It is too late.
CARLOMAN.
A maxim for the dead.
It never is too late for any seeing,
For any recognition we are wrong.
It is a man’s despair, not his confession
Proves him contemptible. Too late, you say,
Too late—but there are countries where ’tis spring
And harvest many times within the year.
Besides, we must not tarry in a place
The moments do not wash with dew; we wither,
Death has his secret will with us. Believe!
Act on the instant.
OLD MONK.
The high gates are barred,
And yonder is the Prior.
[Damiani, with Rachis and a large troop of monks, is seen coming from the Chapel.]
CARLOMAN.
The gates are strong;
But you and I and all of us can pass
Through them in simple triumph if we will—
With one consent.
Why, they are opening now!
How gloriously! Armed riders!
[Enter Astolph with a band of Lombard soldiers.]