There are strange voices ringing in mine ear
That summon me-to what?-But I have been
Used to command!-Away! I will not die

But on the field—

CONSTANCE (kneeling by him).
Oh Heaven! be merciful,

As thou art just!-for he is now where nought
But mercy can avail him!-It is past!

GUIDO enters, with his sword drawn.

GUIDO (to RAIMOND).

[He dies.

I've sought thee long-Why art thou lingering here?
Haste, follow me!-Suspicion with thy name

Joins that word-Traitor?

RAIMOND.

Traitor!-Guido?

GUIDO.

Yes!

Hast thou not heard that, with his men-at-arms,
After vain conflict with a people's wrath,

De Couci hath escaped?-And there are those
Who murmur that from thee the warning came
Which saved him from our vengeance. But e'en yet

In the red current of Provençal blood

That doubt may be effaced. Draw thy good sword,

And follow me!

RAIMOND.

And thou couldst doubt me, Guido!

"Tis come to this!-Away! mistrust me still.
I will not stain my sword with deeds like thine.
Thou know'st me not!

GUIDO.

Raimond di Procida!

If thou art he whom once I deemed so noble

Call me thy friend no more!

[Exit GUIDO.

RAIMOND (after a pause).

Rise, dearest, rise!

Thy duty's task hath nobly been fulfill'd,

E'en in the face of death; but all is o'er,

And this is now no place where nature's tears

In quiet sanctity may freely flow.

-Hark! the wild sounds that wait on fearful deeds

Are swelling on the winds, as the deep roar

Of fast-advancing billows; and for thee

I shame not thus to tremble.-Speed, oh, speed!

END OF ACT THE THIRD.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I-A Street in Palermo.

PROCIDA enters.

PROCIDA.

How strange and deep a stillness loads the air.
As with the power of midnight!-Aye, where death
Hath pass'd, there should be silence.-But this hush
Of nature's heart, this breathlessness of all things,
Doth press on thought too heavily, and the sky,
With its dark robe of purple thunder-clouds
Brooding in sullen masses, o'er my spirit

Weighs like an omen !-Wherefore should this be?
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.

PROCIDA.

Welcome! we meet in joy!

Now may we bear ourselves erect, resuming
The kingly port of freemen! Who shall dare,
After this proof of slavery's dread recoil,

To weave us chains again?-Ye have done well.

MONTALBA.

We have done well. There need no choral song,
No shouting multitudes to blazon forth

Our stern exploits.-The silence of our foes
Doth vouch enough, and they are laid to rest
Deep as the sword could make it. Yet our task
Is still but half achieved, since, with his bands,
De Couci hath escaped, and, doubtless, leads
Their footsteps to Messina, where our foes
Will gather all their strength. Determined hearts,
And deeds to startle earth, are yet required,

To make the mighty sacrifice complete.

Where is thy son?

PROCIDA.

I know not.

Once last night

He cross'd my path, and with one stroke beat down

A sword just raised to smite me, and restored

My own, which in that deadly strife had been

:

Wrench'd from my grasp but when I would have press'd

him

To my exulting bosom, he drew back,

And with a sad, and yet a scornful, smile,

Full of strange meaning, left me. Since that hour
I have not seen him. Wherefore didst thou ask?

MONTALBA.

It matters not. We have deeper things to speak of.— Know'st thou that we have traitors in our councils?

PROCIDA.

I know some voice in secret must have warn'd

De Couci; or his scatter'd bands had ne'er

So soon been marshall'd, and in close array

Led hence as from the field. Hast thou heard aught
That may develope this?

MONTALBA.

The guards we set