Nor he interpret, yet with less surprise

Than those around their chieftain's state he eyes,
But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,

241

And in that tongue which seem'd his own replied,
And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem

To soothe away the horrors of his dream ;
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow

A breast that needed not ideal woe.

XV.

Whate'er his phrenzy dream'd or eye beheld,

If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd,

Rests at his heart: the custom'd morning came, And breath'd new vigour in his shaken frame; 250 And solace sought he none from priest nor leech, And soon the same in movement and in speech

Canto 1.

ᏞᎪᎡᎪ.

21

As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours,

Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lours
Than these were wont; and if the coming night
Appear❜d less welcome now to Lara's sight,

He to his marvelling vassals show'd it not,
Whose shuddering prov'd their fear was less forgot.

In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl
The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall; 260

The waving banner, and the clapping door,

The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;
The long dim shadows of surrounding trees,
The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;
Aught they behold or hear their thought appals
As evening saddens o'er the dark grey walls.

XVI.

Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unravell'd gloom

Came not again, or Lara could assume

A seeming of forgetfulness that made

His vassals more amaz'd nor less afraid

270

Had memory vanish'd then with sense restored?
Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord

Betrayed a feeling that recalled to these

That fevered moment of his mind's disease.

Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke Their slumber? his the oppress'd o'er-laboured heart That ceased to beat, the look that made them start? Could he who thus had suffered, so forget

When such as saw that suffering shudder yet? 280 Or did that silence

prove his

memory fix'd

Too deep for words, indelible, unmix'd

In that corroding secrecy which gnaws

The heart to show the effect, but not the cause?

Not so in him; his breast had buried both,
Nor common gazers could discern the growth
Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told;

They choak the feeble words that would unfold.

XVII.

In him inexplicably mix'd appeared

Much to be loved and hated, sought and feared; 290

Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot,

In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot;

His silence formed a theme for others' prate

They guess'd-they gazed-they fain would know

his fate.

'What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,

Who walked their world, his lineage only known?

A hater of his kind? yet some would say,

With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;
But own'd, that smile if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth and withered to a sneer;

300

That smile might reach his lip, but passed not by,

None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:

Yet there was softness too in his regard,

At times, a heart as not by nature hard,
But once perceiv'd, his spirit seem'd to chide
Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride,

And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem

One doubt from others half withheld esteem;

In self-inflicted penance of a breast

3C9

Which tenderness might once have wrung from rest;

In vigilance of grief that would compel

The soul to hate for having lov'd too well.