PROCIDA (exultingly). Why, this is joy! After 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 Visit these shores RAIMOND. My father! what of him? Speak! was he known to thee? PROCIDA. In distant lands With him I've traversed many a wild, and look'd Oft through the storm hath cheer'd him. RAIMOND. 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 the earth's verge! PROCIDA. It may be that he lives : Though long his name hath ceased to be a word RAIMOND. From my mind His form hath faded long, for years have pass'd Still dimly gathering round each thought of him, PORCIDA. Raimond! doth no voice Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now?-My son! my son! RAIMOND. Father!-Oh God!-my father! Now I know Why my heart woke before thee! PROCIDA. Oh! this hour Makes hope, reality; for thou art all RAIMOND. Yet why so long, Ev'n as a stranger, hast thou cross'd my paths, PROCIDA. Because I would not link thy fate with mine, And rising, in majestic scorn, to cast RAIMOND. And where is this? PROCIDA. Here, in our isle, our own fair Sicily! Her spirit is awake, and moving on, In its deep silence mightier, to regain RAIMOND. Can it be thus indeed ?-Thou pour'st new life PROCIDA. Thou shalt hear more! Thou shalt hear things which would,-which will arouse The proud, free spirits of our ancestors E'en from their marble rest. Yet mark me well! Be secret!-for along my destin'd path I yet must darkly move.-Now, follow me; And join a band of men, in whose high hearts There lies a nation's strength. RAIMOND. My noble father! Thy words have given me all for which I pined- |