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not falter now, -Is not the life of woman all bound
Thou fair and gentle thing,
There is strength
She is gone!
Scene III.—Hall of a Public Building.
PROCIDA, MONTALBA, Guido, and others, seated as on a
The morn lower'd darkly, but the sun hath now,
(Raimond is brought in fettered and guarded.)
Why, what a bright and fearless brow is here !
--Is this man guilty ?-Look on him, Montalba !
Be firm. Should justice falter at a look ?
No, thou say'st well. Her eyes are filleted,
I arraign You, before whom I stand, of darker guilt, In the bright face of heaven ; and your own hearts Give echo to the charge. Your very looks Have ta’en the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink, With a perturb’d and haggard wildness, back From the too-searching light.—Why, what hath wrought This change on noble brows?—There is a voice, With a deep answer, rising from the blood Your hands have coldly shed !-Ye are of those From whom just men recoil, with curdling veins, All thrill'd by life's abhorrent consciousness, And sensitive feeling of a murderer's presence. -Away! come down from your tribunal-seat, Put off your robes of state, and let your mien
Be pale and humbled; for ye bear about you
Montalba, speak! There's something chokes my voice—but fear me not.
If we must plead to vindicate our acts,
I will plead That cause before a mightier judgment-throne, Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel Too buoyantly the glory and the joy Of my free spirit's whiteness; for e'en now Th' embodied hideousness of crime doth seem Before me glaring out.—Why, I saw thee, Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast, Trampling our nature's last convulsive heavings. -And thou—thy sword—Oh, valiant chief !—is yet Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once,
A mother and the babe, whose little life
I look upon his mien,
Oh, thou dissembler !thou,
Who hath promised here,