Since he went forth to exile: but a vague,
Yet powerful image of deep majesty,
Still dimly gathering round each thought of him,
Doth claim instinctive reverence; and my love
For his inspiring name hath long become
Part of my being.
Pro. Raimond! doth no voice
Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms
That would enfold thee now? My son! my son!
Raim. Father! Oh God!—my father! Now I know