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
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!

my

heart

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.

Len.

"Tis false!

False?

Mor. Ay, 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.

Alberto.

SELECTION. VII.

ALBERTO-THEODORE.-Anonymous.

Enter and fear not, trembler. Thou shalt live.

Theodore. Ay, that I feared.

Alb. Dost hear me, boy? I say,

That thou shalt live.

Theo. I feared so.

Alb. Wouldst thou die?

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 mere life

A now Sr. mss on a clear and explicit answer. mu. Joanna

sr.. Whave mer I find Joanna ?

1: Lens wil n be trified with; where is she? Nr vil I rifted with, Mr. Mordent: I say where

The contrivance was YOU: PWR. I know you. The momen vol se vor eres or her, you began your treacherous nus u secure her affections; and, when you found I would no resign, mine at your persuasion, you put them in practice, whin v reacherously pretended to secure her to me. I tell

Ar This will not serve, sit; it is a
Ar, sit, it is evasion! cummi

and firm, she is in your possession
Alo A Lenox, I am at this r
Desperar man, and must be answer
2. Sr. I am as determined
and say where is she? For yo
Alor. Ts false!

len. Fuise?

Nie. Ar, false!

Song up to him.)

dares whisper such a word

No. Hark re, sir! I

purposely provided. (D choice; they are loaded.