MONTALBA. Pity!-fond youth!-My soul disdains the grief To ask a vain companionship of tears, PROCIDA. For woes like these, There is no sympathy but vengeance. MONTALBA. None! Therefore I brought you hither, that your hearts And heaven, and night, bore witness to my vow, (He takes the sword from the tomb.) RAIMOND. My spirit burns! And my full heart almost to bursting swells. -Oh! for the day of battle! PROCIDA. Raimond! they Whose souls are dark with guiltless blood must die; -But not in battle. RAIMOND. How, my father! PROCIDA. No! Look on that sepulchre, and it will teach MONTALBA. Leave me for a time, That I may calm my soul by intercourse With the still dead, before I mix with men, And with their passions. I have nursed for years, In silence and in solitude, the flame Which doth consume me; and it is not used Thus to be look'd or breathed on.-Procida! I would be tranquil-or appear so-ere I join your brave confederates. Through my heart There struck a pang-but it will soon have pass'd. PROCIDA. Remember!-in the cavern by the cross. Now, follow me, my son. [Exeunt PROCIDA and RAIMOND. MONTALBA (after a pause, leaning on the tomb). Said he, "my son?"-Now, why should this man's life Go down in hope, thus resting on a son, And I be desolate ?-How strange a sound Was that" my son !"-I had a boy, who might As doth this youth.-Why should the thought of him Of life again, I shall be pass'd each hour By fathers with their children, and I must Learn calmly to look on. Methinks 'twere now A gloomy consolation to behold All men bereft, as I am!-But away, Vain thoughts!-One task is left for blighted hearts, [Exit MONTALBA. SCENE IV.-Entrance of a Cave, surrounded by Rocks and Forests. A rude Cross seen amongst the Rocks. And is it thus, beneath the solemn skies Of midnight, and in solitary caves, Where the wild forest-creatures make their lair,— The councils of their country! RAIMOND. Why, such scenes In their primeval majesty, beheld Thus by faint starlight, and the partial glare Far deeper thoughts than pillar'd halls, wherein With its dread prophecies, hath struck dismay Through tyrants' hearts, and bade them seek a home Enter MONTALBA, GUIDO, and other SICILIANS. PROCIDA. Welcome, my brave associates!-We can share SICILIANS. All, all! PROCIDA. The torchlight, sway'd by every gust, MONTALBA (advancing). He is at thy side. Call on that desolate father, in the hour When his revenge is nigh. |