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
I
