Bid the wide city with triumphal pomp
Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour
Atone for all his wrongs!— [Exeunt.
Scene VII.—Garden of a Convent.
Raimond is led in wounded, leaning on Attendants.
Raimond. Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die
In the bright face of nature!—Lift my helm,
That I may look on heaven.
1 Att. (to 2 Att.) Lay him to rest
On this green sunny bank, and I will call
Some holy sister to his aid; but thou
Return unto the field, for high-born men
There need the peasant's aid. [Exit 2 Att.
(to Raimond) Here gentler hands
Shall tend thee, warrior; for in these retreats
They dwell, whose vows devote them to the care
Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them!
[Exit 1 Att.
Rai. Thus have I wish'd to die!—'Twas a proud strife!
My father bless'd th' unknown who rescued him,
(Bless'd him, alas! because unknown!) and Guido,
Beside me bravely struggling, call'd aloud,
"Noble Sicilian, on!" Oh! had they deem’d
