Part 2 / Act 3 — Scene III.——Gardens of a Palace.

Con. There was a time when my thoughts wander’d not Beyond these fairy scenes!—when but to catch The languid fragrance of the southern breeze From the rich flowering citrons, or to rest, Dreaming of some wild legend, in the shade Of the dark laurel foliage, was enough Of happiness. How have these calm delights Fled from before one passion, as the dews, The delicate gems of morning, are exhaled By the great sun! [Raimond enters. Raimond! oh! now thou’rt come— I read it in thy look—to say farewell For the last time—the last! Raim. No, best beloved! I come to tell thee there is now no power To part us but in death. Con. I have dreamt of joy, But never aught like this. Speak yet again! Say we shall part no more! Raim. No more—if love Can strive with darker spirits; and he is strong In his immortal nature! All is changed Since last we met. My father—keep the tale Secret from all, and most of all, my Constance, From Eribert—my father is return’d: I leave thee not. Con. Thy father! blessèd sound! Good angels be his guard! Oh! if he knew How my soul clings to thine, he could not hate Even a Provençal maid! Thy father!—now Thy soul will be at peace, and I shall see The sunny happiness of earlier days Look from thy brow once more! But how is this? Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine; And in thy look is that which ill befits A tale of joy. Raim. A dream is on my soul. I see a slumberer, crown’d with flowers, and smiling As in delighted visions, on the brink Of a dread chasm; and this strange fantasy Hath cast so deep a shadow o’er my thoughts, I cannot but be sad. Con. Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, And this will banish it. Raim. It may not be. O gentle Constance! go not forth to-day: Such dreams are ominous. Con. Have you then forgot My brother’s nuptial feast? I must be one Of the gay train attending to the shrine His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy Will print earth lightly now. What fear’st thou, love? Look all around! the blue transparent skies, And sunbeams pouring a more buoyant life Through each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase All thought of evil. Why, the very air Breathes of delight! Through all its glowing realms Doth music blend with fragrance; and e’en here The city’s voice of jubilee is heard, Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Of human joy! Raim. There lie far deeper things— Things that may darken thought for life, beneath That city’s festive semblance. I have pass’d Through the glad multitudes, and I have mark’d A stern intelligence in meeting eyes, Which deem’d their flash unnoticed, and a quick, Suspicious vigilance, too intent to clothe Its mien with carelessness; and now and then, A hurrying start, a whisper, or a hand Pointing by stealth to some one, singled out Amidst the reckless throng. O’er all is spread A mantling flush of revelry, which may hide Much from unpractised eyes; but lighter signs Have been prophetic oft. Con. I tremble!—Raimond! What may these things portend? Raim. It was a day Of festival like this; the city sent Up through her sunny firmament a voice Joyous as now; when, scarcely heralded By one deep moan, forth from his cavernous depths The earthquake burst; and the wide splendid scene Became one chaos of all fearful things, Till the brain whirl’d, partaking the sick motion Of rocking palaces. Con. And then didst thou, My noble Raimond! through 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! Raim. 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. Know, danger walks abroad, Mask’d as a reveller. Constance! oh, by all Our tried affection, all the vows which bind Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers, Here, I adjure thee, meet me, when the bell Doth sound for vesper prayer! Con. And know’st thou not ’Twill be the bridal hour? Raim. It will not, love! That hour will bring no bridal! Naught 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 wouldst 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. Look on me, love!—I am not oft so moved— Thou’lt meet me? Con. Oh! what mean thy words? If then My steps are free,—I will. Be thou but calm. Raim. Be calm!—there is a cold and sullen calm, And, were my wild fears made realities, It might be mine; but, in this dread suspense— This conflict of all terrible fantasies, There is no calm. Yet fear thou not, dear love! I will watch o’er thee still. And now, farewell Until that hour! Con. My Raimond, fare thee well. [Exeunt.