Con. (slowly recovering.) There was a voice which call'd me.—Am I not
A spirit freed from earth?—Have I not pass'd
The bitterness of death?
Ans. Oh, haste away!
Con. Yes! Raimond calls me.—He too is released
From his cold bondage.—We are free at last,
And all is well—Away! (She is led out by Anselmo.
Rai. The pang is o'er,
And I have but to die.
Mon. Now, Procida,
Comes thy great task. Wake! summon to thine aid
All thy deep soul's commanding energies;
For thou—a chief among us—must pronounce
The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee.
Pro. Ha! ha!—Men's hearts should be of softer mould
Than in the elder time.—Fathers could doom
Their children then with an unfaltering voice,
And we must tremble thus!—Is it not said,
That nature grows degenerate, earth being now
So full of days?
Mon. Rouse up thy mighty heart.
Pro. Ay, thou say'st right. There yet are souls which tower
As landmarks to mankind.—Well, what's the task?
—There is a man to be condemn'd, you say?
Is he then guilty?
All. Thus we deem of him
With one accord.
Pro. And hath he nought to plead?
