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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
My father! what of him? Speak! was he known to thee?
In distant lands
Dost thou deem
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 ?
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.
Raimond ! doth no voice Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now ?-My son! my son !
Father !-Oh God S-my father ! Now I know
Oh! this hour
Makes hope, reality ; for thou art all
Yet why so long, Ev'n 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.
Because I would not link thy fate with mine,
And where is this?
PROCIDA. Here, in our isle, our own fair Sicily!
Her spirit is awake, and moving on,
Can it be thus indeed ?--Thou pour’st new life
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.
My noble father! Thy words have given me all for which I pinedAn aim, a hope, a purpose ! - And the blood Doth rush in warmer currents through my veins,