high strain of moral propriety marks this piece as all others of her writings. The hero is an enthusiast for glory, for liberty, and for virtue: and on his courage, his forbearance, the integrity of his love, making the firmness of his patriotism appear doubtful, rests the interest of the plot. It is worthy of remark, that some of its best parts have already found their way into an excellent selection of pieces for schools, and thus contribute to give lessons of morality to those who are most susceptible of the interest of tragedy.

"It may not be so generally remembered, that the same historical event was made the subject of a French tragedy, about the same time that the English one was written, and by a poet now of very great popularity in France. We hesitate not to give the preference to Mrs Hemans, for invention and interest, accurate delineation of character, and adherence to probability. Both the tragedies are written in a style of finished elegance."-PROFESSOR NORTON in North American Review, 1827.