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L A R A.
THE Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
gay retainers gather round the hearth, With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. 10
The chief of Lara is return'd again :
With none to check, and few to point in time
III. And Lara left in youth his father-land; But from the hour he waved his parting hand Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all Had nearly ceased his memory to recall. His sire was dust, his vassals could declare, 'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there; S0 Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew Cold in the many, anxious in the few. His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name, His portrait darkens in its fading frame, Another chief consoled his destined bride,
35 The young forgot him, and the old had died ; “ Yet doth he live!” exclaims the impatient heir, And sighs for sables which he must not wear. A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace The Laras' last and longest dwelling place; 40 But one is absent from the mouldering file, That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
55 Though seard by toil, and something touch'd by time; His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot, Might be untaught him by his varied lot; Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame:
60 His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins No more than pleasure from the stripling wins ; And such, if not yet harden'd in their course, Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.
And they indeed were changed---'tis quickly seen 65 Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been: