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MONTALBA.

Rouse up thy mighty heart.

PROCIDA.

Aye, 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.

PROCIDA.

And hath he nought to plead?

RAIMOND.

Nought but a soul unstain'd.

PROCIDA.

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; and we but

Obey Heaven's mandate, when we cast dark souls

To th' elements from amongst us.-Be it so!

Such be his doom!-I have said. Aye, now my heart
Is girt with adamant, whose cold weight doth press
Its gaspings down.-Off! let me breathe in freedom!
-Mountains are on my breast!

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(GUIDO leaving the Tribunal, throws himself on the neck of RAIMOND.)

GUIDO.

Oh! Raimond, Raimond!

If it should be that I have wrong'd thee, say

Thou dost forgive me.

RAIMOND.

Friend of my young days,

So may all-pitying heaven!

(RAIMOND is led out.)

PROCIDA.

Whose voice was that?

Where is he?-gone?-now I may breathe once more In the free air of heaven. Let us away.

END OF ACT THE FOURTH.

[Exeunt omnes.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I-A Prison, dimly lighted.

RAIMOND sleeping.

PROCIDA enters.

PROCIDA (gazing upon him earnestly).

Can he then sleep?-Th' o'ershadowing night hath wrapt Earth, at her stated hours-the stars have set

Their burning watch; and all things hold their course

Of wakefulness and rest; yet hath not sleep

Sat on mine eyelids since-but this avails not!

-And thus he slumbers!" Why this mien doth seem

As if its soul were but one lofty thought

Of an immortal destiny!"—his brow

Is calm as waves whereon the midnight heavens
Are imaged silently.-Wake, Raimond, wake!
Thy rest is deep.

RAIMOND (starting up).

My father!-Wherefore here?

I am prepared to die, yet would I not

Fall by thy hand.

PROCIDA.

"Twas not for this I came.

RAIMOND.

Then wherefore ?-and upon thy lofty brow

Why burns the troubled flush?

PROCIDA.

Perchance 'tis shame.

Yes! it may well be shame!—for I have striven
With nature's feebleness, and been o'erpower'd.
-Howe'er it be, 'tis not for thee to gaze,
Noting it thus. Rise, let me loose thy chains.
Arise, and follow me; but let thy step

Fall without sound on earth: I have prepared
The means for thy escape.

RAIMOND.

What! thou! the austere,

The inflexible Procida! hast thou done this,

Deeming me guilty still?

PROCIDA.

Upbraid me not!

It is even so. There have been nobler deeds

By Roman fathers done,-but I am weak.

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