RAIMOND. Oh, father! I too have dreamt of glory, and the word Than such as thou requirest. PROCIDA. Every deed Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim The freedom of our country; and the sword Searching, 'midst warrior-hosts, the heart which gave Oppression birth; or flashing through the gloom Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch, At dead of night. RAIMOND (turning away). There is no path but one For noble natures. PROCIDA. Wouldst thou ask the man Who to the earth hath dash'd a nation's chains, Rent as with heaven's own lightning, by what means The glorious end was won ?-Go, swell th' acclaim! Bid the deliverer, hail! and if his path To that most bright and sovereign destiny Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it call'd RAIMOND. Father! my soul yet kindles at the thought Of other days are stirring in the heart Where thou didst plant them; and they speak of men Who needed no vain sophistry to gild Acts, that would bear heaven's light.-And such be mine! Oh, father! is it yet too late to draw The praise and blessing of all valiant hearts On our most righteous cause? PROCIDA. What wouldst thou do? RAIMOND. I would go forth, and rouse th' indignant land Than hosts can wield against her?-I would rouse That spirit, whose fire doth press resistless on PROCIDA. Aye! and give time and warning to the foe When rings the vesper-bell! and, long before Of the Provençal tongue within our walls, As by one thunderstroke-(you are pale, my son)— Shall be for ever silenced. RAIMOND. What! such sounds As falter on the lip of infancy In its imperfect utterance? or are breathed Be still'd in death; and wouldst thou tell my heart PROCIDA. Since thou dost feel Such horror of our purpose, in thy power Are means that might avert it. RAIMOND. Speak! Oh speak! PROCIDA. How would those rescued thousands bless thy name Shouldst thou betray us! RAIMOND. Father! I can bear Aye, proudly woo-the keenest questioning PROCIDA (after a pause). Thou hast a brow Clear as the day-and yet I doubt thee, Raimond! From a long look through man's deep-folded heart; I doubt thee!-See thou waver not-take heed! Time lifts the veil from all things! [Exit PROCIDA. RAIMOND. And 'tis thus Youth fades from off our spirit; and the robes Thou shalt be saved, sweet Constance !-Love is yet [Exit RAIMOND. SCENE III.-Gardens of a Palace. CONSTANCE alone. CONSTANCE. There was a time when my thoughts wander'd not |