Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan
Nor glean experience from his fellow man;
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show,
As hardly worth a stranger's care to know;
If still more prying such inquiry grew,
His brow fell darker, and his words more few.

90

VII.

Not unrejoiced to see him once again,

Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men ;
Born of high lineage, link'd in high command,
He mingled with the Magnates of his land;
Join'd the carousals of the great and gay,
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away; 100
But still he only saw, and did not share

The common pleasure or the general care;
He did not follow what they all pursued
With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd;
Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain,
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
Around him some mysterious circle thrown
Repell❜d approach, and showed him still alone;
Upon his eye sate something of reproof,

That kept at least frivolity aloof;

110

And things more timid that beheld him near, In silence gaz'd, or whisper'd mutual fear; And they the wiser, friendlier few confess'd They deem'd him better than his air express'd.

VIII.

"Twas strange-in youth all action and all life, Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife; Woman-the field-the ocean--all that gave Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,

In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or woe,

120

No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought

In that intenseness an escape from thought
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed
On that the feebler elements hath rais'd;
The rapture of his heart had look'd on high,
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky :
Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme,
How woke he from the wildness of that dream?
Alas! he told not-but he did awake

To curse the wither'd heart that would not break.

IX,

131

Books, for his volume heretofore was Man,
With eye more curious he appear'd to scan,
And oft in sudden mood for many a day
From all communion he would start away:
And then, his rarely call'd attendants said,
Through night's long hours would sound his hurried
tread

O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frown'd
In rude but antique portraiture around.

They heard, but whisper'd-" that must not be known

"The sound of words less earthly than his own. 140 "Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had

seen

They scarce knew what, but more than should

have been.

"Why gaz'd he so upon the ghastly head

"Which hands profane had gather'd from the dead, "That still beside his open'd volume lay, "As if to startle all save him away?

"Why slept he not when others were at rest?

Why heard no music, and received no guest?

"All was not well they deemed--but where the

wrong?

"Some knew perchance-but 'were a tale too

long;

"And such besides were too discreetly wise,

150

"To more than hint their knowledge in surmise; "But if they would-they could"-around the

board

Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their lord.

X.

It was the night-and Lara's glassy stream
The stars are studding, each with imaged heam:
So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
And yet they glide like happiness away;
Reflecting far and fairy-like from high

The immortal lights that live along the sky: 160
Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,
And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;
Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove,

And Innocence would offer to her love.

These deck the shore; the waves their channel

make

In windings bright and mazy like the snake.

All was so still, so soft in earth and air

You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
Secure that nought of evil could delight

To walk in such a scene, on such a night!

It was a moment only for the good:

170

So Lara deemed, nor longer there he stood,
But turned in silence to his castle-gate;

Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:
Such scene reminded him of other days,

Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,
Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now-
No-no-the storm may beat upon his brow,
Unfelt-unsparing-but a night like this,

A night of beauty mock'd such breast as his. 180

XI.

He turned within his solitary hall,

And his high shadow shot along the wall;
There were the painted forms of other times,
'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes,
Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults
That hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults
And half a column of the pompous page,

That speeds the specious tale from age to age;