Such is their cry-some watchword for the fight Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right: Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, 868 A word's enough to raise mankind to kill; IX. Throughout that clime the feudal chiefs had gained Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reigned; Now was the hour for faction's rebel growth, The Serfs contemned the one, and hated both : They waited but a leader, and they found By circumstance compelled to plunge again, Cut off by some mysterious fate from those Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes, 880 Had Lara from that night, to him accurst, Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst: By mingling with his own the cause of all, The storm that once had spent itself and slept, Roused by events that seemed foredoomed to urge His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, Burst forth, and made him all he once had been, 890 And is again; he only changed the scene. Light care had he for life, and less for fame, But not less fitted for the desperate game: He deemed himself marked out for other's hate, And mocked at ruin so they shared his fate. He raised the humble but to bend the proud. He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair, But man and destiny beset him there: Inured to hunters he was found at bay, And they must kill, they cannot snare the prey. Henceforth a calm spectator of life's scene; But dragged again upon the arena, stood A leader not unequal to the feud; In voice-mien-gesture-savage nature spoke, And from his eye the gladiator broke. 900 What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, 910 The varying fortune of each separate field, The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield? The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall? In this the struggle was the same with all; Save that distempered passions lent their force None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, In either cause, one rage alone possest The empire of the alternate victor's breast; 920 And they that smote for freedom or for sway, Deemed few were slain, while more remained to slay. It was too late to check the wasting brand, And Desolation reaped the famished land; The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread, And Carnage smiled upon her daily dead. XI. Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung, The first success to Lara's numbers clung: But that vain victory hath ruined all, They form no longer to their leader's call; 930 In blind confusion on the foe they press, |