Where had his arm unwarlike caught that art?
Where had that fierceness grown upon his heart?

For it was not the blind capricious rage

790

A word can kindle and a word assuage;

But the deep working of a soul unmixed

With aught of pity where its wrath had fixed;
Such as long power and overgorged success

Concentrates into all that's merciless:

These, linked with that desire which ever sways
Mankind, the rather to condemn than praise,

'Gainst Lara gathering raised at length a storm, Such as himself might fear, and foes would form,

And he must answer for the absent head

Of one that haunts him still, alive or dead.

800

VIII.

Within that land was many a malcontent,
Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent ;
That soil full many a wringing despot saw,
Who worked his wantonness in form of law;
Long war without and frequent broil within

Had made a path for blood and giant sin,
That waited but a signal to begin

New havock, such as civil discord blends,

809

Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends;

Fixed in his feudal fortress each was lord,

In word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorred.

Thus Lara had inherited his lands,

And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;

But that long absence from his native clime

Had left him stainless of oppression's crime,

And now diverted by his milder sway,

All dread by slow degrees had worn away :
The menials felt their usual awe alone,

819

But more for him than them that fear was grown ; They deemed him now unhappy, though at first

Their evil judgment augured of the worst,

And each long restless night, and silent mood,
Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
And though his lonely habits threw of late
Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;
For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew,
For them, at least, his soul compassion knew.
Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high,
The humble passed not his unheeding eye;

Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof
They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.

VOL. III.

830

And they who watched might mark that day by day,

Some new retainers gathered to his sway;

But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,

He played the courteous lord and bounteous host: Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread

Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head;

Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains

With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. 840

If this were policy, so far 'twas sound,

The million judged but of him as they found;

From him by sterner chiefs to exile driven

They but required a shelter, and 'twas given.
By him no peasant mourned his rifled cot,
And scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot;
With him old avarice found its hoard secure,

With him contempt forbore to mock the poor;

Youth present cheer and promised recompence

Detained, till all too late to part from thence: 850 To hate he offered, with the coming change,

The deep reversion of delayed revenge;

To love, long baffled by the unequal match,
The well-won charms success was sure to snatch.

All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim

That slavery nothing which was still a name.

The moment came, the hour when Otho thought Secure at last the vengeance which he sought: His summons found the destined criminal

Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall,

860

Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven,

Defying earth, and confident of heaven.

That morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves!

02