ACT THE FIFTH.
Scene I.—A Prison, dimly lighted.
Raimond sleeping. Procida enters.
Procida. (gazing upon him earnestly.) Can he then
sleep?—Th' o'ershadowing night hath wrapt
Earth, at her stated hours—the stars have set
Their burning watch; and all things hold their course
Of wakefulness and rest; yet hath not sleep
Sat on mine eyelids since—but this avails not!
—And thus he slumbers!—"Why, this mien doth seem
"As if its soul were but one lofty thought
"Of an immortal destiny!"—his brow
Is calm as waves whereon the midnight heavens
Are imaged silently.—Wake, Raimond, wake!
Thy rest is deep.
Raimond. (starting up.) My father!—Wherefore here?
I am prepared to die, yet would I not
Fall by thy hand.
Pro. 'Twas not for this I came.
Rai. Then wherefore?—and upon thy lofty brow
Why burns the troubled flush?
Pro. Perchance 'tis shame.
