Felicia Hemans

“ Hide something still, round which their tendrils cling
With a close grasp, unknown to those who dress
Their love in smiles. And such wert thou to me!
The all which taught me that my soul was cast
In nature's mould.—And I must now hold on
My desolate course alone!—Why, be it thus!
He that doth guide a nation's star, should dwell
High o'er the clouds in regal solitude,
Sufficient to himself. ”

“ 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, thro' the clouds
Burst forth, as if impatient to behold
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?
Pro. No, thou say'st well. Her eyes are filletted,
Or should be so. ”

“ Of midnight revellers, whose flush'd mirth is all
A strife, won hardly.—Where is he, whose heart
Lies bare, thro' all its foldings, to the gaze
Of mortal eye?—If vengeance wait the foe,
Or fate th' oppressor, 'tis in depths conceal'd
Beneath a smiling surface.—Youth! I say
Keep thy soul down!—Put on a mask!—'tis worn
Alike by power and weakness, and the smooth
And specious intercourse of life requires
Its aid in every scene.
Rai.⁠Away, dissembler!
Life hath its high and its ignoble tasks,
Fitted to every nature. ”

“ The present and the future! for they both
Look brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride?
Vit. Yes, Eribert!—thy prophecies of joy
Have taught e'en me to smile.
Eri.⁠ 'Tis well. To-day
I have won a fair and almost royal bride;
To-morrow—let the bright sun speed his course,
To waft me happiness!—my proudest foes
Must die—and then my slumber shall be laid
On rose-leaves, with no envious fold, to mar
The luxury of its visions!—Fair Vittoria,
Your looks are troubled!
Vit.⁠ It is strange, but oft,
Midst festal songs and garlands, o'er my soul
Death comes, with some dull image! ”

“ Is not our task achieved, the mighty work
Of our deliverance?—Yes; I should be joyous:
But this our feeble nature, with its quick
Instinctive superstitions, will drag down
Th' ascending soul.—And I have fearful bodings
That treachery lurks amongst us.—Raimond! Raimond!
Oh! Guilt ne'er made a mien like his its garb!
It cannot be!
Montalba, Guido, and other Sicilians, enter.
Pro.⁠ Welcome; we meet in joy! ”

“ Thro' all my burning veins!—I am as one
Awakening from a chill and death-like sleep
To the full glorious day.
Pro.⁠Thou shalt hear more!
Thou shalt hear things which would,—which will arouse
The proud, free spirits of our ancestors
E'en from their marble rest. Yet mark me well!
Be secret!—for along my destin'd path
I yet must darkly move.—Now, follow me;
And join a band of men, in whose high hearts
There lies a nation's strength. ”

“ To join our councils at the night's mid-watch,
In the lone cavern by the rock-hewn cross?
Vit. What should I shrink from?
Pro. Oh! The forest-paths
Are dim and wild, e'en when the sunshine streams
Thro' their high arches: but when powerful night
Comes, with her cloudy phantoms, and her pale
Uncertain moonbeams, and the hollow sounds
Of her mysterious winds; their aspect then
Is of another and more fearful world;
A realm of indistinct and shadowy forms,
Wakening strange thoughts, almost too much for this,
Our frail terrestrial nature. ”

“ That which our nature's instinct doth recoil from,
And our blood curdle at—Ay, yours and mine—
A murderer!—Heard ye?—Shall that name with ours
Go down to after days?—Oh, friends! a cause
Like that for which we rise, hath made bright names
Of the elder time as rallying-words to men,
Sounds full of might and immortality! ”

“ Where thro' the silence of my soul have pass'd
Voices, and visions from the sphere of those
That have to die no more!—Nay, doubt it not!
If such unearthly intercourse hath e'er
Been granted to our nature, 'tis to hearts
Whose love is with the dead. ”

“ His name is—Raimond—in his eye is light
That shows like truth—but be not ye deceived!
Bear him in chains before us. We will sit
To-day in judgment, and the skies shall see
The strength which girds our nature.—Will not this
Be glorious, brave Montalba?—Linger not,
Ye tardy messengers! for there are things
Which ask the speed of storms. ”

“ Raimond.⁠ Away, my Constance!
Now is the time for flight. Our slaughtering bands
Are scatter'd far and wide. A little while
And thou shalt be in safety. Know'st thou not
That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy man,
Anselmo? He whose hermitage is rear'd
'Mid some old temple's ruins?—Round the spot
His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm,
'Tis hallow'd as a sanctuary, wherein
Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm
Have spent its fury. Haste! ”

“ If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed,
Know, danger is around thee: thou hast foes
That seek thy ruin, and my power alone
Can shield thee from their arts.
Vit.⁠Provençal, tell
Thy tale of danger to some happy heart,
Which hath its little world of loved ones round,
For whom to tremble; and its tranquil joys
That make earth, Paradise. I stand alone;
—They that are blest may fear.
Eri.⁠Is there not one
Who ne'er commands in vain?—proud lady, bend
Thy spirit to thy fate ”

“ Montalba enters wounded, and supported by Raimond,
whose face is concealed by his helmet.
Raimond. Here rest thee, warrior.
Montalba. Rest, ay, death is rest,
And such will soon be mine—But, thanks to thee,
I shall not die a captive. Brave Sicilian! ”

“ 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! ”

“ Who, in a darkness thicker than the night
E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long:
How blessed were the stroke which makes them things
Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust,
There is, at least, no bondage!—But should we
From such a scene as this, where all earth's joys
Contend for mastery, and the very sense
Of life is rapture ”

“ Pro. Thy voice is low and broken, and thy words
Scarce meet our ears.
Mon. Why, then, I thus repeat
Their import. Let th' avenging sword burst forth
In some free festal hour, and woe to him
Who first shall spare!
Rai. Must innocence and guilt
Perish alike?
Mon. Who talks of innocence?
When hath their hand been stay'd for innocence?
Let them all perish!—Heaven will chuse its own. ”

“ There is no home for liberty, or love,
Beneath these festal skies!—Be not deceived;
My way lies far beyond!—I shall be soon
That viewless thing which, with its mortal weeds
Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust,
Forgets not how to love! ”

“ 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
That which repugnant earth doth sicken at,
More than the pestilence.—That I should live
To see my father shrink!
Pro.⁠ Montalba, speak!
There's something chokes my voice—but fear me not.
Mon. If we must plead to vindicate our acts,
Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear ”

“ Con.⁠ And then didst thou,
My noble Raimond! thro' the dreadful paths
Laid open by destruction, past the chasms,
Whose fathomless clefts, a moment's work, had given
One burial unto thousands, rush to save
Thy trembling Constance! she who lives to bless
Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven
Wafts gladness to her soul!
Rai.⁠ Heaven!—Heaven is just!
And being so, must guard thee, sweet one, still.
Trust none beside.—Oh! the omnipotent skies
Make their wrath manifest, but insidious man
Doth compass those he hates with secret snares,
Wherein lies fate. ”

“ Con.⁠ And know'st thou not
'Twill be the bridal hour?
Rai.⁠ It will not, love!
That hour will bring no bridal!—Nought of this
To human ear; but speed thou hither, fly,
When evening brings that signal.—Dost thou heed?
This is no meeting, by a lover sought
To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves
And stars, attest his vows; deem thou not so,
Therefore denying it!—I tell thee, Constance!
If thou woulds't save me from such fierce despair
As falls on man, beholding all he loves
Perish before him, while his strength can but
Strive with his agony—thou'lt meet me then? ”

“ Were masks that hid their daggers.—There, perchance,
May lurk what loves not light too strong. For me,
I know but this—there needs no deep research
To prove the truth—that murderers may be traitors
Ev'n to each other.
Pro. (to Montalba.) His unaltering cheek
Still vividly doth hold its natural hue,
And his eye quails not;—Is this innocence?
Mon. No! 'tis th' unshrinking hardihood of crime.
—Thou bear'st a gallant mien!—But where is she
Whom thou hast barter'd fame and life to save,
The fair Provençal maid?—What! know'st thou not
That this alone were guilt, to death allied? ”

“ Procida enters.
Procida. The foe is at your gates;
But hearts and hands prepared shall meet his onset:
Why are ye loitering here?
Cits. My lord, we came——
Pro. Think ye I know not wherefore?—'twas to see
A fellow-being die!—Ay, 'tis a sight
Man loves to look on, and the tenderest hearts
Recoil, and yet withdraw not, from the scene.
For this ye came—What! is our nature fierce,
Or is there that in mortal agony,
From which the soul, exulting in its strength,
Doth learn immortal lessons?—Hence, and arm! ”

“ Exit Procida.
Rai.⁠ And 'tis thus
Youth fades from off our spirit; and the robes
Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith
We clothed our idols, drop!—O! bitter day,
When, at the crushing of our glorious world,
We start, and find men thus!—Yet be it so! ”

“ Than such as thou requirest.
Pro.⁠ Every deed
Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim
The freedom of our country; and the sword
Alike is honour'd in the patriot's hand,
Searching, midst warrior-hosts, the heart which gave
Oppression birth; or flashing thro' the gloom
Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch,
At dead of night,
Rai. (turning away.) There is no path but one
For noble natures.
Pro.⁠ 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! ”

“ Which is but learn'd from suffering.—Would the hour
To hush these passionate throbbings were at hand!
Ans. It will not be to-day. Hast thou not heard—
—But no—the rush, the trampling, and the stir
Of this great city, arming in her haste,
Pierce not these dungeon-depths.—The foe hath reach'd
Our gates, and all Palermo's youth, and all
Her warrior-men, are marshall'd, and gone forth
In that high hope which makes realities,
To the red field. Thy father leads them on.
Rai. (starting up.) They are gone forth! my father leads them on! ”

“ E'en at my brother's feet, with fruitless tears,
Imploring him to spare. His heart is shut
Against my voice; yet will I not forsake
The cause of mercy.
Rai.⁠Waste not thou thy prayers,
Oh, gentle love, for them. There's little need
For Pity, tho' the galling chain be worn
By some few slaves the less. Let them depart!
There is a world beyond th' oppressor's reach,
And thither lies their way.
Con.⁠Alas! I see
That some new wrong hath pierced you to the soul.
Rai. Pardon, beloved Constance, if my words,
From feelings hourly stung, have caught, perchance,
A tone of bitterness.—Oh! ”

“ Which must be quench'd tho' death were in the draught:
We must have vengeance, for our foes have left
No other joy unblighted.
Pro. Oh! my son,
The time is past for such high dreams as thine.
Thou know' st not whom we deal with. Knightly faith,
And chivalrous honour, are but things whereon
They cast disdainful pity. We must meet
Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge.
And, for our names—whate'er the deeds, by which
We burst our bondage—is it not enough
That in the chronicle of days to come,
We, thro' a bright 'For Ever,' shall be call'd
The men who saved their country? ”

“ Pro. Ay, thou say'st right. There yet are souls which tower
As landmarks to mankind.—Well, what's the task?
—There is a man to be condemn'd, you say?
Is he then guilty?
All.⁠ Thus we deem of him
With one accord.
Pro.⁠ And hath he nought to plead?
Rai. Nought but a soul unstain'd.
Pro.⁠ Why, that is little.
Stains on the soul are but as conscience deems them,
And conscience—may be sear'd.—But, for this sentence!
—Was 't not the penalty imposed on man,
E'en from creation's dawn, that he must die?
—It was: thus making guilt a sacrifice
Unto eternal justice ”

“ Of glory comes!—Oh! doth it come too late?
E'en now the false Alberti hath confess'd
That guilty plot, for which thy life was doom'd
To be th' atonement.
Rai. 'T is enough! Rejoice,
Rejoice, my Constance! for I leave a name
O'er which thou may'st weep proudly! (He sinks back.
To thy breast
Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart
Hath touch'd my veins.
Con. And must thou leave me, Raimond?
Alas! thine eye grows dim—its wandering glance
Is full of dreams.
Rai. Haste, haste, and tell my father
I was no traitor!
Procida. (rushing forward.) ”