Who turn'd the tide of battle; he whose path
Was victory-who hath seen him?

ALBERTI is brought in wounded, and fettered.

ALBERTI.

Procida!

PROCIDA.

Be silent, traitor!-Bear him from my sight

Unto your deepest dungeons.

ALBERTI.

In the grave

A nearer home awaits me.-Yet one word

Ere my voice fail-thy son—

PROCIDA.

Speak, speak!

ALBERTI.

Thy son

Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait'rous plot

Was mine alone.

(He is led away.)

PROCIDA.

Attest it, earth and Heaven!

My son is guiltless!-Hear it, Sicily!

The blood of Procida is noble still!

-My son!-He lives, he lives!-His voice shall speak Forgiveness to his sire!-His name shall cast

Its brightness o'er my soul!

GUIDO.

Oh, day of joy!

The brother of my heart is worthy still

The lofty name he bears.

ANSELMO enters.

PROCIDA.

Anselmo, welcome!

In a glad hour we meet, for know, my son

Is guiltless.

ANSELMO.

And victorious! by his arm

All hath been rescued.

PROCIDA.

How! th' unknown

ANSELMO.

Thy noble Raimond! By Vittoria's hand

Freed from his bondage in that awful hour
When all was flight and terror.

Was he!

PROCIDA.

Now my cup

Of joy too brightly mantles!-Let me press

My warrior to a father's heart-and die;

For life hath nought beyond!-Why comes he not?
Anselmo, lead me to my valiant boy!

ANSELMO.

Temper this proud delight.

PROCIDA.

What means that look?

He hath not fallen?

ANSELMO.

He lives.

PROCIDA.

Away, away!

Bid the wide city with triumphal pomp

Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour

Atone for all his wrongs!

!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-Garden of a Convent.

RAIMOND is led in wounded, leaning on ATTENDANTS.

RAIMOND.

Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die

In the bright face of nature !-Lift my helm,

That I may look on heaven.

FIRST ATTENDANT (to SECOND ATTENDANT.)
Lay him to rest

On this green sunny bank, and I will call

Some holy sister to his aid; but thou
Return unto the field, for high-born men

There need the peasant's aid.

(TO RAIMOND.)

[Exit SECOND Attendant.

Here gentler hands

Shall tend thee, warrior; for in these retreats

They dwell, whose vows devote them to the care Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them! [Exit FIRST ATtendant.

RAIMOND.

Thus have I wish'd to die!-'Twas a proud strife!
My father bless'd th' unknown who rescued him,
(Bless'd him, alas! because unknown!) and Guido,
Beside me bravely struggling, call'd aloud,
"Noble Sicilian, on!" Oh! had they deem'd
"Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurn'd
Mine aid, though 'twas deliverance; and their looks
Had fallen, like blights, upon me.-There is one,
Whose eye ne'er turn'd on mine, but its blue light
Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist

Raised by deep tenderness!-Oh might the soul

Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish!

Is 't not her voice?

CONSTANCE enters, speaking to a NUN, who turns into another path.

CONSTANCE.

Oh! happy they, kind sister,

Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall

With brave men side by side, when the roused heart
Beats proudly to the last!-There are high souls
Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied!
(She approaches RAIMOND.)

Young warrior, is there aught-thou here, my Raimond!
Thou here-and thus!-Oh! is this joy or woe?

RAIMOND.

Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed love,

E'en on the grave's dim verge !-yes! it is joy!
My Constance! victors have been crown'd, ere now,
With the green shining laurel, when their brows
Wore death's own impress-and it may be thus
E'en yet, with me!-They freed me, when the foe
Had half prevail'd, and I have proudly earn'd,