Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot.

Child.

Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?—
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still;
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the heath is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,—
Stranger! kind stranger! oh! let me go.

Procida. And dost thou still refuse to share the glory Of this our daring enterprise?

Raimond. Oh, father!

I too, have dreamt of glory, and the word

Hath to my soul been as a trumpet's voice,
Making my nature sleepless.-But the deeds

Whereby 'twas won, the high exploits, whose tale
Bids the heart burn, were of another cast

Than such as thou requirest.

Proc. Every deed

Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim

The freedom of our country; and the sword

Alike is honored in the patriot's hand,

Searching, 'midst warrior hosts the heart which gave
Oppression birth; or flashing through 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.

Proc. Wouldst thou ask the man

Who to the earth hath dashed a nation's chains,

Rent as with heaven's own lightning, by what means
The glorious end was won ?-Go, swell the acclaim!
Bid the deliverer, hail! and if his path

To that most bright and sovereign destiny

Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it called
A stern necessity, and not a crime!

Rai. Father! my soul yet kindles at the thought
Of nobler lessons, in my boyhood learned

E'en from thy voice.-The high remembrances

Of other days are stirring in the heart

Where thou didst plant them; and they speak of men
Who needed no vain sophistry to gild

Acts, that would bear heaven's light.-And such be mine!
Oh, father! is it yet too late to draw

The praise and blessings of all valiant hearts
On our most righteous cause?

Proc. What wouldst thou do?

Rai. I would go forth, and rouse the indignant land
To generous combat. Why should freedom strike
Mantled with darkness?—Is there not more strength
E'en in the waving of her single arm

Than hosts can wield against her?—I would rouse
That spirit, whose fire doth press resistless on
To its proud sphere, the stormy field of fight!

Proc. Aye! and give time and warning to the foe
To gather all his might!—It is too late.
There is a work to be this eve begun,

When rings the vesper bell! and, long before
To-morrow's sun hath reached the noonday heaven,
His throne of burning glory, every sound

Of the provençal tongue within our walls,
As by one thunderstroke-you are pale, my son-
Shall be for ever silenced.

Rai. What! such sounds

As falter on the lip of infancy

In its imperfect utterance? or are breathed
By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe?
Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air
Poured by the timid maid ?—Must all alike
Be stilled in death; and wouldst thou tell my heart
There is no crime in this?

Proc. Since thou dost feel

Such horror of our purpose, in thy power

Are means that might avert it.

Rai. Speak! oh speak!

Proc. How would those rescued thousands bless thy name Shouldst thou betray us!

Rai. Father! I can bear

Aye, proudly woo-the keenest questioning

Of thy soul-gifted eye; which almost seems
To claim a part of heaven's dread royalty,
The power that searches thought!

Proc. (After a pause.) Thou hast a brow Clear as the day-and yet I doubt thee, Raimond! I doubt thee!-See thou waver not-take heed! Time lifts the veil from all things! (Exit.)

Rai. Oh! bitter day,

When, at the crushing of our glorious world,
We start and find men thus !-Yet be it so!
Is not my soul still powerful, in itself

To realize its dreams?-Aye, shrinking not
From the pure eye of heaven, my brow may well
Undaunted meet my father's. But away!

SELECTION VI.

MORDENT-LENOX.-Holcraft.

Mordent. We are now in private.

Lenox. I am glad we are.

Mor. And now, sir, I insist on a clear and explicit answer. Where may I find Joanna ?

Len. Nay, sir, where may I find Joanna?

Mor. Mr. Lenox, I will not be trifled with; where is she? Len. Nor will I be trifled with, Mr. Mordent: I say where is she? The contrivance was your own. I know you. The moment you set your eyes on her, you began your treacherous plots to secure her affections; and, when you found I would not resign mine at your persuasion, you put them in practice, while you treacherously pretended to secure her to me. I tell you, I know you.

Mor. This will not serve, sir; it is all evasion.

Len. Ay, sir, it is evasion! cunning, cruel, base evasion! and I affirm she is in your possession.

Mor. Mr. Lenox, I am at this moment a determined and desperate man, and must be answered. Where is she?

Len. Sir, I am as determined and desperate as yourself. and I say where is she? For you alone can tell.

Mor. "Tis false!

Len. (Going up to him.) He is the falsest of the false that dares whisper such a word.

Mor. Hark ye, sir! I understand your meaning, and came purposely provided. (Draws a pair of pistols.) Take your choice; they are loaded.

Len. Oh! with all my heart! Come, sir!
Mor. (Approaching sternly.) Nigher!
Len. As nigh as you please.

Mor. (Placing himself.) Foot to foot!
Len. (Both presenting.) Muzzle to muzzle!
Mor. Why dont you fire?

Len. Why don't you unlock your pistol?
Mor. (After unlocking it.) There!

Len. Why do you turn it out of the line? (Pause.) I see your intention. Mordent, you are tired of life and want me to murder you. Hang it, man, that is not treating your friend like a friend. Kill me if you will, but don't make me your assassin. Mor. Nay, kill me, or tell me where I may find the wretched Joanna.

Len. Fiends seize me, if I can tell you! I know not where, or what is become of her.

Mor. Your behavior tells me you are sincere; and to convince you at once that I am no less so, know-she is my daughter.

Len. Your daughter!-I'll seek the world through with you to find her. Forgive me!

Mor. Would I could forgive myself!

Len. But it seems, then, she has escaped, and is perhaps in safety.

Mor. Oh! that she were! Let us retire.

SELECTION VII.

ALBERTO―THEODORE.—Anonymous.

Alberto. Enter and fear not, trembler. Thou shalt live. Theodore. Ay, that I feared.

Alb. Dost hear me,

That thou shalt live.

Theo. I feared so.

boy? I

Alb. Wouldst thou die?

say,

Theo. If it pleased heaven, most willingly. I know
That I'm a prisoner. I shall never walk

In the sun's blessed light, or feel the touch
Of the fresh air, or hear the summer brook

All idly babbling to the moon, or taste

The morning breath of flowers. The thousand charms
Which make in our Sicilian isle inere life

A thrilling pleasantness, which send a glow
Through the poorest serf that tills the happy soil—
I am shut out froin all. This is my tomb.
Uncle, be merciful! I do not ask

leaves

My throne again. Reign! Reign! I have forgot
That I was once a king. But let me bide
In some small woodland cottage,
where green
May wave around me, and cool breezes kiss
My brow. Keep me not in a dungeon, uncle,
Of this dark gloomy chamber. Let me dwell
In some wild forest. I'll not breathe a word
That might be dangerous. No! not to the birds,
My songsters, or the fawns, my playmates, uncle.
Thou ne'er shalt hear of me again.

Alb. Boy! boy! Cling not about me thus.

Theo. Thou wilt have mercy;

Thy heart is softening.

All. "Tis too late. To reign,

And he at liberty! I am a child
Myself, that, won by

I seemed to waver.

this child's gentleness,
Boy, thy fate is fixed!
Thyself hast said it. Thou'rt a prisoner,
And for thy whole life long; a caged bird.
Be wiser than the feathered fool that beats
His wings against the wire. Thou shalt have all
Thy heart can ask, save freedom, and that—never!
I tell thee so in love, and not in hate;

For I would root out hope and fear, and plant
Patience in thy young soul.

Rest thee content. No harm shall happen thee.

Theo.

(Exit Alberto.)

Content! Oh mockery of grief! content!

Was't not enough to take away my crown,

To mew me up here in a living tomb,
Cut off from human ties; but my jailer

Must bid me be content! Would I were dead!
Forgive me, heaven, for my impatience!
I will take better thoughts. "Tis but to fancy
This room a quiet hermitage, and pray

As hermits use through the long silent hours.
I shall be innocent. Sure he's a friend
That shuts me out from sin. Did he not call me
A caged bird? I've seen one prune himself,
And hop from perch to perch, and chirp and sing