We clothed our idols, drop! Oh, bitter day!
When, at the crushing of our glorious world,
We start, and find men thus! Yet be it so!
Is not my soul still powerful in itself
To realise its dreams? Ay, shrinking not
From the pure eye of heaven, my brow may well
Undaunted meet my father’s. But, away!
Thou shalt be saved, sweet Constance!—Love is yet
Mightier than vengeance.
[Exit Raimond.