Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/55



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! oh! now thou'rt come I read it in thy look, to say farewell For the last time—the last!

No, best beloved! I come to tell thee there is now no power To part us—but in death.

I have dreamt of joy, But never aught like this.—Speak yet again! Say, we shall part no more!

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.

Thy father! blessed 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