Con.

Then there's a respite still,

Days!-not a day but in its course may bring
Some strange vicissitude to turn aside

Th' impending blow we shrink from.-Fare thee

well.

(Returning.)

-Oh, Raimond! this is not our last farewell! Thou would'st not so deceive me?

Raim.

Gentlest and best beloved! we meet again.

Doubt me not,

[Exit CONSTANCE.

Raim. (after a pause.) When shall I breathe in freedom, and give scope

To those untamable and burning thoughts,
And restless aspirations, which consume
My heart i' th' land of bondage?-Oh! with you,
Ye everlasting images of power,

And of infinity! thou blue-rolling deep,
And you, ye stars! whose beams are characters
Wherewith the oracles of fate are traced;
With you my soul finds room, and casts aside
The weight that doth oppress her.-But my thoughts
Are wandering far; there should be one to share
This awful and majestic solitude

Of sea and heaven with me.

[PROCIDA enters unobserved.

It is the hour

He named, and yet he comes not.

Pro. (coming forward.)

He is here.

Raim. Now, thou mysterious stranger, thou,

whose glance

Doth fix itself on memory, and pursue

Thought like a spirit, haunting its lone hours;

Reveal thyself; what art thou?

Pro.

One, whose life Hath been a troubled stream, and made its way Through rocks and darkness, and a thousand storms, With still a mighty aim. But now the shades Of eve are gathering round me, and I come To this, my native land, that I may rest Beneath its vines in peace.

Raim.

Seek'st thou for peace?

This is no land of peace: unless that deep

And voiceless terror, which doth freeze men's

thoughts

Back to their source, and mantle its pale mien

With a dull hollow semblance of repose,

May so be call’d.

Pro.
There are such calms full oft
Preceding earthquakes. But I have not been
So vainly school'd by fortune, and inured,
To shape my course on peril's dizzy brink,
That it should irk my spirit to put on
Such guise of hush'd submissiveness as best
May suit the troubled aspect of the times.

Raim. Why, then, thou art welcome, stranger, to the land

Where most disguise is needful.—He were bold
Who now should wear his thoughts upon his brow
Beneath Sicilian skies. The brother's eye
Doth search distrustfully the brother's face;
And friends, whose undivided lives have drawn
From the same past their long remembrances,
Now meet in terror, or no more; lest hearts
Full to o'erflowing, in their social hour,
Should pour out some rash word, which roving winds

Might whisper to our conquerors.—This it is,
To wear a foreign yoke.

It matters not

Pro.
To him who holds the mastery o'er his spirit,
And can suppress its workings, till endurance
Becomes as nature. We can tame ourselves
To all extremes, and there is that in life
To which we cling with most tenacious grasp,
Even when its lofty climes are all reduced
To the poor common privilege of breathing.-
Why dost thou turn away?

Raim.
What wouldst thou with me?
I deem'd thee, by th' ascendant soul which lived,
And made its throne on thy commanding brow,
One of a sovereign nature, which would scorn
So to abase its high capacities

For aught on earth. But thou art like the rest.
What wouldst thou with me?

Pro.
I would counsel thee.
Thou must do that which men-ay, valiant men-
Hourly submit to do; in the proud court,
And in the stately camp, and at the board
Of midnight revellers, whose flush'd mirth is all
A strife, won hardly.-Where is he whose heart
Lies bare, through all its foldings, to the gaze
Of mortal eye?—If vengeance wait the foe,
Or fate th' oppressor, 'tis in depths conceal'd
Beneath a smiling surface.-Youth, I say,
Keep thy soul down!-Put on a mask !-'tis worn
Alike by power and weakness, and the smooth
And specious intercourse of life requires

Its aid in every scene.

Raim.

Away, dissembler! Life hath its high and its ignoble tasks, Fitted to every nature. Will the free And royal eagle stoop to learn the arts By which the serpent wins his spell-bound prey? It is because I will not clothe myself

In a vile garb of coward semblances,

That now, e'en now, I struggle with my heart,
To bid what most I love a long farewell,
And seek my country on some distant shore,
Where such things are unknown!

Pro. (exultingly.)

Why, this is joy: After a long conflict with the doubts and fears,

And the poor subtleties, of meaner minds,

To meet a spirit, whose bold elastic wing

Oppression hath not crush'd.-High-hearted youth, Thy father, should his footsteps e'er again

With him I've traversed many a wild, and look’d
On many a danger; and the thought that thou
Wert smiling then in peace, a happy boy,

Oft through the storm hath cheer'd him.

Raim.

Dost thou deem

That still he lives?-Oh! if it be in chains,
In woe, in poverty's obscurest cell,

Say but he lives-and I will track his steps
E'en to earth's verge!

Pro.

It may be that he lives,

Though long his name hath ceased to be a word

Familiar in man's dwellings. But its sound
May yet be heard!— Raimond di Procida,
Rememberest thou thy father?

Raim.

From my mind

His form hath faded long, for years have pass'd
Since he went forth to exile: but a vague,
Yet powerful image of deep majesty,

Still dimly gathering round each thought of him,
Doth claim instinctive reverence; and my love
For his inspiring name hath long become
Part of my being.

Pro.

Raimond! doth no voice

Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now?-My son! my son! Raim. Father!—Oh God!—my father! Now I know

Why my heart woke before thee!

Pro.

Oh! this hour

Makes hope reality; for thou art all

My dreams had pictured thee!

Yet why so long

Raim.
E'en as a stranger hast thou cross'd my paths,
One nameless and unknown ?—and yet I felt
Each pulse within me thrilling to thy voice.

Pro. Because I would not link thy fate with mine,
Till I could hail the dayspring of that hope
Which now is gathering round us.-Listen, youth!
Thou hast told me of a subdued and scorn'd
And trampled land, whose very soul is bow'd
And fashion'd to her chains:-but I tell thee
Of a most generous and devoted land,
A land of kindling energies; a land