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!
Rai. 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!
Rai. 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! 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
E 2
