He strikes my vengeance hath a deeper fount :

But there's dark joy in this !—And fate hath barr'd

My soul from every other.

[Exit MONTALBA.

SCENE II-A Hermitage, surrounded by the Ruins of an ancient Temple.

CONSTANCE. ANSELMO.

CONSTANCE.

'Tis strange he comes not !-Is not this the still
And sultry hour of noon?-He should have been
Here by the day-break.-Was there not a voice?
-"No! 'tis the shrill Cicada, with glad life
Peopling these marble ruins, as it sports
Amidst them, in the sun.-Hark! yet again!"
No! no!-Forgive me, father! that I bring
Earth's restless griefs and passions to disturb
The stillness of thy holy solitude;

My heart is full of care.

ANSELMO.

There is no place

So hallow'd, as to be unvisited

By mortal cares. Nay, whither should we go,
With our deep griefs and passions, but to scenes
Lonely and still; where he that made our hearts
Will speak to them in whispers? I have known
Affliction too, my daughter.

CONSTANCE.

Hark! his step!

I know it well-he comes-my Raimond, welcome!

VITTORIA enters, CONSTANCE shrinks back on perceiving her.

Oh heaven! that aspect tells a fearful tale.

VITTORIA (not observing her).

There is a cloud of horror on my soul;

And on thy words, Anselmo, peace doth wait,

Even as an echo, following the sweet close

Of some divine and solemn harmony:

Therefore I sought thee now.

Oh! speak to me

Of holy things, and names, in whose deep sound
Is power to bid the tempests of the heart

Sink, like a storm rebuked.

Darkens thy spirit thus?

ANSELMO.

What recent grief

VITTORIA.

I said not grief.

We should rejoice to-day, but joy is not

That which it hath been. In the flowers which wreathe

Its mantling cup there is a scent unknown,

Fraught with some strange delirium. All things now
Have changed their nature; still, I say, rejoice!
There is a cause, Anselmo !—We are free,
Free and avenged!-Yet on my soul there hangs
A darkness, heavy as th' oppressive gloom
Of midnight phantasies.-Aye, for this, too,
There is a cause.

ANSELMO.

How say'st thou, we are free?

There may have raged, within Palermo's walls,

Some brief wild tumult, but too well I know

They call the stranger, lord.

VITTORIA.

Who calls the dead

Conqueror or lord?-Hush! breathe it not aloud,

The wild winds must not hear it!-Yet, again,

I tell thee, we are free!

ANSELMO.

Thine eye hath look'd

On fearful deeds, for still their shadows hang
O'er its dark orb.-Speak! I adjure thee, say,
How hath this work been wrought?

VITTORIA.

Peace! ask me not!

Why shouldst thou hear a tale to send thy blood
Back on its fount ?-We cannot wake them now!
The storm is in my soul, but they are all
At rest!-Aye, sweetly may the slaughter'd babe
By its dead mother sleep; and warlike men
Who 'midst the slain have slumber'd oft before,
Making the shield their pillow, may repose

Well, now their toils are done.-Is 't not enough?

CONSTANCE.

Merciful Heaven! have such things been? And yet
There is no shade come o'er the laughing sky!

-I am an outcast now.

ANSELMO.

O Thou, whose ways

Clouds mantle fearfully; of all the blind,
But terrible, ministers that work thy wrath,

How much is man the fiercest !—Others know

Their limits-Yes! the earthquakes, and the storms,

And the volcanoes!-He alone o'erleaps

The bounds of retribution !-Couldst thou gaze,

Vittoria with thy woman's heart and eye,

On such dread scenes unmoved?

VITTORIA.

Was it for me

To stay th' avenging sword?—No, though it pierced My very soul!" Hark, hark, what thrilling shrieks Ring through the air around me!-Can'st thou not Bid them be hush'd?-Oh! look not on me thus!"

ANSELMO.

"Lady! thy thoughts lend sternness to the looks Which are but sad!"-Have all then perish'd? all? Was there no mercy?

VITTORIA.

Mercy! it hath been

A word forbidden as th' unhallowed names

Of evil powers.-Yet one there was who dared

To own the guilt of pity, and to aid

The victims; but in vain.-Of him no more!
He is a traitor, and a traitor's death

Will be his meed.