Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/24



With him I've traversed many a wild, and look'd On many a danger; and the thought that thou Wert smiling then in peace, a happy boy, Oft thro' the storm hath cheer'd him.

Dost thou deem That still he lives?—Oh! if it be in chains, In woe, in poverty's obscurest cell, Say but he lives—and I will track his steps E'en to earth's verge!

It may be that he lives: Tho' long his name hath ceased to be a word Familiar in man's dwellings. But its sound May yet be heard!—Raimond di Procida, —Rememberest thou thy father?

From my mind His form hath faded long, for years have pass'd Since he went forth to exile: but a vague, Yet powerful, image of deep majesty, Still dimly gathering round each thought of him, Doth claim instinctive reverence; and my love For his inspiring name hath long become Part of my being.

Raimond! doth no voice Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now?—My son! my son!

Father!—Oh God!—my father! Now I know Why my heart woke before thee!

Oh! this hour Makes hope, reality; for thou art all My dreams had pictured thee!