CONSTANCE. I may not falter now, -Is not the life of woman all bound up In this bleak world alone?-It may be well ANSELMO. Thou fair and gentle thing, Unused to meet a glance which doth not speak Or face the king of terrors? CONSTANCE. There is strength Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck As high in its devotion. [Exit CONSTANCE. ANSELMO. She is gone! Is it to perish?-God of mercy! lend Will bear her to destruction faster far Than I can track her path. [Exit ANSELMO. SCENE III.-Hall of a Public Building. PROCIDA, MONTALBA, GUIDO, and others, seated as on a Tribunal. PROCIDA. The morn lower'd darkly, but the sun hath now, With fierce and angry splendour, through the clouds This, our high triumph.-Lead the prisoner in. (RAIMOND is brought in fettered and guarded.) Why, what a bright and fearless brow is here! -Is this man guilty?-Look on him, Montalba! MONTALBA. Be firm. Should justice falter at a look? PROCIDA. Her eyes are filleted, No, thou say'st well. Or should be so. -But no! I will not breathe a traitor's name Speak! thou art arraign'd of treason. RAIMOND. I arraign You, before whom I stand, of darker guilt, In the bright face of heaven; and your own hearts Have ta'en the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink, Be pale and humbled; for ye bear about you PROCIDA. Montalba, speak! There's something chokes my voice-but fear me not. MONTALBA. If we must plead to vindicate our acts, Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear! Most eloquent youth! What answer canst thou make To this our charge of treason? RAIMOND. I will plead That cause before a mightier judgment-throne, Of my free spirit's whiteness; for e'en now A mother and the babe, whose little life Was from her bosom drawn !-Immortal deeds For bards to hymn! GUIDO (aside). I look upon his mien, And waver. Can it be ?-My boyish heart From his proud glance? PROCIDA. Oh, thou dissembler !-thou, So skill'd to clothe with virtue's generous flush The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy, That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved Whose was this treachery? (Shows him papers.) Who hath promised here, (Belike to appease the manès of the dead,) At midnight to unfold Palermo's gates, And welcome in the foe?-Who hath done this, But thou, a tyrant's friend? |